“Denise’s turn to write the minutes.”
“OK, I got it,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic and able. At least I only have to do this once in two months.
Today our weekly meeting was in a large classroom, nine of us spread out at a safe distance from each other. The back and forth of Arabic voices bounced off the walls. Fortunately, I was near enough to my English coordinator counterpart from the lower grades.
“Just tell me if there is anything I should write down,” I told her from across our two-meter divide. At a typical meeting, I would have just looked over at her notes.
The meeting was largely in Arabic, as I was the only one of the nine who didn’t understand, but there was enough translation for me to write three pages–some of it with my usual intuitive interpretation and plenty of question marks.
It’s been a few hours since that meeting, so I better get back to typing up the minutes so I can send them back to my sweet partner to read and edit.