Greetings folks, I am currently on a roof-top bar in Shanghai nursing a hangover and looking out across the Bund at this fantastic city. A week in Beijing and another five days here in Shanghai and I will head back to Changchun. Life moves fast in the big cities and I haven't been able to do much writing; but don't fear, when I get back to Changchun I'll have plenty of stories to share. Hope you're all well and remember to keep your stick on the ice.
Day 2 of the recovery: The head aches and the eyes strain, but I can see and think clearer now. Like driving through a dark storm, the persisting rain and the darkness have subsided and the glass is beginning to clear, revealing the road ahead. These last 72 hours have been a struggle of will not to throw myself out the window and silence the pounding of my head and tempest of my stomach. Dark thoughts are entertained under the poison of Baijiu, but one must forget those thoughts and focus on the Doctor Who marathon while in the safety and comfort of one's bed.
I have been able to keep food and drink down today. Tea and bread and bananas are all I have been able to manage; tomorrow I shall try eggs and bacon, if only to remember one of the great and true senses of life - the smell of cooking bacon. Food and drink are beginning to heal my body, but I suspect it will be some time before they silence the pressure on my mind. The constant dull ache is a fraction of what it was yesterday, but it is still enough to write off the day and avoid sunlight altogether. The trip to the supermarket not 50 paces from my apartment for water and necessities, was almost too much a journey. Day 2 shall be remembered as the passing of the storm. Day 1 shall never be spoken of again and it shall serve as a reminder and warning to those who dance with the Baijiu devil. Alcohol is a poison we all take and survive. But Baijiu is a fight you'll remember until the day you die, as the worst hangover of your entire life. Part 1 of The Great English Competition left our hero in a precarious position - the special guest of an elaborate, first year, English-speaking competition. Incredibly under-dressed and a little overwhelmed, our hero will have to think fast and move quickly to escape his most dangerous situation yet. This post on Ben's Year In China it's... The Great English Competition: Part 2.
The lights dimmed and the voices quieted, they knew what to expect, but I was new to the game and to the country. A bright spotlight shined to the right side of the lecture floor. A girl in evening gown and a pretty smile lit up by the lights started speaking in Chinese. She had a good voice, an announcers voice. The Chinese stopped and the crowd applauded. She waited for the noise to settle and the English began. The teacher in me noticed an accent and that she was a little lazy with her a's, l's and v's.. "Good Ewening students, professors and distingwished guests (I cringed a little). Welcome to the annuwal Engwish Speaking Competition at Changchun Uniwersity of Technowogy!" On cue, I started applauding with a few loud polite claps. Unfortunately the crowd was either applauded out or didn't care about the English version, and I was left clapping by myself like Orson Welles in Citizen Kane - she was good, god dammit! I quieted quick and the announcer smiled my way. I couldn't tell if it was in thanks or she thought I was a fool. I better hold my applause until the end of the show, I thought. She started speaking in Chinese again, but this time there was another light that shone in the middle of the lecture floor and terrible hip hop music filled the room. Suddenly, two shadows on either side of the room converged toward the light, flipping and skipping like a circus or gymnastics routine. They passed through the light and it followed them as they break danced across the lecture hall floor. The light on the announcer left her position and picked up one of the shadow dancers and they performed simultaneous break dance moves side by side, bathed in the spotlight. What a spectacle! The announcers Chinese rang out through the darkness, over the hip hop and the crowd was loving every twist and turn. The dancers finished together on cue and the announcer thanked them in English saying their names and informing the English crowd (me) that the speakers would be up next. The Chinese crowd and the English crowd clapped together for that one and we were all excited for the next event to begin. The lights brightened in the lecture hall and the announcer continued speaking. Something, our, something, next, something, Chinese name! The crowd applauded and in walked the first contestant. She repeated in English saying our first contestant is an Engineering major with some kind of hobby and he likes basketball (all Chinese love basketball). Welcome Chinese Name! He