"Amelia, I'm in the hospital"
This is the first thing my, obviously very drugged, boyfriend said to me on the phone Tuesday. Because of my crappy cell phone and his pain- and drug-induced state of mind, the ensuing conversation was very confusing. All I knew was he tore up his knee, surgery was involved, he was going to to be in the hospital for multiple days, and I was too far away to do anything except worry.
The next day I found out that he had been rushed into emergency surgery on Tuesday night and he was laid up in a hospital near his school for at least a week. I was happy to hear he was doing much better and that I would be able to visit him later that day. That afternoon I skipped Chinese class and headed up to Dongmen where I bought a small plant in a very Chinese-looking pot and took a taxi to his hospital (he's obsessed with house plants, he has 10 or more in his apartment).
As soon as I was out of the taxi and surveyed my surroundings, I realized that finding him in this messy complex was not going to be easy. I knew the building number, floor, and room number I was heading to, but this complex looked as organized as a 5-year-olds Lego project: building 1 was next to building 2 which was next to building 6, and buildings 3-5 were not in plain sight. As a further complication, I could not remember the word for "building" so I couldn't even ask anyone if I had to. Eventually I happened upon a map with big numbers on it and saw that I had to walk through a sketchy-looking construction zone to get to the right place. I should not have been surprised by this because there are always sketchy-looking construction zones, and you always have to walk through the middle of them to get places. Such is life in a developing country.
I got to building 3 and saw the sign for "bone and joint surgery" and knew I was in the right place. As the elevator doors opened on the third floor I was greeted with big cloud of cigarette smoke. Apparently cigarette smoke is not bad for hospital patients in China.
As I entered the "bone and joint surgery" hallway I was greeted by a smiling, waving Chinese man I didn't recognize. I figured he must have seen a white person wandering around and assumed I was looking for the only white patient in the place (this, of course, was the correct assumption).
The room (like the rest of the hospital) felt reminiscent of a US hospital in the 1950's: four simple metal beds in a stark-white room, with patients wearing hospital gowns heavily faded from years of repeated washings. The room was full of people talking and shuffling bags of food and bottles of water, and the patient where laying there looking uncomfortable. Wally explained that the nurses in the hospital don't take care of people the way they do in the States: they administer medicine and run tests, but that's basically it. If patients need to eat, bathe, use a bedpan, or otherwise move around, it is up to family members to help them. This is unfortunate for a foreigner whose closest family members live on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, so a school employee has been appointed as his designated caretaker.
I had been there less than 15 minutes when a doctor walked in wearing a mask and well-worn scrubs, dragging a gurney. After a brief conversation with the caretaker it was clear that some sort of test or procedure was in order. I was assured that they don't bar visitors from any part of the hospital, so I was invited along to wherever it was he was headed.
We shuffled onto the elevator then down a twisting hallway to the radiology area. There we took a number and continued to the next building, up another elevator and into an ECG room. I stayed in the hallway while they pulled a sheet around him so passer-bys wouldn't be scandalized by his very un-Chinese amount of chest hair. After handing me the machine printout, we headed back to radiology where I again stayed in the hall while they x-rayed his chest, because they don't bother to protect anyone from unnecessary radiation.
Now, if you have been paying attention you might be asking yourself "If he tore up his knee, why does he need an ECG and a chest x-ray?" The answer is this: God only knows. He has no idea why they ran these tests, nor why they keep testing his blood sugar like some diabetes patient. His best guess is that it is some combination of curiosity about a foreigner, odd ideas of "health" in China, and a desire to run up the bill.
Eventually we made it back to his crowded room and he was (painfully) pushed back into bed. I stayed as long as I could without risking my ability to make it back to Longgang that night, and the rest of the time was pretty uneventful. Only time will tell how knee surgery recovery will go in China, but he seems to doing pretty well so far!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
The sports meeting and "Successful Land"
Last Wednesday morning I woke up sick. My throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, my nose was running, and as the day progressed I got shakier and shakier. Somehow, luckily, I ended up not teaching my two lessons that day because the teachers forgot I was supposed to, and after a trip to the school nurse I was armed with some Chinese medicine. The rest of the day I took it easy and made sure to go to bed early because I knew I had a couple of long days in front of me.
