Flirting in Babel

I’ve always had trouble understanding accents. Not just foreign accents; strong regional American accents still give me trouble too. Experience and age have gradually extended my Radius of Comprehension™ but I still find myself making a conscious effort to understand.

It’s because of this Babel-esque shortcoming that I was so proud this past week to check “Flirt with a woman who barely speaks English” from my List of Things to Do before I Die. Not a hardcore seduction or anything like that (that’s farther down the list), just some lighthearted fun.

I wondered for years how I’d even go about something like that, given the opportunity.  Like, if a pair of boots was handy I could try to get my message across by knocking them together invitingly and hope such sexual euphemisms are trans-cultural. But I so rarely wear boots that I’d probably never find myself with that kind of a set up. Would the message get across properly with sneakers? Or would the footwear be generalized to the point where she thinks I’m making a Wizard of Oz reference? I have enough trouble communicating clearly with fellow English speakers, I couldn’t rule out the possibility. But when the time came I worked around that using the universal medium of Body Language.

My organization hosted a conference in Chicago which is typically attended by students and professionals from around the world.  I did lots of things during the five days I was there, including some time helping at the registration desk. Everyone that pre-registered was supposed to indicate whether they intended to have lunch onsite so the meeting planners would know how much to order. If you’ve ever worked behind the scene for a meeting of professionals, or have read some of my past entries, it should come as no surprise that once you have the total you have to dumb it upward to account for all the people that didn’t realize you have to actually check the “I want to eat” box if you want the meeting planners to know you want to eat. As I understand it, 5% - 10% is the standard dumb-up. And while you inevitably end up with extra food, this is considered preferable to having insufficient food.

[Side note: I used to think it was an exception rather than the rule, but the more people with advanced degrees I work with, the more I’m convinced absent-mindedness is positively correlated with higher education. The people that forgot to sign up for food were overwhelmingly PhDs, with just a sprinkling of Graduate degree holders and couple of Graduate students. I guess they’re so preoccupied with contemplating matters of deep societal impact that the basics slip their notice. Which means a man wandering the streets without pants could be either insane or a genius on the verge of curing AIDS. Since it would be better to leave him uninterrupted either way, I guess it doesn’t matter which is which. But I’m veering way off topic.]

Having been at the registration desk on the first day around lunchtime, I saw that the meeting planners had overestimated the degree to which they had to dumb up the numbers since there was far more leftover food than they’d have liked.  So, whereas on the first day we were carefully monitoring who was eating and who wasn’t so as not to run out, the second day we were far less meticulous about handing out vouchers. Not that we made this public knowledge.

A young woman came up to me and I recognized her as one of a group of students from Chung-Ang University in Korea. Through a combination of hand-signs and a couple words in English she indicated that she’d either misplaced her voucher or had left it at her hotel.  Since we were handing these things out like candy I could’ve just given her one and had that be the end of it. But I was bored and she was cute there’s room in my moral code for the occasional white lie.

I nodded sympathetically as she finished her explanation. Glancing around conspiratorially, I waited until my co-workers weren’t looking before snaking my hand into the voucher box, fishing one out and placing it flat under my palm on the table.

“Ooh!” she said, in apparent admiration of the ninja-like skills employed to her benefit.

I put a finger up to my lips. Ssh! Then I broke eye contact as I pretended to look something up on my computer when my supervisor glanced in my direction.

“Sorry!” she whispered, smiling wide.

When my supervisor went back to what she was doing I slid the voucher the rest of the way across the table and gave her a wink.

“Thank you!” she said, still whispering, before heading back to her friends. I have no idea what she said to them but I got a couple of waves and nods. Except for this one guy who maintained the same scowl I’d seen on him the entire day before. I’ll blame jet lag.

Altogether no big deal, but I’m guessing tuna tastes better when you think a smitten stranger stole it for you.

The Rival

For the past three years I’ve have an ongoing love/hate relationship with a woman I used to work with.  We occasionally try to be friends but invariably end up trying to crush each other.  The frequency of these exchanges slowed after she moved to a new position over a year ago but, for various reasons, we stay in contact.  For my part I’ve come to enjoy the challenge that only a good rival can bring to a social jujitsu match. I assume it’s the same on her part, but I’ve never asked.

It started when, shortly after she began working there, she made a sarcastic remark about my wardrobe.  Given that I wore the same few outfits every few days, selected for simplicity, my lack of fashion sense wasn’t news to me. However, I didn’t appreciate the newbie trying to assert herself at my expense, especially when her extensions looked like they were a little overdue for replacement.  I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it was something along the lines of “Yeah. By the way that’s nice hair you got there, Cartoon Cuts.” She was a little taken aback, but didn’t say anything else. I assumed the matter was closed.

However, over next few weeks the remarks kept coming. I took it in stride and gave as well as I took, but I couldn’t figure out why she was so persistent.  That is, not until I started asking around about the new girl.  I found out that she had ambitions of becoming a professional hairstylist one day.  She had even gone to hairstylist school for several years and had her own little side business working weddings, all to build her portfolio.  So, whereas her initial barb had implied that I was a little lazy that morning, mine had cavalierly said “You suck at your life.” You just don’t come back from a first day like that.

