More on Culture

I was lucky enough to attend a few Chinese New Year dinners with the family of a friend back in Los Angeles. When I was in high school I saw James perform in a lion dance. I've been to Dim Sum a time or two back in the States. But living in Taiwan is a whole different plate of tamales than a day trip to Rowland Heights. Every day is a new chapter in my Chinese cultural education.

The thing that's impressed me most thus far is the way people stretch a dollar.

As a product of America where the average credit card owner owes Visa something like $6,000, I am in awe of Chinese thrift. If you make $10, save $3. That's the wisdom, sayeth James' mom. In America, saving is for chumps: If you make $10 spend it because maybe you'll be rich someday. Unfortunately, this culture extends to our system of government, and it's no wonder China owns half America's debt.

Examples of thrift are everywhere. No one wastes much on external building appearances unless it's in downtown Taipei. I'm always picking my away around rows of motorcycles parked on the sidewalk to get into shops in Nankan.

Funny English is so ubiquitous that it lost its funniness. I can't blame my grocer for selling "self handmade sausages" when I'm one of just a few native English speakers who will shop there in a week. But it's odd that Taipei 101, a monument built as testament to Taiwan's international prominence, would have ungrammatical reader boards like "The World Fastest Elevator." Taipei is lousy with native English speakers. Shouldn't someone have shelled out for a copy editor with full mastery of English mechanics?

The most amazing thing though has been the penny pinching that goes on at both schools I teach at. They both use textbooks that are flimsy paperback things that look like they should cost about $7. Neither school ever has any extras though, or enough teacher guides to accompany each book.

At one school if the owner can't find the teacher's guide I need, he just throws teacher guides for different books at me. At the other school the owner simply doesn't have a teacher's guide for the unit I'm teaching. Nor can I have my own copy of the accompanying workbook the students use. That means every classtime I have to snag a kid's workbook so I can copy the day's homework for myself.

Yesterday I was hovering over the printer about to make a couple copies. That's two pages. The owner trotted over to save me from myself:

"See you can do double sided," he said. He proceeded to tap the screen, which is all in Chinese so it's not like I'm going to remember what he's doing, and voilà, he handed me a lovely double-sided piece of paper. Thank you kindly cram school owner, God forbid I use two pieces of copy paper.

James and I bought our own whiteboard markers, because the school's hardly work. And though they hardly work, people are assigned whiteboard markers at this school - a wonderful solution to the marker embezzlement problem, I'm sure.

All my college internships were at newspapers, one of America's most embattled industries. My first internship paid me only in beer. My last newspaper shaved two weeks off the initial 12 they offered due to budget. Two newsrooms I worked at did away with the communal coffeepot. Times are tight. Despite all this, every office had a well-stocked supply closet. Duh, right? There's always enough pens, pencils, sticky notes, paper to get the job done.

Not so in the cram school classroom. No paper, no pens, no markers, no crayons, no rulers, no kiddie scissors. Them kids best be learning with whatever they brought from home.

When I wanted to take a copy of the textbook home, I had to sign it out. I asked to take home the cd that goes with the book. The reaction I got from the owner was what I'd expect had I asked to take home a piece of the school's furniture.

The owner's assistant pressed her fingers around the jewel case and gave me a look like, "We hired you because we thought you could divine the course material. This is going to be a problem."

Eventually she gave me the cd, but I had to sign for it too. Alas, all my plans to sell English textbooks for 9-year-olds on the black market must be postponed. Nor will I be able to accumulate a library of "English is Fun!" picture books for personal enjoyment. Pretty much, if you're thinking about teaching English in Taiwan, don't do it for the sweet kickbacks.