The next morning I was feeling a little better, so I put on my new track suit and ridiculous China shoes and headed downstairs bright and early for the opening ceremony of the "sports meeting". As it turns out, a "sports meeting" is basically a school-wide track meet, and because it is in China, there must be a certain level of pomp and circumstance to start it off. Because I am a token figure, rather than and actual teacher, I got to sit next to the principal and other administrators on the stage as the procession went by. First a group of kids in military uniforms marched by with flags, then each class in each grade went by and paused for some chant right in front of all of us. With nine grades and eight classes per grade, you can do the math and guess how long this whole thing took, but it was kind of cool. Some of the younger kids rode by on roller skates or bikes rather than marching, and some of them wiped out pretty bad. I'd love to say it wasn't funny, but it was.
After the opening ceremony was over and all the speeches were made, the events got going. There were races, shot put, archery, high jump, and the littlest kids did relay races and three-legged races in the middle of the track with their parents. I was asked by several people if this is how our sports meetings are in America. They didn't seem all that surprised when I told them we don't have sports meetings in America (I guess our reputation precedes us).
An hour or so later I heard my name (well, their bastardized pronunciation of my name) and someone whisked me away to the shot put area; apparently this is one of the things I signed up for. Everyone seemed very excited for me to be there because they were sure I was going to be very good at it. I, on the other hand, was nervous because I had never thrown a shot put before in my life, I have no idea how to do the spin thing, and I'm still slightly wimpy about my right shoulder. The first woman went, then the second, and I realized that "correct form" in not even remotely important and it was perfectly acceptable to sort of shuffle forward and hurl the ball. Fantastic. When my turn came, a grinning 8th grade boy who was in charge of fetching the shot put after we threw it, handed it to me with a thumbs up and said "Very good!" High praise indeed considering all I had done so far was not drop it on my foot. I shuffled up and threw it...a good two feet past all the other throws. A chorus of "very good!" and "so strong!" with plenty of thumbs-up showed their approval. My next throw went a couple feet past my first and my third went a couple feet past that. When all was said and done, not only had I beat all the other female teachers by over 2m, I had beat the school record by 7cm. Not bad for a rookie!
The next morning I was feeling a little better, so I put on my new track suit and ridiculous China shoes and headed downstairs bright and early for the opening ceremony of the "sports meeting". As it turns out, a "sports meeting" is basically a school-wide track meet, and because it is in China, there must be a certain level of pomp and circumstance to start it off. Because I am a token figure, rather than and actual teacher, I got to sit next to the principal and other administrators on the stage as the procession went by. First a group of kids in military uniforms marched by with flags, then each class in each grade went by and paused for some chant right in front of all of us. With nine grades and eight classes per grade, you can do the math and guess how long this whole thing took, but it was kind of cool. Some of the younger kids rode by on roller skates or bikes rather than marching, and some of them wiped out pretty bad. I'd love to say it wasn't funny, but it was.
After the opening ceremony was over and all the speeches were made, the events got going. There were races, shot put, archery, high jump, and the littlest kids did relay races and three-legged races in the middle of the track with their parents. I was asked by several people if this is how our sports meetings are in America. They didn't seem all that surprised when I told them we don't have sports meetings in America (I guess our reputation precedes us).
