Adventures in Babysitting.

My phone rang at 10pm the other night. I had forgotten what the ring sounded like, and so didn't even answer it the first time, having wrongly assumed it was that of my roommate. When it rang the second time, however, I walked into my room and found it, buried underneath a pile of books on my bed. The number was restricted.

"Hello? Pronto?" I asked.

Rapid fire Italian accent (this should have all the spacing between words omitted to emphasize the sheer speed of this man's speech, but that would be a distracting device; instead I have omitted punctuation): "Hello Justin this is Jerry Whatshisname I run a tour company you emailed me your CV last month we spoke one day or maybe we didn't either way it is not important are you busy tomorrow morning I need you to give a tour to 24 people of all the piazzas of Rome and of the Forum and the Colosseum and the Vatican it will last 7 hours."

Me, scratching myself while coming out of my internet daze and trying to remember which company this was: "Uh... OK."

"Good show up outside of the Hotel Blahbityblah tomorrow at 9:30 you will meet a girl named Eliza and together you will give a tour of ancient Rome the fountains and the Vatican OK good Ciao-Ciao!"

I swayed on my feet for a minute, digesting what had just happened, before becoming flushed with panic and fear, the primordial, colorless type typical of a cornered Neanderthal. I rushed to my bookshelf and started flinging my way through texts, cramming dates and names into my head. Seutonius. Tacitus. Livy. Plutarch. On to the more modern! Wainright and Boatwell! Wikipedia! Hotel Blahbityblah? I'll Google Earth it! Great, right near the Ottaviano Metro stop. That will take me... 1 hour to get to. Let's see... the Vatican? Oh hell... the piazzas... grr... and I still need to shave. I covered a 1000 years of history in one wreckless hour before falling asleep fully clothed on top of a large stack of books I carried with me from the US of A. Or as I like to call it, the "us of A."

(I have a lot I'd like to put in here, so I think I'm going to rush through quite a bit)

The next morning I awoke bright and early and took the first train into town. Not knowing what to wear, I went with my basic polo and khakis-- the most inoffensive clothes I wear. Not that jeans and a t-shirt are offensive, but some might see them as unproffessional (note the emphasis on "some"; personally I'd trust a tour guide who appreciated the value of comfort more than one who seemed to have no concept of it). There was no hot Italian girl waiting for me; in fact, there was nobody waiting for me. I waited for a half an hour before two vans suddenly pulled up. Both of the drivers got out and started smoking. I approached and asked them in Italian if they were there for the tours, which they were. I asked a few more questions about where we were going, what the tour was like, etc. They just shrugged and kept smoking. One of them, noticing my look of panic, listed off which piazzas we would "probably" see. I looked at the two vans and realized that I'd probably have to give a tour (with a microphone!) to one of the vans, and then, with a horrifying revelation, I realized I couldn't remember the names of the architects of the Trevi Fountain or the Spanish Steps (generally the two most crowded places in Rome, and therefore my least favorite). I sent a text message to my probably sleeping roommate asking her to find this essential information on the internet for me; I could work from that. (afternote: she "never got a text message")

Another 10 minutes passed before the other girl arrived with a man known as "The Professor" (which I still pronounce with an ominous voice in my head before punctuating it with imagined claps of thunder) and "Jerry," the man from the phone. The three of them ignored me until all of the tourists came out of their hotel and started filing into their respective vans. Then Jerry turned to me and introduced me to "The Professor"(ka-POW!) and Eliza before patting me on the back and telling me I'd probably be giving the tour of the Forum. Though I know the Forum pretty well by now, it was still nervewracking to think that I'd be guiding these 24 people around. This Jerry shook my hand and turned away to get on his motorino and drive off, probably to some cafe somewhere where he could do what most Italians seem to do with their time: nothing.

Eliza started speaking to me in Italian and, not wanting to betray my insufficient understanding of the language this early in our relationship, I nodded and followed her, cramming myself into a van of tourists I soon learned were going to about 8 cities in 15 days. Each one would be a crammed, whirlwind tour of whatever most people wanted to see. In short, it was a nightmare.

To wrap up this element of the story, I will say that "The Professor" (BOOM!) decided to stay for the entire tour, so my job was limited to hovering around the fringes of the flock and nipping at the heels of anyone who strayed too far or decided to take time to frame a picture decently. I was told to keep everyone together, and the sheep-dog metaphor sorta dominated my entire day, so that I don't really feel I learned a single new thing.

Ok, well I have a good deal more to this, but since I've been such a slacker lately on the blog posting issue, I think I'll get back to it next week (tomorrow I return to an entirely different job I've started, but I'll get to that). This weekend I'm going to Naples and Pompeii, with my friend Jon, who is visiting from Philadelphia. But just you wait...