walked to center stage, flashed a smile and picked up a microphone. "Hello everyone! My name is Chinese name and I would like to tell you about my Chinese Dream." Oh great, I thought - but first, a need to know. The Chinese Dream is unlike the American Dream where prosperity of individual is the focus. The Chinese Dream is a relatively new socialist term and it describes a set of ideals. The goal of the Chinese Dream is to be the best 'you' and by improving yourself, you will help your school or company and by improving those you will improve all of China. It is actually a much smarter dream than the American Dream and is scarily affluent in the Chinese community. Needless to say, I had heard a lot about it in my few months of assigning speeches and was disappointed to hear that it would be the topic of this years English Speaking Competition. He went on telling the crowd how he will work hard to be a great engineer and build incredible things improving his country and his school. Well read, better than most of my students and so I clapped along with the crowd. As he walked out the door, two girls in white, evening gowns handed out pieces of paper to the people in the front row. It read Pronunciation (40%), Content (30%), Appearance (30%) and Total Score out of 100. The head judge was beside me and he informed me that students should get a mark of at least 90% and that I could just write what I thought under Total Score, no need to write too much. "If everyone gets at least a 90, shouldn't we give them a mark out of 10? Why 100?" I said. He looked shocked and slightly offended so I waved off my remark and thought about what to give Contestant 1. I settled on 96.5 - 6.5/10. He was good, but I wasn't blown away. The ladies collected our papers and took them away for consideration. The announcer stepped up to her mic and began introducing the next contestant. A young-looking girl in a formal suit walked through the door and took her place at center stage. Her Chinese Dream involved manufacturing excellent cars and doing something else I can't remember. She was a little better; I gave her a 97. The announcer then said the score for the first contestant. Apparently they take the average of the 7 or so judges to get their final score. The first contestants score was 91.8. '91.8?' I thought, 'I gave him a 96.5.' The rest of the judges must have given him a 90 right on. The poor kid was given 0's out of 10's. Why make the score out of 100 and it mandatory to give them at least a 90, only to embarrass the poor kid with an average of 91.8. No time to think for too long, the third contestant was already speaking. I couldn't change my grading scheme without affecting the rest of the contestants so I kept giving marks out of 10. I was continually surprised at the averages coming back. 97 - 92.3, 95.5 - 90.6, 98 - 93.6, and it went on. I was getting a little bored of the Chinese Dream speeches, so when the 15th contestant finished up, I was happy it was over. Little did I know, the fun was just beginning. We had a 10 minute intermission to use the facilities (porcelain hole in the ground) and get a drink of water, before we were ushered back in to the lecture hall. I noticed one of my students up at the front talking with the sound guy, who I was convinced was not actually doing anything but rather just sitting behind a laptop and looking important, about getting a backing track up and running. It was then he grabbed a black, instrument case whose shape could only be that of a saxophone. The lights dimmed again and the spotlight was back at center stage. The sound guy finally did something and the room was filled with the sweet sound of smooth jazz - the nations favourite. My student walked into the spotlight wearing a black bowler hat, perfectly capturing the moment. He raised his saxophone for the solo and gave it all his worth. I would have given him a 6 out of 10. He was making the right sound, but he missed some notes and ran out of breath in an important part of the solo. We all clapped for him though and he tipped his hat like an old pro and walked out the room. His showmanship was excellent. The announcer took control of the room, pausing for a moment to let the quiet subside, before informing the audience in Chinese and English that the final round of the competition would begin. The final round allowed contestants to showcase their 'special talent'. Contestants were given 3-4 minutes and judges were to judge them on their talent, confidence and pronunciation of English. The order switched up and first was last. His 'special talent', and I kid you not, was that he is an excellent game show host. He called on his buddies in the audience to come up and they performed a little skit of a game show similar to matchmaker. There was one girl and she had to choose whom she would