Early that morning, I was standing at the door (as is my custom) greeting the kids as they walked in. Sometimes parents will walk in with their kids to ask about an assignment or let me know about a change in plans for the tutorials that afternoon or whatnot. But, more often than not, a mom will come with a bag of tamales, tostadas, menudo or some other form of calorie-filled Mexican temptation. Either, I am the most amazing teacher ever (not true, although I am great at buttering up the moms) or they are on a mission to up my pants size (fyi, they're winning).
Therefore, when Student L's mom walked up to me Monday morning with a steaming bag of sopes, I was at my most gracious and instantly salivating over the aroma wafting from the bag she thrust in my hands. I found myself at the receiving end of an extended palm, which I misunderstood as a gesture of greeting. I leaned in for a shake and a hug only to find a human statue on the other end.
As an uncomfortable silence began to expand, I cleared my throat (while simultaneously hugging the bag closer to me), backed away and made what I hoped to be a charming, self-deprecating comment. Instead of offering a comment or at the very least, chuckling and saying, "that'll be six fifty"- she stared at me mutely with her palm extended.
It was then that it hit me.
The food in my hands was not a gift, rather it was for sale and I am the biggest idiot in the world.
As embarassing as that moment was, I am now happily gobbling up what appears to be the Mexican version of a pizza: baked dough, beans, cheese, salsa and pickled veggies.
Worth it? I think so. If nothing else, I know to be armed with cash when Student L's mom shows up at the door.