An hour or so later I heard my name (well, their bastardized pronunciation of my name) and someone whisked me away to the shot put area; apparently this is one of the things I signed up for. Everyone seemed very excited for me to be there because they were sure I was going to be very good at it. I, on the other hand, was nervous because I had never thrown a shot put before in my life, I have no idea how to do the spin thing, and I'm still slightly wimpy about my right shoulder. The first woman went, then the second, and I realized that "correct form" in not even remotely important and it was perfectly acceptable to sort of shuffle forward and hurl the ball. Fantastic. When my turn came, a grinning 8th grade boy who was in charge of fetching the shot put after we threw it, handed it to me with a thumbs up and said "Very good!" High praise indeed considering all I had done so far was not drop it on my foot. I shuffled up and threw it...a good two feet past all the other throws. A chorus of "very good!" and "so strong!" with plenty of thumbs-up showed their approval. My next throw went a couple feet past my first and my third went a couple feet past that. When all was said and done, not only had I beat all the other female teachers by over 2m, I had beat the school record by 7cm. Not bad for a rookie!
Students hanging out
Me with a couple of 7th graders...why do they look so scared?!?!
China Shoes
I was supposed to run in a 100m race later that day, but I didn't hear my name because I was busy chatting with last years foreign teacher, Michael. He teaches at a different school in Longgang this year and had the afternoon off, so he stopped by to watch. We spent the afternoon chatting about sports day and having our pictures taken by students (sometimes they asked first, sometimes they didn't). At some point they told us that there would be a dinner later and they wanted Michael to come along too. He accepted and at 5:30pm all the teachers and administrators piled into a couple of buses and headed to the restaurant. As we turned into the parking lot we saw a beautiful open-air restaurant, situated in the middle of a garden, partially up a hill. We also heard the first murmurs of gou rou.
Gou rou is one of the things in China that disgusts Americans. The mere thought of it makes most of us shudder and think "how could they?!?" Gou rou (狗肉) is dog meat. I was told that many old Chinese people think that gou rou is very good for your healthy and it is warm for your inside. With hesitant anticipation they asked, "will you try?"
"Yeah, I'll try a little"
We sat down and dinner started to come pretty quickly. Gou rou was the second dish to arrive and it was disgusting. I'm sure that this was partially psychosomatic and partially because the two bites I tried were too fatty, but either way I'm not a fan. Before long the toasting started. Since I was just starting to feel better from my cold, the last thing I wanted to do was drink beer. However, since I had put on such a performance last time we all drank together, and because Michael was there, I felt there was little I could do about it without being rude.
I woke up the next morning with a vague memory of being in the Principal's living room drinking tea and found a drunken text conversation on my phone (and was later told I also had a drunken regular conversation on the phone). I also found that, even though my throat felt better, I was completely unable to speak. Mei guan xi ("never mind" 没关系), I put my track suit back on and headed downstairs for day two of the sports meeting.
All the teachers I saw at the track greeted me with a hearty "Hey! Amelia! How's your throat?" (in some combination of Chinese and/or English) and I found out that I had apparently spoken Chinese all night long in my drunken stupor. Fantastic. I was told many times that I speak it very well and I should use it more, though, so that's a moderately good sign. All the students I saw asked "Who was that guy you were with yesterday?" and seemed very disappointed by the answer of "another foreign teacher"; apparently they were really hoping he was my boyfriend.
The very last event of the sports meeting was the teachers' relay race. Each grade picks 4 women and 2 men to compete in a 4x250 race. I, of course, was included in this race and all the other teachers seemed to think this was unfair...except the lone female p.e. teacher who took it as a personal challenge. Before the race I was told by many teachers that I should run slowly and one teacher even said "may your legs work as well as your voice today"...which I thought was hilarious. They explained to me, no less than 10 times, that one teacher was going to hand me the baton when it was my turn to run, and when I was done I was supposed to hand it to this other teacher. I'm not sure why they were so sure I was going to get this confused, but it was nice that they were keeping me informed.