go out on a date based on the answers to questions the host would ask. I thought they did an alright job so I gave him an alright mark. Next up was another Jazz pop song and the contestant sang her heart out. Some English song about a love that was going away never to return. I had never heard it before. After a couple more singers and another game show host, a cute little girl who scored well on the speech round, walked to center stage with only a piece of paper. I assumed she would sing and needed the paper to remember the words, but when no backing track sounded, I thought we might be in for something special. I was right. She took a deep breath, raised the microphone to her mouth and started talking so fast in Chinese that the crowd gasped and listened, trying to keep up. Her 'special talent', similar to that of an auctioneer, was speaking very quickly and very precisely and she was damn good at it. She kept going and going, took a quick breathe and kept at it. She went on for a solid 3 minutes, even reading the back of the paper. When she finished, both crowds went wild. She was great. I learnt after the next contestant, another jazz pop number, that she forfeited the second round of the competition because she didn't speak in the required English. I was disappointed, she was my clear favourite. At least she was, until contestant number 6 took to the stage. Contestant number 6 walked in and I did a double take. "Could it be?" I thought. "It can't be, but it is!" Contestant number 6 was dressed all in white. He had a popped, diamond studded collar. He had fake sideburns and his hair was slicked back and up in that familiar style. I couldn't believe my eyes - an Asian, Elvis impersonator! I just hoped he sang half as well as his costume. I looked around the lecture hall and saw some smiling faces, people in on the take, but I saw more confused looks and awestruck stares. Those people, they were in for a treat. The audience quieted, Elvis looked over at the sound guy and gave a nod. The sound guy pushed a button and we heard click, click, click counting him in. Elvis turned to the audience, right on cue and wailed "You ain't nothin but a hound dog!" I almost fell out of my chair. He had the Elvis croon, the Elvis moves and an Asian accent. He shimmied, he shaked, he had the room jumping. During the solo he ran across the lecture floor clapping hands and dancing for the girls. It was all over too soon. He waved to the crowd amidst thunderous applause and was never to be seen again. I've been looking for that kid for the past month, but I haven't been able to find him around school. It was obvious who the winner was and I gave him a perfect score. I can't even remember the last contestants, you hear one jazz-pop song, you've heard them all. The competition ended and it was time to add up the votes, a formality at this point. The announcer ascended her podium and announced the winner - Chinese name who wasn't the Elvis impersonator. "What!" I cried. This was a mockery of the King. He brought us all back to the 60's man and you're gonna snub him! The winner walked up to the stage and I remembered him as the guitar playing, swooner, John Mayer singing, adored teeny-bopper type who sang earlier. Apparently his first round points combined with the talent section were enough to put him over the top. I looked over at the other judges who were clapping and I knew it was just the wrong competition for the King. Keep your head up kid, I thought, we know the real star of this show. The Chinese announcer started talking again and I tuned out, sitting back down in my chair and readying my things when I heard her say 'Ben Ames'. I looked up and everyone was looking my way. The head judge turned to me and said, "you have to present the winner with the award." I paused, not knowing what to do and he said, "well go on, up to the front." I got up to the front and looked up at the crowd and the lights and a representative of the school came up with a plaque and gave it to me. I turned to the 'winner' and shook his hand. I said a weak congratulations and then handed him the plaque. A cameraman took a picture, but I didn't smile. At least not a real one. The night was over after that. I took some pictures with students, said hello to others and the same students drove me home, listening to even more Chinese Jazz-Pop songs on the way but I was only humming one song that car ride home - "You ain't nothin but a hound dog, crying all the time!" I went skiing today. One of my students invited me to join his class on a one-day trip to a local ski hill. The information given was minimal and most of what I got was lost in translation, so as per usual in China, I had no idea what to expect. I invited my friend Lidia along to keep me company and we showed up bright and early on campus, 7:00 am.
