Senior citizen French class was even more chaotic than usual today. The instructor was peevish, and having a harder time than usual hearing what we were saying. At several points, he complained that we were not speaking up, and I said audibly, “Hearing aids would help with that.” He didn’t hear me say it, but a couple of classmates chuckled.

The guy behind me had been absent last week and in addition was coughing wetly and sniffling. I asked him bluntly why he was coughing, and he said he has COPD and also his nose was running, so God knows whether he was infectious; luckily, I wear a KN95 mask in group situations.

I do that because I acknowledge that things invisible cause diseases, unlike many people who prefer to believe in things invisible such as ghosts, naturopathy, and astrology. There are plenty of invisible things that exist, and a lot that don’t, and I prefer the ones for which we have good evidence. Like quantum mechanics and the infrared part of the spectrum.

Speaking of things invisible, while also answering questions in class, muttering pithy comments, and listening to people’s responses, I was also texting with my adult kid and looking at Reddit, because I am every bit as bad as the kids these days that people like to complain about. I am a good student, I swear. My answers in class are correct with a high degree of frequency, and I have a better accent than most, plus I’m seventy-four (in French, soixante-quatorze) and I don’t pay a whole hell of a lot for my class, so the hell with my perfect behavior grade.

My kid was texting me that they went to a program at one of the schools where they volunteer: “Just had a workshop on Science of Reading that didn’t follow best pedagogical practices but WAS quite good. She said most of the things my mother says about reading, it will shock you to hear.”

Shocked, I tell you. I have a master’s degree and a Ph.D. in education and I taught for thirty years, so yeah. Apparently the lecturer at the workshop worked in Teach for America, preparing the ill-advised young people who think they can be classroom teachers without any educational coursework except a hasty and panicky set of classes taught simultaneously with immersion in teaching. Thus the workshop attempted to present (at a fast clip) “the firehose of the Science of Reading Resources,” as my kid put it.

Needless to say, my French instructor likewise does not follow best practices in pedagogy, but we are fond of him, even the Russian woman who sits directly in front of him in class and lectures him when she thinks he is incorrect. That drives him frantic, of course, and he remonstrates with her regularly. She seems to take delight in that.

Anyway, my kid told me the son-in-law has a fever, speaking of invisible things, and so the family may not be coming over for dinner, and I am fine with that because I am opposed to getting ill for sentimental reasons.

I left class early, claiming an appointment, because I had pretty much had it with the the gentleman with COPD, seeing as he had also missed the previous class and has an execrable French accent that makes me writhe in place. I can normally tolerate the absurd and syncopated dialogue of French class, but add a wet cough and I’m done.

I went to the bathroom on the way out to wash my hands, and saw an immense American cockroach on the nice clean tile floors. It was quivering its antennae, but otherwise looked lethargic, so I assume it was in the process of expiring, though it had not quite completed the process. American cockroaches are the enormous ones, and don’t actually carry as much disease as the little German ones, but they are certainly very visible when they do show up. I nudged it with my foot and it did not scuttle, just quivered. I left it for someone else.

Next week we are having an end-of-term party in French class. I have signed up to bring bread-and-butter pickles, assuming I have not contracted any interesting diseases or been eaten by cockroaches between now and then.