And now for something I think you’ll really like (written for Peace Corps Ukraine’s volunteer newsletter “Nu Shcho,” February 2004
Communication Breakdown
And now for something I think you’ll really like (written for Peace Corps Ukraine’s volunteer newsletter “Nu Shcho,” February 2004.
It’s mid-afternoon on a Wednesday and my stomach tells me it’s hungry. So I say, “no way—I stuffed two kilos of kasha and fried potatoes into you less than four hours ago—there’s just no way.”
But then it says, “well yes, yes this is true—but you forgot about that emergency run to the toilet you swore on your mothers grave you’d never use in a million years about two hours ago and whether you like it or not, it’s time to eat again.”
“Dang,” says I.
Ten minutes later, I find myself in conversation with my school’s lunch lady, where I’m told in Russian I pretend to understand but clearly don’t, that I have to eat later because she is going into town.
“That’s alright,” I say in my best Ukrainian. “I’ll just sit here—I don’t mind waiting a little while for you to cook my food.”
“What are you talking about?” she says in her indecipherable Russian, “I’m going into town and if you want to eat now I’ll have to lock you inside the cafeteria while I’m gone and I won’t be back for about 45 minutes.”
“Like I said, no sweat” I say. “Take your time cooking a delicious meal for me.”
She shrugs her shoulders and disappears into the kitchen.
One minute later, she places a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes and meat before me.
“That was quick—when you said I’d have to wait, I thought you meant like 20 minutes,” I say.
The lunch lady shakes her head at me and leaves the room.
I inhale my mashed potatoes and slurp up my soupy meat. Finished and full, I courteously take my dishes to the lunch counter and wait a moment for the lunch lady to reappear from the kitchen.
But she doesn’t.
I wait a few more moments, and then shout a quick “Hello!” (and realize immediately after doing so that it was a stupid thing to yell in a Ukrainian cafeteria—but what do Ukrainians say to get each other’s attention?).
Thinking maybe she’s stepped out for a moment, I decide I’ll pay her later. Walking toward the door, I notice it is closed. Pushing on the door, I realize it is locked. Looking through the glass windows of the door at the students collecting in the hall, staring back at me, I understand: I’m an idiot.
I quickly turn around and assess the situation. I’m locked inside the cafeteria, about 40 students are pointing and laughing at me for being in such a predicament, and I have no real idea what to do with myself.
I can just imagine what they’re saying. “Hey Igor, Rostik, come get a look at this! Looks like we caught ourselves an American! Let’s point and laugh at him and see what he does!”
My face turning read and the sweat of embarrassment collecting on my forehead, I turn around, fake a smile and motion for one of the students to go get the director.
“Look! I think it’s trying to say something! Well now what’s it doing? Man those things are strange,” they seem to be saying.
Luckily, just as Steve Irwin appears next to me and says, “Now be careful mates, an American in captivity can be a fierce beast. I’m only standing this close because I’m a trained professional,” one of my colleagues arrives and yells through the glass door that the lunch lady has gone to the center and must have forgotten I was in the teacher’s lunchroom. She’ll return in 10 minutes, she says.
Twenty minutes later my knight in dirty spandex arrives to set me free. As she unlocks the door, I say, “So you forgot about me, huh?”
“You’re an idiot,” she replies.
Post-Script: Despite my worries, none of my students or colleagues have said a thing about this tragic incident. I don’t think anyone even remembers it. In fact, at a party at my school the next day, I made a joke in my toast that I was thankful they had let me out of the cafeteria long enough to join them. They all thought I meant I spend a lot of time eating in the cafeteria. When I reminded them what had happened the day before, they kind of laughed.
Posted by jpm at August 17, 2004 01:49 PM