I was the 5th person on my team to go and by the time I was up we were already behind by a few places. I took off running and all the students lost it. They were yelling and screaming and I was running faster than I had any business running. In the last stretch I felt my weight was getting pitched too far forward, but I was able to right myself. Just as I was back on balance, the teacher running in front of me wiped out; I was so glad it was her and not me! I handed off the baton (nearly taking out the teacher I was handing it to) and a few minutes later the race was over and we got third place. Lots of "good job" and "so fast" all around, and it was back to the stage for the closing ceremony. About 45 minutes of speeches and certificates later, I was up in my room preparing for the weekend.
Closing ceremony
Me, Joy, Maggie, and Michael
Earlier in the day I had been invited to an event taking place that evening and continuing through the next day. It wasn't clear what exactly was going on, all I was told was that it would be relaxing, there might be a boat, it would be a good chance to practice Chinese, and it would be cold. With that description in mind I packed a small bag of things and went down to the gate at 5:30, as instructed.
As I waited for someone to show up and tell me where to go, a well-meaning teacher asked me where I was going. The following conversation went on in a combination of broken Chinese and broken English:
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know, I'm supposed to take a bus."
"But the bus just left!"
"I know, not that bus."
"Okay, where are you going?"
"I don't know where I'm going. No one told me, they told me to wait here."
"But if you tell me where you are going I can help you."
"I don't know where I'm going, but the 7th grade English teacher does."
At this point she either understood or got tired of trying because she just smiled and awkwardly said "Okay, I go now!"
Before long some other teachers showed up and we all piled onto a big bus and headed to the nearby town of Fenggang. We ate a delicious dinner in a nice restaurant (complete with some campy-looking live singers who tried to impress me with their English) and then stowed our stuff in our luxe hotel rooms before heading to the spa. At the spa we relaxed for a couple hours and got foot massages before heading back to the hotel around midnight.
The next morning we tried to sleep in (no easy task for a bunch of teachers who get up at 6 or 7am every single day) and had a late breakfast before heading off to the real reason for this excursion: a meeting. Luckily they took pity on me and let me sit out of the meeting which was, of course, totally in Chinese. The 7th grade English teacher also played hooky to sit outside and chat. We had some really interesting conversations about language and culture, and I was shocked at how good her English is when she gets going!
The meeting lasted about 3 hours, so at about 1pm we headed to the next part of the outing: barbecue. We pulled up to a park, cheerily named "Successful Land" and were carted off to the grill area. Now, Chinese dining is generally a free-for-all, so of course a barbecue is no different. You sit around the pit and everyone cooks stuff and eats it as it finishes. We had vegetables, hot dogs, chicken, pork, yams and more. There was rampant bone-spitting and loud chewing, and it was delicious!
The melee went on for about an hour before we were handed some ticket things and told to "go have fun". We rode paddle boats, shot arrows, played with clay, rode a carousel, did bumper cars, rode a horse, and rode the scariest roller coaster I've ever seen. Now, I'm not really a fan of roller coasters anyway because I'm generally not a fan of being thrown around in the name of fun; and riding a Chinese roller coaster sounds just plain suicidal. This thing looked like it was constructed in 1953 and it's last paint job was probably in 1997. It was small and creaky and the seat belts looked like they were swiped from an old Grand Am. Despite my better judgement I got in and held on and, against all odds, survived the experience.
We finally left Successful Land and Fenggang around dinnertime and I rushed off to downtown Shenzhen to hang out with some friends and listen to a live band. Finally, on Sunday I was able to really rest, relax, and start to recover from my cold and the ridiculous events of the last few days!
As I waited for someone to show up and tell me where to go, a well-meaning teacher asked me where I was going. The following conversation went on in a combination of broken Chinese and broken English:
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know, I'm supposed to take a bus."
"But the bus just left!"
"I know, not that bus."
"Okay, where are you going?"
"I don't know where I'm going. No one told me, they told me to wait here."
"But if you tell me where you are going I can help you."
"I don't know where I'm going, but the 7th grade English teacher does."
At this point she either understood or got tired of trying because she just smiled and awkwardly said "Okay, I go now!"