Although the relationship would never recover from its rocky beginning, one or the other would occasionally offer a truce. But all that mutual distrust inevitably ended up making one interpret the other’s proffered olive branch as a disguised battleaxe.  Like when I ordered lunch for a few people and hers was the only one that was wrong upon delivery.  Or when I lent her one of my books and she misplaced it. Nothing overtly hostile (or necessarily intentional) but always enough to make the other suspicious. Eventually we settled into a routine of lukewarm distance interspersed with jabs.  And the occasional uppercut.

One day I was out getting lunch and I happened to run into her in the same cafeteria.  We said “Hey” to each other but that was the extent of our interaction. We’d been getting along at that point so, since I figured we were on a “love” leg of our love/hate relationship, I waited around for her just beyond the checkout counter after I got my food.  Apparently it was a bad call; when she finally came through the line she glanced at me and said “What are you still doing here? I’ll bet you were waiting for me, weren’t you?”

Under other circumstances it would have been optimal to say “Yes” and let the display of kindness begin to repair the relationship. But in love/hate relationships like ours, if I got caught in Kind Mode while she was in Attack Mode that would be risky for me.  (It’s like exposing your soft underbelly to a predator and relying on hope that they don’t rip out your intestines.) I hate to lose at anything, but especially at competitive relationships, so I had to think fast to flip this to my advantage.

“Yeah, right,” I said, as if that were the most ridiculous idea I’d ever heard. I knew that would buy me a few microseconds to plan my next move.

I quickly scanned the line, looking for another co-worker.  It was a popular place for people to eat so there was a good chance someone would be there. All I had to do was find someone else that I could plausibly be waiting for and, if she fell for my bluff, I’d come out on top after making her look like a fool for “mistakenly” calling me out.

That’s when I saw the perfect opportunity.  Just coming through the line was the new receptionist, a young Hispanic man who’d started the week before.  They’d sent around an announcement e-mail his first day so we’d know who the new guy sitting out front was, but I’d had a flood of e-mails that week and could no longer remember whether his name was Carlos or Miguel.  I decided to take a gamble on my friend/foe not knowing his name either. I nodded in his direction and nonchalantly said “I’m waiting for my friend, Miguel.”  I was rocking the straight-faced lie. I was in the zone.

She glanced over at him and without missing a beat said “That guy’s name is Carlos.”

Dammit.

So I’d lost that round. But getting the most out of your love/hate relationship requires learning to lose gracefully and I’d given it a good shot so I could be proud of my loss.  I thought it was over, but it turns out I’d made an even bigger miscalculation.  Not only did she know his name, but she’d actually come to the cafeteria with him.  The problem with this is that she then walked over to him, and, I could only assume since I couldn’t hear her, began to tell him about what I’d just tried to pull.

Having the story of my called bluff would have been simply embarrassing.  This was her right as victor, but it was about to take a turn for the worse.  Dissatisfied with a mere, well-timed uppercut she followed up with a  as she took her triumph, plunged it into my gut and twisted.  Although I couldn’t make out the entire conversation, I did hear as she ended her story with a very pronounced “Miguel!” and laughed. At that point Carlos looked at me, clearly displeased, and said loud enough for me to hear “He’s just ignorant.”

Dammit!

I’m not sure whether she planned it that way but now I’m a racist who thinks all Hispanic guys are named Miguel.  Carlos silently glared at me for weeks whenever I entered or left the building. Had I been aware that they already knew each other I never would have tried it in the first place, but I didn’t think he’d ever find out I’d drafted him unwittingly as a weapon into our ongoing war. In my haste to find a cover story, I’d forgotten to fully consider the potential fallout of incorrectly guessing a minority has an ethnic name.  This is exactly what went through my mind when I decided not to ask Chung what his name was, but in that case there wasn’t a face-saving time crunch involved.

We still have our back-and-forth, and I did get her back pretty good a while later, but I’ve yet to come up with anything quite as good as that.  Do I know how to pick a rival or what?

Malfunctions

The A/C unit at my office stopped working, so my boss asked me to call the local HVAC repair agencies to see who could get here soonest.  I just called the fourth one.  When the guy answered I told him our A/C wasn't working and asked how soon they could have someone over to take a look at it.

He paused, then asked "So it's not working?"

Wondering to myself what we'd spent the last 30 seconds discussing if not this very subject, I replied "No."

Another pause. Then "Well, what is it doing?"

Hot, annoyed and aware that there are plenty of alternatives to choose from I reply "It's hurling racial epithets. Please contact the NAACP."

I don't think he got it. I don't care. I have more calls to make.

McLovin

http://mdn.mainichi.jp/culture/waiwai/news/20080428p2g00m0dm003000c.html

I enjoy tales of audacity, even when it's audacity born of a low porn budget.

I particularly liked that the customer that called the cops became suspicious, not because of any overt signs of a porno in progress, but because they judged the girl to be too hot for the guys she came in with.  As it is, I try not to call too much attention to myself in public. (It's not that I'm usually doing anything wrong, but if the urge should strike me I'd like to keep my options open.) But I'll be damned if I have to forgo the company of beautiful women lest I be suspected of being a pornographer.

Stealth Toilet Test

I'm tired of women that complain about men leaving the toilet seat up. What they don't realize is that it's a stealthy personality test. What can we infer about a woman who sits down on the toilet without checking the seat first? We can infer that she plops her bare nethers down without looking where she's plopping them, that's what. Read between the lines, gentlemen: Women who fall into the toilet are sluts.