Being Bamboozled

As a rule I don’t blog when I am feeling mad or sad – it can lead to regrettable and non-rescindable things. Thus this post is overdue and slightly late. Last Wednesday my co-teacher and I delivered the first Soft Skills Seminar – it did not go well. These seminars are designed to give students the skills to be effective public speakers, write a resume, perform well on a job interview, etc.

When I arrived in Dong Thap CC I was told that these would be led by Vietnamese teachers who were trained in these things and I would help if it was applicable, also 30ish people would sign up for all the sessions – none of that came to fruition.

Instead I spent an entire day putting together a presentation (which I don’t mind) and putting together an activity and handout. I met with the director of foreign languages and my co-teacher who were just as tired and spent as I and we reviewed what I had done. As I was showing them my work my director looked increasingly disquieted. By the time I was done he looked like somebody made him watch Old Yeller, never told him that Old Yeller would be shot, let him fall in love with the dog and BAHM! Dead puppy. We all worked to rip it apart and make it applicable for the seminar in the next 3 hours. Also it turned out that the DTCC students would be the audience most of whom have very basic English skills (for some how old are you? And how are you? triggers the “deer in headlights” look of bewilderment).

That evening I got to the seminar and I found over 100 students staring back at me! Holy Moses! The Director of Foreign Languages looked equally astounded. I scraped the activity (it was designed for 45 max after all I thought I would have 30 students so a 50% overflow seemed generous) and just delivered the lecture. Co Dung did her darnedest to translate but most of it was lost. Trying to explain posture and topic choice and voice variation (modulation) was just impossible. We fought through it and let the students out early.

What was so frustrating was being so clearly uninformed that my co-teacher and myself were rendered completely ineffective. It wasn’t like a few extra kids showed up, there were more then three times as many. We were literally fed to the lions – except that these lions didn’t understand the gibberish coming out of my trap. I left feeling more fatigued and demoralized then I ever have.

The next morning my Vietnamese lesson with the Foreign Language Director became a very frank debrief about what happened the night before and my expectations going forward. He was on my side and agreed with my complaints and suggestions to fix it – we will see what changes are implemented next month.

Like my second-to-last post (Officer Grumpypants) the weekend provided a bit of humor. I went and got my hair cut – it reached the point where my mother once called me a ragamuffin via Skype. Oddly enough she still has the same sway thousands of miles away and disembodied by a computer. What is it about mothers?

Anyway, in Vietnam men go to barbers and women go somewhere else. So I went to the barber with my trusty host Mr. Hung who made good use of his Vietnamese. I was plunked down into an old-fashioned barber chair and the barber, who looked like he was 12 (Vietnamese have ridiculous aging genes) and was shoulder height went to work. The entire time all I can think is that I must be the strangest sight. He started with spritzing and misting my head and then started cutting and trimming. After he finished I stood to leave – nope not quite. He plopped me back down in the seat and took my glasses off again and disappeared and returned with a straight edge single razor. He then cleaned up my neck and sideburns then reclined the chair. Now I knew I was in for the whole shebang. He lathered up my face and gave me a shave. I know it’s supposed to be an enjoyable experience – but I have never been to a barber or used a single straight edge so the only thoughts running through my head were various headlines like “Vietnamese barber hiccups and Fulbrighter lost” or “Trip to Barber Goes Awry”. For some reason all my thoughts contained images of Sweeny Todd and grizzly deaths. This man was very nice and just going about his day, but I was off in horror land. I’ll just blame it on the heat coupled with dehydration.

To finish the hour-long appointment he strapped a device on his hand and it was a massager of sorts. He started on one shoulder went down one arm and worked back up and went down the other arm and then did the torso and legs. At this point the transition from Rocky Horror Show to massage was just too much and it took all my power to contain my laughter – but it was touch and go a couple of times. Then he sat me straight up and put the massager all over my head. I looked like a bobble-head from what blurry amorphous jiggling mass I could make out in the mirror. and it pushed me over the edge. Being completely aware that NOBODY knew my internal dialog and the accompanying picture reel - thus my next actions would make no sense to the curious stares around me. I lost it and weeping with barely suppressed mirth I slumped down in my seat, shoulders shaking and just busted a rib. It was the most fun I have ever had for a buck and I did feel rather clean-shaven after the whole ordeal.

Next week I think I will post some of the funny things I have heard since I have been here. The foibles and follies of English!