Before long some other teachers showed up and we all piled onto a big bus and headed to the nearby town of Fenggang. We ate a delicious dinner in a nice restaurant (complete with some campy-looking live singers who tried to impress me with their English) and then stowed our stuff in our luxe hotel rooms before heading to the spa. At the spa we relaxed for a couple hours and got foot massages before heading back to the hotel around midnight.
The next morning we tried to sleep in (no easy task for a bunch of teachers who get up at 6 or 7am every single day) and had a late breakfast before heading off to the real reason for this excursion: a meeting. Luckily they took pity on me and let me sit out of the meeting which was, of course, totally in Chinese. The 7th grade English teacher also played hooky to sit outside and chat. We had some really interesting conversations about language and culture, and I was shocked at how good her English is when she gets going!
The meeting lasted about 3 hours, so at about 1pm we headed to the next part of the outing: barbecue. We pulled up to a park, cheerily named "Successful Land" and were carted off to the grill area. Now, Chinese dining is generally a free-for-all, so of course a barbecue is no different. You sit around the pit and everyone cooks stuff and eats it as it finishes. We had vegetables, hot dogs, chicken, pork, yams and more. There was rampant bone-spitting and loud chewing, and it was delicious!
The melee went on for about an hour before we were handed some ticket things and told to "go have fun". We rode paddle boats, shot arrows, played with clay, rode a carousel, did bumper cars, rode a horse, and rode the scariest roller coaster I've ever seen. Now, I'm not really a fan of roller coasters anyway because I'm generally not a fan of being thrown around in the name of fun; and riding a Chinese roller coaster sounds just plain suicidal. This thing looked like it was constructed in 1953 and it's last paint job was probably in 1997. It was small and creaky and the seat belts looked like they were swiped from an old Grand Am. Despite my better judgement I got in and held on and, against all odds, survived the experience.
We finally left Successful Land and Fenggang around dinnertime and I rushed off to downtown Shenzhen to hang out with some friends and listen to a live band. Finally, on Sunday I was able to really rest, relax, and start to recover from my cold and the ridiculous events of the last few days!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
So beautiful! So fat!
I'm not sure how this happened, but I have managed to sign up for every event at the "sports meeting" that is being held "maybe some day in November". I don't know what exactly this means, but I'm fairly certain I have to run at least twice and throw something. I also don't know when exactly this meeting is going to take place, but I do know this: I get free clothes.
Last week I got a slip of paper from the newspaper lady that was covered in characters with "Coleman" printed at the top. I suspected that this meant I had something to pick up from the post office, and after an unnecessarily long and painful conversation with Maggie it turns out I was right. On Thursday I had a few hours off in the afternoon so I decided to try and get my mail. Because I don't know where the post office is, and I'm nearly certain they won't speak English, this would almost certainly be an adventure. As I was walking out of the school gates to get on the bus, the principal, Mr. James, pulled up out of nowhere in his van and hollered, "Amelia! Where are you going?"
"The post office"
"Mmmm, okay, get in."
So there I was, in a van with Mr. James, Perfect (remember him?), and two people I don't know, going to the post office. Presumably we were going to go somewhere else too, but no one bothered to tell me.
When we got to the post office Mr. James sent Perfect in with me, and it's a good thing he did. In order to pick up my mail I had to fill out some form (written entirely in Chinese, of course) and make a photocopy of my passport. This would have likely been impossible if I had been there by myself.
Package in hand we got back in the van where they finally told me what part two of the trip would be: shopping. The explained to me about sports day (which I had already signed up for earlier in the day) and told me that we were going to pick out a sports outfit that all the teachers get for the occasion.
This shopping took took two hours in two locations, totally in Chinese. Needless to say I was pretty bored, but I definitely know the word for "pants" now (kuzi 裤子). Eventually some decision must have been made because we were back in the van heading home. On the way out the door someone stopped and bought some juice drinks for all of us. I had no idea what it was, but no matter how many times I said that they insisted on asking "How do you say this in English?" We eventually settled on: it is something that sugar is made out of and it comes from Cuba.