After some waiting, the bus left at 7:30 went to another school and left there at 8:00, we were on the road. It was a small yellow bus, similar to the short buses seen around Ontario schools. It had great decor (the short bus kids would like it), small, yellow leather seats and the bus was Disney themed. Mickey and Minnie mouse had us surrounded, grinning their grins and shaking their white cartoon fingers as we bumped along an empty highway. The bus slowed and turned into a wooded driveway. This must be it, I thought. Excited, I peered out the window looking for a mountain - nope, maybe a slope - nothing, a berg, a bluff, a butte - nada. Just a flat stretch of forest stretching out as far as the eye could see. Must be cross-country skiing, I thought. We pulled into an empty parking lot beside an old wooden lodge with Chinese caricatures that I could only assume translated to Lodge Ski Rent Food China. We climbed out of the bus and sauntered on in. The place was empty, but it wouldn't be for long. One thing you can count on in China is a crowd. The place had two or three employees working behind a desk, handing out skis and boots; downhill skis and boots, so we were skiing. I walked up and guessed my Chinese size - 45 or wu shi liu. I guessed right, they fit, were somewhat comfortable and were only somewhat 90's compared to the skis I was handed. The skis were green with a bright yellow underside and had catchy english sayings like 'Rad', 'Far Out', 'Sweet Air!' and 'Totally!'. They were also very narrow and had no edge. I'm a decent skier, a better snowboarder, but as I looked down at those relics, I knew I would have trouble with a decent carve or turn. I'll have to impress the Chinese with my courage, I thought, I'll squat into racing position and fly straight down the hill. After Lidia and the gang got their boots sorted and skis tucked under their arms, we went back outside and followed the crowd around to the back of the lodge where the Ski Pole Table was situated and I still couldn't see where we would be skiing. The Ski Pole Table was a free-for-all; poles of all different sizes and shapes. Most were missing their baskets and some were missing their grip handles. I noticed one excited, first-time skier grab a set of poles without basket or grip, just two metal shafts and both bent from what must have been a Grade-A tumble. I laughed and thought two sticks out of the woods could have done a better job. We managed to find poles that were relatively the same size, had proper grip handles and had most of their baskets left and we followed the crowd into the woods. Now I was getting real curious. Some people were putting on their skis and shimmying there way along, some just kept on walking. Where was this place? Were we cross-country skiing with downhill skis? Has nobody told them they're different sports? We came to a small little mound in the path, the size of a sewer tube or a speed bump on a busy road and everyone started putting on their skis, hoping to get some 'Sweet Air!' or at least some momentum. If I was given a couple beer and sandwiches, I could have sat at that mound all day and watched Asian after Asian wipe out on that mound. One by one they would shimmy up to the top, pause a moment on the edge, then lean forward and with the slightest bit of acceleration, lose their balance and keel over into a pile of ski and poles. One security camera at the right angle and you've got yourself a TV show - 'Sweet Air!'. Thankfully our crew made it past the death bump in one piece. They shimmy'ed, I skated to the awe and wonder of the crowds, and we made it to the clearing where we were to downhill ski. Now, I've been to quite a few ski hills in my life. Some good ones - Mont. St. Anne, Snowbird, some great ones - Revelstoke, Kicking Horse and some so-called Ontario Mountains where the run is over before you make your 5th turn - Mount. St. Louis. But this place, this Chinese ski hill, was the smallest, the flattest ski area I have ever seen. We're talking 250 metres tops and a slope most Canadian kids wouldn't toboggan. We made better runs off the back of ol' Jerome Park. The only tow was an old rope tow, which stopped every few minutes for the people who thought they could sit on it. They would wind up on their bee-hind and shut the whole machine down because they couldn't get back up. It was faster to walk. The hill was funnier than the mound. There were few skiers who could turn, but most would tuck in race position and no-turn it down. Some made it, more didn't. They would crash and burn and their gear would go everywhere. Hats, gloves, poles, sunglasses. People crashing into other people, sending them flying. I must have seen 5 or 6 skis loose on the hill, skiing better without their owner. I would get to the top, skate off, make a couple turns and then get back in line. As I skied by, people would cry oooo, ohhh. My skis were so bad, I couldn't make a proper turn, but if you could ski with some level of control and speed, you were Bode Miller. All the 90's throwback gear around, I felt like I was in a Warren Mirrer film. We skied for a couple hours, I say skied but we probably only were skiing for 20 minutes, then went back to the lodge and had lunch. After that we checked out some amusements around the hill. Arcade games out in the snow, terribly tired-looking ponies and a snow sculptured horse. After that we climbed aboard ol' short bus and went home, Mickey and Minnie watching over. All in all, a rather Chinese day. 2 weeks back, I was again invited to judge an English speaking competition. This time, it was for the first year students. I didn't know what to expect, but it seemed important. I received e-mails from student participants leading up to the competition asking for pointers. I didn't know what to tell them, so I said practice, practice, practice. Seemed like the right thing to say. The day came and I was to meet at the campus near my apartment. It was a Friday night, so I wore my Friday best. Jeans and a t-shirt. I would come to regret this decision.
