The Language of Loathe

Does Berlitz have tapes on learning to speak Teenager? I just don’t understand them sometimes. I’m not talking about their rash surliness or their desire to go days without bathing. I gave up on trying to wrap my head around those concepts years ago. I mean I don’t understand why monkeys throw their own feces; I just accept that as things being as they are.

No, I’m talking about the fact that there are times where the stuff that comes out of their mouth sounds like gobbledygook. I’m serious. If this was the United Nations, then I would need one of those giant headphones with a translator on the other end when the representative form Jack-a-ninnny-opia got up to speak.

Take my latest exchange for example, a native teen shuffled up to me and said, “Sup with time stop?”

My furrowed brow tipped him off that I was a bit lost on what he was talking about.

His rephrase came as, “Here,” with a bit of frustration in his voice.

Unfortunately, the second go didn’t clear anything up either, so I decided it was time to ask my own questions. I lead with, “You are asking about time?”

“Mmm,” was shot back to me. I wasn’t sure if he was confirming my assumption or if he had just sampled something tasty.

My own second go went as, “Your question has something to do with time and here? This classroom?”

Another grunt brings me closer to asking if Timmy fell down a well out of my own frustration, but I decided to take one more stab at answering his question, “Uh, this class is over at ten twenty. Is that what you’re asking?”

Flailing arms produced out exasperation, he erupted with, “That’s what I said!”

That’s just one of many conversations I have all day long, everyday. It’s quite taxing. At times I’d rather they just fling their feces at me.