On Tuesday I approached my supervisor in a last-ditch effort to get Christmas Day off.
Me: Hey, do you have a minute.
Supervisor: Yes, what is it?
Me: I want to talk to you about Christmas. Vancouver says I have to work because she got the day off.
Supervisor: Yes, we need one foreign teacher here.
Me: But I'm wondering, maybe I can arrange some activities the Chinese teachers can do without me-
Supervisor: But the parents will say where is the foreign teacher.*
*I'm never there when the parents drop the students off. And while many schools do, our school doesn't have webcams so parents can check up on the class online. In other words, the parents would never know.
Supervisor: We need at least one foreign teacher here. And Vancouver has been here a long time and never asked for Christmas off-
Me: Actually Vancouver said the old supervisor always gave them Christmas off.
Supervisor (really irritated): That's not what she told me. We need one person here. So sorry, I know it's important to you.
Me: Thanks. I figured I'd ask.
For all her faults, Vancouver seems like the kind of ultra honest person who can't withhold factual information even to her benefit. Supervisor was flustered at the end of the conversation. I caught her in a lie. That's basically blasphemous here, you're not supposed to call someone on their hooey. Direct communication isn't de rigueur.
Back home this kind of thing would've amounted to a shrug and "tough break kid, you're working." But questioning authority isn't the same here, and Supervisor made it known I'd crossed the line by ignoring me the rest of the week.
Looks like I'm on my way to achieving the mantle of persona non grata among the adults at work. This tension-filled conversation with Supervisor came on the heels of a talk last week I had with Ottawa, a Canadian-born Chinese guy a little older than me who has a management position because his brother owns the school.
Ottawa came into the school last Friday. His talk - which was more of a lecture, really - was about Chinese culture and how problems can't be solved the way they would back home. I couldn't figure out if this talk was or was not related to my altercation with Gambling Wench. Oh hell, it probably was.
I like stinky tofu. I can stomach chicken feet and congealed pork blood. And I have a pretty good ear for Mandarin tones. But I have zero faith in my ability to amend myself to solving problems the Chinese way.
Right now I'm reading Shogun by James Clavell. What these past couple weeks in Taiwan, coupled with the Clavell, have taught me is that I would probably never be a good samurai either.
My emotions are too transparent. I'm not very tricky. And I like to get my way right away. Oh, and I don't have any swords ... yet.
Come Christmas morning, I'm going to be stuck with the brats. But at least they still like me.
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