I was picked up in a homemade car by students of my second year class. I was confused, "I thought this was for first years?" I asked. They laughed. "It is! We're judging too!" Could this be an elaborate heist? These second years weren't that good at English. Have my students all had enough of me and decided on kidnap and ransom? I think I could take some of them, but the Chinese have strength in numbers. I leaned back and hoped for the best. A comfortable hour and too many Chinese jazz-pop songs later, we arrived at my Monday-Wednesday, first year campus - Banhu, meaning North Lake. I still haven't seen the lake. The time was 7:30. I already had dinner back home, but the event didn't start until 8 and we were led into the cafeteria. More students joined us with a plate of food and drinks for me. I told them I already had dinner and that I wasn't hungry, but they neither spoke English or refused to believe I couldn't eat. Apparently Chinese people think I am always eating and need constant nutrition to be so tall. It was an offer I could not refuse. After 2nd dinner and a few photographs, it was time for the main event. I was ushered into the main building and up the stairs. This was when I first noticed the dress attire for the evening. The girls all looked pretty in long dresses and hair done right. The guys looked snappy in suit and ties. I was dressed for a 2nd rate pub on a weeknight. Too late now. We arrived at one of the larger classrooms on campus, but calling it a classroom doesn't come close. It looked like a Hollywood movie premiere. There were girls in evening gowns, classical music, first years without an invite stuck behind the rope like unwanted paparazzi and a first-rate red carpet to boot. Here I was, a special guest in jeans and 2-day stubble. I walked in and the audience gave me a standing ovation. I was humbled. I had done nothing and they were cheering me like I was Xi Jinping. It was terrible, but I waved and smiled. This is what it's like to be Keanu Reeves, I thought. I got to my seat fast. I was right up at the front, dead center. The show was about to begin, the lights dimmed and voices quieted. I have to admit, I was a little excited. Today was a good day. I was killing it in class; telling jokes, cracking wise. I had them in the palm of my hand.
I was grinning from ear to ear as I got on the bus home. As some of you may have read, I have a one hour bus commute from home to campus every Monday and Wednesday. As I was in my seat, getting comfortable, I noticed a number of professors around me I didn't recognize. There were two teacher buses back to the city, did I get on the wrong one? I checked my window, this was the spot. I checked for the other bus, there was only bare pavement. I looked up and noticed other foreign teachers from my bus. Looks like a full bus today, I thought. Alana, the other Canadian teacher, climbed the steps and looked equally dumbfounded. I waved her over and she sat down beside me. Together, we counted the number of people getting on the bus and thought it was going to be close. Then the last seat had been taken. All full. 48 Chinese professors yabbering away and 2 Canadians stretching capacity. I looked out my window and noticed 3 professors I recognized from our bus. Three older women. They climbed aboard and looked around for something that just wasn't there. It was then I saw my chance to be hero. I climbed over Alana and motioned to the nearest lady to take my seat. Her face lit up like a pumpkin on October 31st. 'Thank you, thank you' she said. "Not a problem." I replied. All around me, I heard the murmuring of impressed female voices. Even caught a couple 'what a gentleman's' from the English capable. I smiled again. I was having a good day. As I was basking in the glory of the moment, I turned to the cute professor I'd had eyes for since day 1 and gave her a big Canadian smile. She blushed and whispered to her friend. I turned and leaned against the back of Alana's chair, McQueen wouldn't have looked cooler. As I was standing there, the weight of my decision became very clear. I was facing a one hour drive, standing in the middle of an aisle, in some of the worst traffic on the planet. There would be no time for rest, no chance for escape. One hour of holding on for all my worth. Maybe I could sit on the floor? I looked around and noticed the garbage and grime. Not going to happen. I thought a little more - what about the other teachers? I had no idea how long this bus was going to take. I'd be lucky to get out of here in an hour. What happens if we have to drop the other teachers off first? How long would it take to get them wherever they're going? I cursed under my breath. Why did I do anything? I could have stayed quiet in my seat, played the foreigner card and slept all the way home. I looked around and noticed the males on the bus silently laughing at my predicament. You had your 2 minutes of