Wooden Elevators, or How I Gave Homework to the Director of ČSSZ

Because my classes are so frequently canceled as the Christmas holiday rapidly approaches, I took a pair of [90 min] substitute classes this previous Tuesday. Both were at the headquarters of ČSSZ, the Czech Social Security Administration, a somewhat erratic collection of 5 buildings (and I gave Pavlina, my guide, due credit for describing the company layout as a "labyrinth" in her quite passable English).

My first class was with an elementary student in a not-so-elementary position: a Mr. Joník, who, if my information serves me correctly, is the Director of the Department of Law Enforcement regarding insurance claims ("..odbor vymáhání a právního zajištění pohledávek"), and a graduate of the Charles University Dept of Law. We had a very pleasant lesson over coffee (which his secretary brought me from the adjacent room), and as we began the final exercise Pavlina arrived to collect me. I handed him the photocopy I had made from the workbook and suggested one last exercise so he could practice. "Homework?" he asked me. "Domácí úkol," I smiled back.

My second class was far less interesting, although there were 6 students and the average proficiency was slightly higher. It passed more or less as I had planned, from a brief introduction of the grammar point to the chatty interaction at the close. Pavlina, again waiting for me outside the door at the close of the lesson, remarked that it was nice to see them cooperating.

She led me back towards the main entrance (inserting the labyrinthine comment here), and we passed a set of very bizarre wooden elevators. I had heard rumors of these in the teacher's room at the school, but until this point hadn't ever seen them. Picture this: adjacent doorless openings in the wall wherein the elevator boxes (yes, constructed out of wood) are in constant motion. You simply step into them, and out of them. I told Pavlina that in the US you'd never find something like this: it's a lawsuit waiting to happen. Sensing my intrigue, she took me for a ride on them (after all, why take one flight of stairs downward when you can ride this claustrophobic wooden deathtrap?). Just trying to get on was a thrill.. making the mistake of stepping onto it while the box was flush with the floor, I ended up less-than-gracefully dumping my bookbag-laden body inside. "Imagine in the morning when millions of people are all trying to get in," she said. I did, and 'deathtrap' came to mind again.

Good thing all of them probably have really good social security.