Fast-forward to a few minutes ago, when I was summoned by Maggie with the usual "Amelia! Okay, let's go". As we walked she explained that we get free clothes and shoes for sports day, so I need to tell them my size. "Maybe you can get the men's clothes," she giggled. "Maybe," I said through a gritted-teeth smile. She has made this joke before and, given the clothing situation in China, it should be funny. However, as the resident freak-of-nature it's a little irritating to have these sentiments vocalized.
When we got there I was immediately the focus of gaped-mouth attention from the kitchen staff who were almost done trying on stuff. I'm not sure why they were so intrigued because they literally see me every single day. Anyway, I was handed a men's XXL shirt which was waaay to big and then a medium which was fine. They then held up a medium pair of women's pants which were laughably small. No, we all agreed and someone stuck their foot next to mine to compare sizes.
Soon a pair of shoes showed up that (shockingly) fit! Then they decided that I needed a women's shirt, not a men's, and my women's size is definitely a XXXL. I told them that I'm sure that XL would be just fine, but they insisted that there is another woman in the school that is as fat as me and she's getting an XXXL. Yup, they called me fat.
So my XXXL shirt, XXL pants, and shoes are ordered, and I'm still not entirely sure why my presence was necessary since I didn't actually have a say in any of it. As for being called the f-word: I'm not that upset, I guess, since I think they are a little confused about the differences between and connotations of "fat"and "big" and "tall" and "strong". And even if they meant it, I do get told that I'm "so beautiful" every single day, so a good "you're fat" every once in a while just keeps my ego from over-inflating.
Last week I got a slip of paper from the newspaper lady that was covered in characters with "Coleman" printed at the top. I suspected that this meant I had something to pick up from the post office, and after an unnecessarily long and painful conversation with Maggie it turns out I was right. On Thursday I had a few hours off in the afternoon so I decided to try and get my mail. Because I don't know where the post office is, and I'm nearly certain they won't speak English, this would almost certainly be an adventure. As I was walking out of the school gates to get on the bus, the principal, Mr. James, pulled up out of nowhere in his van and hollered, "Amelia! Where are you going?"
"The post office"
"Mmmm, okay, get in."
So there I was, in a van with Mr. James, Perfect (remember him?), and two people I don't know, going to the post office. Presumably we were going to go somewhere else too, but no one bothered to tell me.
When we got to the post office Mr. James sent Perfect in with me, and it's a good thing he did. In order to pick up my mail I had to fill out some form (written entirely in Chinese, of course) and make a photocopy of my passport. This would have likely been impossible if I had been there by myself.
Package in hand we got back in the van where they finally told me what part two of the trip would be: shopping. The explained to me about sports day (which I had already signed up for earlier in the day) and told me that we were going to pick out a sports outfit that all the teachers get for the occasion.
This shopping took took two hours in two locations, totally in Chinese. Needless to say I was pretty bored, but I definitely know the word for "pants" now (kuzi 裤子). Eventually some decision must have been made because we were back in the van heading home. On the way out the door someone stopped and bought some juice drinks for all of us. I had no idea what it was, but no matter how many times I said that they insisted on asking "How do you say this in English?" We eventually settled on: it is something that sugar is made out of and it comes from Cuba.
Fast-forward to a few minutes ago, when I was summoned by Maggie with the usual "Amelia! Okay, let's go". As we walked she explained that we get free clothes and shoes for sports day, so I need to tell them my size. "Maybe you can get the men's clothes," she giggled. "Maybe," I said through a gritted-teeth smile. She has made this joke before and, given the clothing situation in China, it should be funny. However, as the resident freak-of-nature it's a little irritating to have these sentiments vocalized.
When we got there I was immediately the focus of gaped-mouth attention from the kitchen staff who were almost done trying on stuff. I'm not sure why they were so intrigued because they literally see me every single day. Anyway, I was handed a men's XXL shirt which was waaay to big and then a medium which was fine. They then held up a medium pair of women's pants which were laughably small. No, we all agreed and someone stuck their foot next to mine to compare sizes.