glory, time to enjoy the repercussions foreigner. The bus driver climbed aboard and we were ready to go. Let's get this over with, I thought. The driver looked in his mirror and noticed me and the two other late stragglers. Suddenly he was up and yelling in Chinese. I was closest to him and he was coming straight for me. "I have no idea what you're saying," was all I could say. Thankfully, one of my admirers stood up and talked him down. Others joined in the conversation and suddenly everyone looked to the back of the bus. I did too. Right at the back, playing it cool, were three students looking to catch a free ride into town. Outrage from the teachers (although, everything in Chinese sounds like outrage), signaled their jig was up. One by one, they gathered their things and made their way off the bus. The two relieved ladies took their spots and the professor I offered my seat to took the third, thanking me on the way by. I cheered my good fortune and took my original seat, no worse for wear. A hero in comfort. Today was a good day. Today I met the dean of the University. An excitable fellow. He knew a little English and we talked for some time. I had stopped in to inquire about purchasing a beginner Chinese Language Textbook at the Office of Foreign Affairs. Unbeknownst to me, I was scheduled to be a judge on an English Review Board. Apparently, if their English was good enough, professors at Changchun had the opportunity to travel to Portland and San Diego and I was to decide.
My textbook was forgotten and I was chaperoned from the Office of Foreign Affairs to the University of Changchun Conference Room by the dean and the other professors of English. You should have seen this room. It was straight out of a Hollywood Law movie and I nicknamed it the war room immediately. The dean really liked the name. One by one, the professors on trial, shuffled into the war room. The judges and I to one side and the professors to the other. I was right in the middle, the Head Judge. Crystal, the firecracker to my right, started the introductions. Professor so and so of Mechanical Engineering, Professor of Calculus, Electrical Engineering, another Calculus, another Engineering. Holy crap, I thought, who am I to be judging these people? What right do I have? But there was no time to protest, the lady at the end of our side of the table got up and asked them to leave. They were to be judged one-at-a-time. First up, was a female professor of Electrical Engineering. She started off by reading some English from a cue card. She wasn't bad, few pronunciation errors but understandable. Next, our side were to ask her questions about a card of information on the World Expo. One-by-one, question after question. Then it was my turn. I didn't know I was supposed to ask questions, but the eyes of all the other judges told me I did. I scrambled and looked at the card - suddenly I was on trial. "Do you think the World Expo would benefit from an annual event focusing on the advancement of one subject? Instead of the usual three - Economics, Sciences and Engineering, every 5 years?" All the judges nodded in agreement and mumbled hmm's and yes's. I was OK. I looked up at the Professor of Electrical Engineering and saw a panicked look in her eye. She didn't understand. She started saying something about the World Expo, but didn't answer my question. Pens were up on our side and they looked angry. I felt terrible. I tried to backtrack. "Uhh. Instead of having three different subjects, would the World Expo be better off focusing on one subject at a time?" I even motioned in sign language. She was more confused now than ever. Her reply was mixed and gibberish. The pens were digging in when the dean stood up. He said, "that will be all now, you can go." She looked defeated as she left the room. I bested her. I should have kept my mouth shut. Instead the University of Changchuns' Professor of Electrical Engineering would not be going to America. The next professors came and went. Most read well, and most had trouble with the opinion piece. Some went well, some did not. I had to ask more questions, I kept them simple. Finally, they were over. The judges collaborated in Chinese, then asked me what I thought. I said some could manage in America, some would need more practice. I showed them who I thought would make it and they agreed. We laughed like greedy lawyers wrapping up a case and left the war room. The dean was feeling particularly swell and he invited the judges and I out for dinner. We went to a fancy place and we ate well. The dean kept ordering beers and I kept drinking them. A good time had by all, except the Professor of Electrical Engineering. Some people can't handle the war room. I let them go early. Way to early. I forgot my time sheet at home today and I thought class ended at 11:30. I let my students go at 11:10. The students are never let go early - they loved it and they loved me.
