Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Great Expectorations

I am generally a pretty upbeat person.  I have a pretty positive attitude, and am not prone to grumpiness.  But I do occasionally fall into a kind of agitated state.  It seems kind of cyclical, almost monthly.  If I was a more introspective person who kept a daily journal. covering all of my moods and thoughts, I might be able to ascertain a pattern.  Instead, I'll just rely on my gut, and say it could be a lunar cycle, and call it Periodic Malaise Syndrome.  I had it bad last Sunday morning.
Weekends are my busy time.  I have classes starting early Saturday morning and ending at 8:30 Saturday night.  I have to be back with the rugrats at 9:30 am on Sunday for another long day.  Last Sunday, I woke up very early.  I couldn't get back to sleep.  My head hurt.  My muscles were sore.  I was excessively snappish.  I was dreading a day with lively Chinese children, a few which have behavioral shortcomings that would challenge even the most doting grandmother.
We have moved our class to a small apartment which is on the 12th floor of  a nearby building.  I get there by walking 10 minutes down a pedestrian street.  On Sunday mornings, this street is pretty crowded.  Like Wal Mart Christmas season crowded.  It's China, there are 1.3 billion people, it gets crowded!  
It takes a certain frame of mind to be able to deal with constant swarms of people without having a massive fit.  Zen calm, and a kind of psychic Great Wall are optimal.  Unfortunately my inner beast was struggling to escape and I had only a fingernail grip on it. It was hot, November 2nd, muggy and hot.  The air was hazy. Everything felt dirty, in fact it was dirty,  the flagstones on the pedestrian street covered with dust, spit, old gum, dropped sodas, and dead ice cream cones. 
A man was walking right behind me, trying mightily to clear his throat as only a chain smoking Chinese peasant can do.  I visibly flinched at every slimy hawking sound this wretch was making.
No matter how fast I walked, he kept pace, all the while making rasping, strangled, gargling noises.  These sounds would please a vulture that was waiting for a meal.  Kind of like the ding on a carrion eater's microwave, but it was not pleasing to me.  He eventually brought up the vile contents of his lungs and proudly let fly a projectile to add to the scuzz on the street.  
I walked even faster, weaving around the various clusters of people, and dodging the bikes.  (Pedestrian street in China means that there are no cars, and fewer motorbikes.)  I'd worked up a good sweat by the time I reached the building entrance.  Of course I had to wait for the lift. (It's much easier to say than elevator.  Just saying "elevator" that morning would have pushed me over the brink.)  It's a tiny box.  There are two of them, but the building owner only keeps one of them going at a time, in case one breaks, I think.
The door opened, and a puffy eyed, no neck, flat top douche smoking a shitty smelling Chinese cigarette, stepped out.  I managed to refrain from spitting on him and hauled my sweat soaked, edgy self into that wobbly Third World conveyance.  As I rode up, alone, I hoped for a few moments of quiet in the classroom before the kids arrived, so that I could try to attain some kind of semblance of niceness.  There was a good chance of this since I was 10 minutes early, and many people here are chronically late to everything, especially their kid's English lesson.
However, my assistant was already there, along with every kid.  She was surrounded by mothers and grandmothers, who were all talking loudly at once, as only women here can do.  The kids were running amok all over the place, screaming, scribbling all over the board, jumping, and throwing things.  All the while, the adults were carrying on with their near shouting conversations, blithely ignoring them.  There were a couple of kids who were quiet, but were most likely taking a moment to plan evil deeds.
I set up my computer, and ran the guardians out.  We got the kids seated.  They were wound up.  They were ready to commit mayhem.  There were two boys in particular that were goggle eyed and fidgeting, ready to spend the next hour spazzing out and bringing the rest of the class along for the ride.  I gave them The Look.
The Look is something I got from my father.  He grew up during The Great Depression on a bleak ranch in eastern New Mexico.  He had been a Marine.  He was a warm, charming man, but if need be, he could intimidate a rattlesnake.  With The Look.  My version is a pale imitation, but I have his eyes, and since I'm such a lovable teacher, and never use it, it is highly effective.  They shut up.  They calmed down.  They were good kids!  They were fun, good kids! Class was fun.  The next class was great, too.  When I went home for lunch, the weather had changed.  The wind was blowing from the north and it was 15 degrees cooler.  I'd gotten past my male PMS and all was well.  I was back in my Zen state, and the Great Wall was back up, so that I could handle the crowds with ease.  I enjoyed watching the folks through my wrap around shades.  They were smoking, laughing and spitting.  A toddler almost peed on my foot. I was enjoying it again.