Impromptu test
On one of my visits to the VHS to register for a Deutsch course, I had a scare. I thought I was going to do an impromptu placement test, but because they needed a confirmation from BAMF, it didn’t happen. I dodged it, or thought I did. The events of that day painted a perfect portrait of the highly spoken, widely referenced German efficiency. Sitting in front of the advisor, I watched her fill in my answers to the personal details questions into a form printed on an A4 paper. “Take this to the next room. My colleague will use it to apply to BAMF.” Collecting the form, I thanked her and did as directed. I’m not sure what I expected, but what I didn’t expect was to take another seat and watch this lady with a salt and pepper overgrown pixie cut fill in the same details into a form on her old generation desktop.
Now that I think about it, this was 2 months ago. When I decided to go there this week, I’d forgotten that like an okada manoeuvring its way in traffic, I narrowly escaped the test. All the German in my head is the residual from my class, which I stopped in July, and the bits I’ve picked up from the green owl, Duolingo.
People say, that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But they’re wrong. What doesn’t kill you comes again to kill you. Which makes sense because a hired assassin must meet their KPI. So, it’s better to be well-equipped to fight for your life or, better yet, do the killing.
If someone from Boy Scouts saw me at the VHS today, they would laugh and say I told you so. Thankfully, there’s none here. It’s just me and the novel I was reading instead of taking a page from the lady beside me who was reading her German textbook at the 11th hour. When the side of my right eye caught her, my mind thought she was an oversabi. To be fair to me, with language, it’s kind of impossible to fake the funk. Last-minute cram and pour cannot work here, especially as this test will reveal the areas I need assistance. Might as well be honest.
My number 718 came on the big screen, I gathered my self: the jacket my friend gave me on the cold summer day - which by the looks of things, is mine now, my blue scarf that I can only use with leather or down jacket because it sticks itself to wool, my black tote from an ex-employer, the novel I was reading and the pencil I’m using to highlight nearly every line. Before I got to the exit, the coordinating lady came in and called for the numbers 718, 719, 720. She matched us down to the door of the building, then outside, then into another building, then up to the first floor. She directed us to wait with our backs against the wall, but bodies facing the room 16 door.
About 7mins later, I got called to the advisor's desk. I handed my documents before he asked, feeling happy because finally, after many attempts, all my ducks are in a row for the registration. My joy quickly turned when he asked me to follow him, since I refused to start with the beginner's class.
I walked behind him, eyes fixed on his butter-yellow shirt. Butter yellow was the color of the summer; this is autumn was what was in my head. Weird because who makes those rules and who lives by them? Before I could think up and answer, I found myself in a room with 3 bodies folded forward, writing something on paper. The butter-yellow shirt advisor spoke quickly to a young lady who wore glasses and a winter jacket indoors. The lady asked me to sit. “This is where you should be,” the butter-yellow shirt advisor said and walked away quickly before I could form questions. Obediently, I did as instructed and as I struggled to remove my scarf and jacket, she came to me with 2 laminated papers clipped together and an A4 paper, third wheeling with stuff printed on it, and 17:00 was written on it in blue ink. “These are the questions. Use this to answer. You have until 5 o’clock.” She said in German, laying the papers in front of me and handing me a pen. Things hit me in slow, dull waves, so it took about 3mins to fully set in that I was writing a test.
Once it set, the panic started almost immediately. According to my watch, I had 45mins. Panic will not get me far, so I took about 2mins to take belly breaths. Once I succeeded, I began reading through and realized I understood quite a lot. The objectives were fairly easy. English words and sentences filled my brain to form the letter, but my brain failed to translate to German. For instance, what is “Give him the opportunity to do better” in Deutsch? I started rethinking my earlier stance on honesty.
5pm on the dot, I handed in the questions and my answers. I was preparing to leave my poor performance behind when the young lady asked me to wait. Turns out they mark it there and then. It’s bad enough to know you didn’t perform but the fact that they don’t want to you to walk out the door and fake convince yourself that you did makes the worst thing worse.
I looked at the scores and thankfully didn’t understand it. It was all in advisor speak. “What’s done is done,” I consoled myself as I stood in the queue and cracked open my Silver Sparrow, curious to see if and how they would expose the bigamist dad. When I got called up, I was directed to a different advisor, not the butter-yellow shirt one. This lady wore all black and was friendly. She looked through the results, made some notes, and finally looked at me. I was directed to her because she speaks English. The butter-yellow man speaks Spanish, and there was someone who needed Spanish assistance. Since she spoke English, I expected to start rapping English with her. I replied to her first question in English, but she burst my English-rapping bubble immediately. “You have to respond in Deutsch. This is an oral test.”
“Oral?!” However bad you think it went, you’re right.
Zero point for honesty, one point for my bruised ego. “I’m placing you in A1.2. What were you expecting?” “Uh…A2.1.”
“Repeating is not always bad. It gives you a chance to really master it.” I’m sure it’s something along these lines that they fed to the students who repeated into our set in primary and secondary school. Unfortunately, that didn’t spare them from the snide remarks and stares. To save my bruised ego, I asked, “My letter and objective, where are they at A2.1 level?”
“Yes, but I cannot in good mind register you for that. Your speaking is behind, and speaking is the most important part.”
After the months I’ve spent learning German, I’m still here. It’s beginning to seem like Lydia Davis was right when she wrote: “All my life I have been trying to improve my German. At last, my German is better—but now I am old and ill and don’t have long to live. Soon I will be dead, with better German.”
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