When the break bell rang, I was alone in class. A student supervisor came to ask me a question, she was startled when there were no kids in the room. "They all went on break." I said. She believed it. Break ended and she hurried back to her class. I could hear them rumbling in the halls. I imagined my kids disrupting other classes, messing with the lunch ladies, violating the washrooms or even setting fire to the school. Who trusted me to teach a bunch of kids? That person is the one to blame. Class went on and the halls went silent. I heard heels walking down the marble halls. They sounded important. Tap, Tap, Tap. I held my breath. I held my breathe until those heels had walked past my door. Phew, no trouble. More time went by and again, another set of heels. Tap, Tap, Tap. I heard the door click. Oh no, I thought. Ruby, the faculty member in charge of foreign teachers, poked her head in. I was busted. "Oh," she paused. "Where are your students?" "I let them go early" "Oh." "They don't have their textbooks yet and I don't want to get too far ahead in the curriculum. There are only so many activities one can do without a textbook." Where does this stuff come from? I smiled. She bought it. I was sitting at the back of the classroom, hiding. She made the walk to the back. Tap, Tap, Tap went her heels. "I was wondering if you were having any problems with your life here? I could help you with?" I was. I hadn't got my meal-plan card yet to purchase lunches from the cafeteria. The students and other teachers kept buying me free lunches. "Nope, nothing at all. Everyone here is great." I smiled again. "OK. Well maybe today you would like to have lunch with me and Ms. Huh?" Ms. Huh was the English Department Head. "That would be lovely." Shit, too much sarcasm, I thought. "OK. Well we will meet you downstairs in the uh, how you say..." She motioned the front door/gate thing. "Lobby" I said. The joy of miscommunication. My sarcasm went unnoticed. "Lobby. OK good. I will go see Ms. Huh now and we will meet you downstairs." "Great. See you then" She turned and walked back to the front of the class. Tap, Tap, Tap. That went well. I sat and waited, watching the time tick by. Tap, Tap, Tap. The heels were back, coming toward me. Shit, shit, shit. I waited. The door handle turned. Enter Ms. Huh. "Oh. Where are your students?" Too easy, I smiled. "I let them leave early. They get their textbooks next week. There are only so many activities we can go through without their books. I didn't want to get too far in the curriculum before going through the first few chapters with the textbook." Even better the second time around. "Oh. OK." she said. She then made the walk to the back of the class. Tap, Tap, Tap. "Have you spoken to Ruby?" I said. She looked confused. "Ruby?" "That is her English name, I'm not sure of her Chinese name. She said she was meeting you on the 8th floor right now. Did you speak to her?" She still looked confused. "Oh. No. I..." "You should probably head up there, you probably just missed her in the hall. I think we are all having lunch." She still looked confused. "Oh. OK. I will talk to you later." "Great." I smiled. Tap, Tap, Tap she walked out the front of the class. That also went well. I couldn't lose in this place. Time went on and class finished. Ms. Huh and Ruby showed up at my door and we left and ate lunch with Alana, the other Canadian Teacher. The three of us ate at a hole-in-the-wall family joint. The food was delicious, but I was worried about food poisoning. The wife was coughing and the son was sneezing, but the food was great. It is my second day and I wouldn't be doing a worse job if I were trying to get fired. Mondays and Wednesdays, I travel to the North side of town on a University Sponsored - Coach bus, but Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have to take the city bus. Unfortunately for me, nobody showed me when to get off, or where I would be teaching. I was shown the entrance-way to the school (passing by in a taxi, I might add) and given shoddy directions to the building where I would be teaching. Needless to say, I missed my stop on the bus to school and got my dollar's worth riding around town. After a long delay, and seeing the entrance-way on my bus ride back, I finally arrived on campus with no idea where to go. There must have been 10 buildings, all marked in Chinese, and all I had was my class schedule, equally Chinese. The only distinguishable marker was the number 416. I hoped it was my room number.
