smiles. Now, I've gotta preface my post with the fact that I teach my students, and I try to live by, the idea that most of culture is not right or wrong, it's just different. And it's true. I will post more on this topic in the future so I can give you more examples of what I mean.
Also, if you're at all squeamish, this is not the post for you. Check out the others -- they're humorous, too.
Now, all warnings aside, here is my story:
I am often amused by my small town life. In America, my home is in the country. My hometown has probably no more than a few thousand people in it. I've been surrounded by horses, chickens, goats, etc. The town's in the south, so it is rather laid back and the people are pretty friendly and, of course, speak southern.
I move to China, and my home, though it's in the city, is still rather country. And that suits me just fine -- most of the time. The sights and sounds are so different. The people, and the atmosphere, are less formal than in other places.
Take my trip to the post office a couple of weeks ago. I was there to pick up my Christmas package (which I call a brave package because it got lost, somehow, in the bowels of the city, and yet ferociously fought its way to my eager hands a month after setting out from overseas. Bless that box.) with a Chinese friend. It took an hour just to pick up the box (since they had difficulty finding it) and mail a letter.
Since I don't speak Chinese, I was relegated to the sidelines. That was just fine with me, because I have little patience and the sidelines = time to people watch, which is a fabulous pass-time!
I saw many people come and go. Some were old, others young. Some were in a rush, others had more patience. (Something you must understand is that, here, there is rarely a line of people waiting. People do more pushing and line cutting than anything. You don't wait your turn; you make your turn.)
There was a cute little boy in with his grandfather and mother who had captured my attention about 45 minutes into the wait.
...Until, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that always seems to fascinate and repulse at the same time: a man digging endlessly into his nose. I think they have long pinky nails just for that purpose. Well, I guess he couldn't get what he was looking for because he decided he was just gonna blow his nose right there. Which would be OK if it were normal nose blowing, utilizing a tissue and all. But he didn't have one of those, so he just leaned out of the line, closed one nostril, and blew onto the floor, then proceeded to close the other nostril and repeat. Yum. Always a sight to behold.
I thought that was the end of the show, so I went back to watching the cute little one.
...Until I heard an ominous sound. It seems the man hadn't taken care of all his bodily routines at home. He was hocking. I knew what was coming next. I was right. He spit right there on the floor. But he was kind enough to try to rub it out with his shoe.
And then he went on about his waiting.
And I say, just another day in the small town life.
Now you know why I was so deeply moved in my digestive region.
smiles. They say when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Well, I ain't that Roman. Yet.
Also, if you're at all squeamish, this is not the post for you. Check out the others -- they're humorous, too.
Now, all warnings aside, here is my story:
I am often amused by my small town life. In America, my home is in the country. My hometown has probably no more than a few thousand people in it. I've been surrounded by horses, chickens, goats, etc. The town's in the south, so it is rather laid back and the people are pretty friendly and, of course, speak southern.
I move to China, and my home, though it's in the city, is still rather country. And that suits me just fine -- most of the time. The sights and sounds are so different. The people, and the atmosphere, are less formal than in other places.
Take my trip to the post office a couple of weeks ago. I was there to pick up my Christmas package (which I call a brave package because it got lost, somehow, in the bowels of the city, and yet ferociously fought its way to my eager hands a month after setting out from overseas. Bless that box.) with a Chinese friend. It took an hour just to pick up the box (since they had difficulty finding it) and mail a letter.
Since I don't speak Chinese, I was relegated to the sidelines. That was just fine with me, because I have little patience and the sidelines = time to people watch, which is a fabulous pass-time!
I saw many people come and go. Some were old, others young. Some were in a rush, others had more patience. (Something you must understand is that, here, there is rarely a line of people waiting. People do more pushing and line cutting than anything. You don't wait your turn; you make your turn.)
There was a cute little boy in with his grandfather and mother who had captured my attention about 45 minutes into the wait.
...Until, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that always seems to fascinate and repulse at the same time: a man digging endlessly into his nose. I think they have long pinky nails just for that purpose. Well, I guess he couldn't get what he was looking for because he decided he was just gonna blow his nose right there. Which would be OK if it were normal nose blowing, utilizing a tissue and all. But he didn't have one of those, so he just leaned out of the line, closed one nostril, and blew onto the floor, then proceeded to close the other nostril and repeat. Yum. Always a sight to behold.
I thought that was the end of the show, so I went back to watching the cute little one.
...Until I heard an ominous sound. It seems the man hadn't taken care of all his bodily routines at home. He was hocking. I knew what was coming next. I was right. He spit right there on the floor. But he was kind enough to try to rub it out with his shoe.
And then he went on about his waiting.
And I say, just another day in the small town life.
Now you know why I was so deeply moved in my digestive region.
smiles. They say when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Well, I ain't that Roman. Yet.
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