I'm currently reading a book entitled
More One Minute Stories, a work in translation from the original Hungarian, that was a gift from one of my second graders. It's basically a series of vignettes written with massive amounts of dark humor by this Hungarian who survived a Nazi work camp only to eventually die under communism in 1978. They are entertaining and, if you've ever met a Hungarian/lived in Hungary, hysterical. And this has inspired today's blogging format.
It's probably fine
A lone American, walking along the street, spots something interesting behind a gate. Behind the gate appears to be nothing other than an empty parking lot, full of broken glass and in the same general state of disrepair as the rest of the city. The gate is open. Across the driveway, however, there is a single small chain, hanging so low as to drag on the pavement in the center. Can the American walk into the abandoned parking lot to take a photo, or will doing so lead only to arrest, deportation, or horror? Eh, it's probably fine.
The lone American, now on another day, is in a grocery store. She wonders about the advisability of purchasing ham that has been apparently stuffed with sausage and then thinly sliced, but which is on sale. Is it on sale because it has gone bad? Lurking near the meat aisle, she watches as Hungarian after Hungarian selects several packages and adds them to their cart. Shrugging, she picks up her own package. It's probably fine.
The lone American is in a battle of wills with a seven year old. "Move seats, please," she asks. The first grader resolutely shakes his head no. "I asked you to do something. Do it now," she angrily states. The first grader holds firm. As she physically lifts the squirming child and carries him to the desired seat, him kicking over chairs in the process, and then physically marches him back and forth to demonstrate that when she asks a student to do something she means NOW, she wonders about the consequences of this action. But... meh, it's probably fine.
The sour cream sits on the counter for two hours. But it cost 300 forint! Oh well, it's rotten anyway, right? It's probably fine.
The lone American accidentally, in the language she barely understands, uses a vulgar slang term for "breast" when referring to the white meat of a chicken. To her boss. But she must understand... and it's probably fine.
And the thing is... it always is.
Impetus
Isn't it very funny how sure you can be that you don't want something, that you in fact want something very different, but it still smarts when that something runs off and is horribly successful without you? This has happened to me recently. And the thing that hurts most is the pride, the aren't-I-enoughs?, the questioning of motives. And I sit on the tram and stare out the window, or sit in the staff room and bitch to Bill, or throw myself on my bed and have a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum, because I should be enough. I should be impetus. In a non tragic sort of a way, and my poor pride is hurt from the fact that I was not.
The guilt of the foreign teacher
Case B. works like a slave. Twenty or twenty five lessons a week, plus remedial lessons, plus infinite substitutions, plus private lessons, all of which are painstakingly planned for. Due to his colleague's tragic lack of writing ability, he must do all grade recordings. Almost thirty, he slept on a cot until this weekend, but at least a cot in his own new, small, rented flat. Unsure but pressured to decide, he votes middle-road on such important issues as whether or not to strike about a cut to his already pathetic pay. Money is very, very tight.
Case N. has three young children. She works three jobs, including on the weekends, and often has to come into work on her one free day to tie up loose ends. She is tremendously kind, and shares her grandmother's throat lozenges with the lone American when the later turns up to work coughy and ill. She has three pairs of pants and four skirts, or at least only that many that she considers fit to wear to work. She votes against the strike because she cannot afford to miss a single lesson out on a picket line. Money is very, very tight.
Case R. is unmarried, but cares for her niece. She works two jobs, one teaching her language to foreigners until 830 PM. Her dresses all hail from 1987, and have been painstakingly mended in many places. Her school will be closed for over a month for the Christmas holidays and she is unsure what she will do, finance-wise, if the government approves the pay cut. Money is very, very tight.
Case L. gives 29 lessons per week. Due to being a native speaker of the language she teaches, however, she need spend no time preparing for said lessons beyond a cursory look at the topic to be covered. She has virtually no responsibilities beyond making sure that she shows up in the right place at the right time, and is often bored during prep lessons due to a lack of anything to do. She pays no taxes, and while she is not rich, has no financial worries. Because she is employed by a private organization,
her pay is in no danger of being cut.
Overheard, sneakily, but to no real effect
I think so, too... forty two... no, capital B, udapest, one two three... well, is it capital?... teach... good... orange... nine hundred twenty two, sixty four, nineteen... well, that's what I said... green... Panni? No, Misi? I don't believe it!... was that the bell already?... radio... ok... hello (said as goodbye)...
The lone American: I feel guilty because I actively listen to conversations to try to pick out lone words.
The Other American, who consoles her: Don't. It's an intellectual curiousity.
Conspicuous consumption?
or
Do we have more money for our rat than most for their children?
The lone American and her flatmate read online, after googling "taking care of pet rats" like you do, that rats can become horribly depressed, to the point of death, if kept by themselves. One way to remedy this is to keep them in a very interesting cage. So they dutifully troupe off to the mall, and purchase a little rat palace, with three levels and a suspension bridge. Bencelita will be the most intrigued rat ever!
What they did not consider, however, would be the open stares and conversation on the metro as a half dozen total strangers come up to openly admire the cage, then shake their heads disparagingly upon discovering the nationality of its new owners.
Good question
The lone American darts down the stairs at 0645 on her way to work, undoubtedly more happy looking that she should be. She sees an elderly female neighbor heading up the stairs. The following conversation takes place, in Hungarian:
"Good morning, ma'am."
*unknown Hungarian*
"I'm very sorry, I'm American and I don't speak Hungarian very well."
"Why?"
confused and slightly afraid, "Why?"
"Yes, why?"
ponders... "Because my parents are?"
The elderly neighbor waves her hand in disgust and continues up the stairs. The lone American shakes her head in confusion and continues down the stairs.
¡De veras!
Como ver que vuelve a ser invierno,
y que los niños ya me tratan de
usted...
~ de
Irreversible por La oreja de Van Gogh