I searched 5 or 6 buildings, looking for a classroom teaching English. I found none. I asked a passerby to look at my schedule and point out the building. She had no clue. My feet were aching and my frustrations mounted. I told myself one last building, then I'm going home. I climbed the four floors, searched for Room 416 and found a teacher teaching algebra. That's it, I thought, and I turned to head home. That's when I heard a voice. "Excuse me?" I turned a 180 in the vacant hall. "Are you the English teacher?" I could have kissed her there. "I hope so." I said. "I've been all over town looking for this classroom." I showed her my schedule. "Ahh yes, this is your room. When no one showed to teach, another teacher borrowed it for his lesson." She continued, her name Helen, to tell me that she let the students go after I did not show up. She asked me if I was teaching the next class after lunch, and I said I was. She told me that it was almost lunchtime, and that I should go find the cafeteria. I thanked her for the hundredth time and let her get back to her classroom. Helen the Saviour. I didn't bother with the cafeteria. I sat in Room 416 and ate an apple. I looked at my watch. 11:55. My class started at 10:15. I am the most popular, ignored person in China. It is humbling to walk down a city street and be the only white person. Everyone stares as you walk by but nobody can say hello. They'll whisper in Chinese as you pass by and giggle their Asian, anime giggles. It's a schizophrenic's nightmare. I've picked up a few words since I've been here, not enough for a conversation, but enough to show I'm trying. I'm an overgrown, self-sufficient child. I need help in public, but you can leave me alone and I should be OK.
The people are all very interesting. Everyone is an entrepreneur; like rats racing for cheese. There is very little kindness to one another. They are their first priority. They keep to themselves and hold privacy above all. It's not all negative. There is less gossip and small talk, very different from back home. I have a great view of a market and popular street for shopping. The roadway is very busy and great to watch, especially at rush hour. No one gives an inch or a damn. There is no compassion or courtesy: fender jammed against fender, they drive on. I can understand it: anybody who gives an inch causes a traffic jam, an accident or a loud horn. Everyone understands and no one is angry, it is the way it is. My apartment is filled with strange things. I have no shower door or curtain, just a drain in the middle of the room. After I shower, the bathroom is soaked, like the roof came off in the rain. My routine has had to adapt and it keeps me regular. I have to shower early in the morning, and after I've crapped and brushed my teeth, or the bathroom won't dry until dinner. The washrooms at school have no porcelain thrones, or paper to wipe oneself. Just a marble hole in the floor. I have yet to make the squat, but I will keep you posted. The outlets are terrible. Half of them are three-pronged, off-angled, monsters and the other are your basic, two-pronged, American looking ones. These ones are the slightest bit wider than the ones back home and ours definitely do not fit. I tried widening my alarm clock prongs in an attempt to make it work. It did for 30 seconds, before nearly burning down the apartment and frying the hardware in my clock. For all their advances, the Chinese have yet to master the home. Today was my first set of classes. I have no idea what I'm doing. The students do not have their textbooks yet, and I broke the class computer trying to get my CD/teaching aid to work. My improv skills were top notch, and I filled an hour and a half of material, three times. On campus I am a celebrity. Everyone wants a picture, and I have a crowd of girls following me wherever I go. It's tough. I brought a lunch but the other teachers wouldn't let me eat it. They bought me a lunch from the cafeteria that only Michael Phelps could finish. I felt bad letting it go to waste, so I ate as much as I could. My fan club bought me 4 drinks, all the same kind. I pissed the entire break, all 5 minutes. I'm looking to you people to send me personal insults and/or negative reviews about this blog to keep my head from getting too big. The meaner the better. Until then it's one day of class down, 2 semesters, less a day, to go. |