Soon a pair of shoes showed up that (shockingly) fit! Then they decided that I needed a women's shirt, not a men's, and my women's size is definitely a XXXL. I told them that I'm sure that XL would be just fine, but they insisted that there is another woman in the school that is as fat as me and she's getting an XXXL. Yup, they called me fat.
So my XXXL shirt, XXL pants, and shoes are ordered, and I'm still not entirely sure why my presence was necessary since I didn't actually have a say in any of it. As for being called the f-word: I'm not that upset, I guess, since I think they are a little confused about the differences between and connotations of "fat"and "big" and "tall" and "strong". And even if they meant it, I do get told that I'm "so beautiful" every single day, so a good "you're fat" every once in a while just keeps my ego from over-inflating.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
I'd rather shower with a garden hose.
On September 10th I wrote about my apartment and concluded with "...but I'll save the shower story for another time." If you have been paying attention to my blog, then you may have noticed that I never followed up on that promise. There is a very good reason for this: I'm not ready to find the humor in the situation yet.
From day 1, showering at my apartment has been...well...bad. The shower is just in the middle of the bathroom, the water pressure is terrible, and (worst of all) the water is rarely warm. Rarely. In the first two months of living here I have had less than 10 warm-water showers, and by "warm" I mean "scalding". Basically I either freeze or boil my skin off.
I have tried different strategies to remedy this situation: showering at different times of the day, turning the air conditioner off 20 minutes before taking a shower, going for a jog right before, etc. with varying levels of success. Some days it's not too bad, and some days I have to keep reminding myself that a lot of people have it a lot worse than this, just to keep from crying.
After a couple months of this I finally had enough and I emailed a CTLC coordinator to see if there was something I could try to do about it, and he told me to ask my school.
I asked my contact teacher about it and she sent the maintenance man up to check it out. Now, if you recall, I have had a handful of warm showers, which means that sometimes it works. Of course, it decided to work when the maintenance man came. You should have seen this man demonstrating how a shower works: "turn this way, warm...turn this way, cold" while making me feel the water, Helen Keller-style.
He chuckled to himself as he left (can you blame him?), and I'm certain that it took all of 4 hours for everyone in the school to know all about it. I was completely enraged by this situation because, not only is nothing going to change, but also I look like a total moron.
The shower has been working slightly more consistently this last week, so maybe somehow the damned thing fixed itself...but only time will tell....
From day 1, showering at my apartment has been...well...bad. The shower is just in the middle of the bathroom, the water pressure is terrible, and (worst of all) the water is rarely warm. Rarely. In the first two months of living here I have had less than 10 warm-water showers, and by "warm" I mean "scalding". Basically I either freeze or boil my skin off.
I have tried different strategies to remedy this situation: showering at different times of the day, turning the air conditioner off 20 minutes before taking a shower, going for a jog right before, etc. with varying levels of success. Some days it's not too bad, and some days I have to keep reminding myself that a lot of people have it a lot worse than this, just to keep from crying.
After a couple months of this I finally had enough and I emailed a CTLC coordinator to see if there was something I could try to do about it, and he told me to ask my school.
I asked my contact teacher about it and she sent the maintenance man up to check it out. Now, if you recall, I have had a handful of warm showers, which means that sometimes it works. Of course, it decided to work when the maintenance man came. You should have seen this man demonstrating how a shower works: "turn this way, warm...turn this way, cold" while making me feel the water, Helen Keller-style.
He chuckled to himself as he left (can you blame him?), and I'm certain that it took all of 4 hours for everyone in the school to know all about it. I was completely enraged by this situation because, not only is nothing going to change, but also I look like a total moron.
The shower has been working slightly more consistently this last week, so maybe somehow the damned thing fixed itself...but only time will tell....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)