I applied to the French law school at Universite de Montreal.
And got in! One hitch. The entrance exams were in English. No problem. No surprise. The lectures were to be in French. Now I had a little problem. Like a little BIIIIIIIIIIG problem:
I wrote and spoke elementary French. Very elementary I now had a pressing need - to know just how elementary. So I climbed to the top of the landmark Universite de Montreal building in Outremont,
and sat in in one of the law classes, pen in hand,
ready to take notes to establish just how deep was the language hole i was in
\ It was summer, the windows were open,
and the deafening sound of construction outside was blocking out the sound of the lecturer. Which didn’t make too much of a difference, because I could barely understand one word. So I looked sideways at the guy madly scribbling away
and asked whether I could borrow his notes. He gave me a glowering look and kept on scribbling away. But his curiosity got the better of him. He glanced over at my notes. A look of horror swept over his face. He had never seen such garbage in his life.
He quickly shoved his notes over to me, the equivalent of reaching out to a drowning swimmer. I had my answer:
I was in a mess!
So that summer i set out a self help program.
Everyday i took an article from the French newspaper, Le Devoir. And translated it and studied it and memorized it.
September I stepped into my first class at law school at the U of M! I was ready.
But the Dean and the professors weren't ready for me. I later found out that they had been asking around:
“Who is the English student who is writing her exams in French?
We can’t understand a word!!!!!!!!!”
