Grey's Journal:
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London Metropolitan University held an international student day to get everyone up to speed with the school and with British culture. Free food was offered and, as a result, the attendance was quite large. We sat in a hall of 100-200 students. The seats were arranged in rows so close together it was impossible to get out without everyone else having to leave the row as well. Where was I? Stuck in the middle. No way out. When in a position like this, I want most what I cannot have. Unable to leave, my brain focused on two growing wants: a trip to the bathroom, and a drink of water. By the second hour of presentations, I couldn't hear the words anymore. All I could feel was a lack of fluid in my mouth, and an overabundance of fluid in my bladder. Eventually a man came to announce it would soon be time for lunch. The crowed started to move. Finally I would be free. "But," he said. But what?! "But first we need a head count of the students in this room to know how much food we need. I want you," he pointed at the first person in the first row "To say 'one' then the next person says 'two' all around the room until the end." And so my torment began. "One..." "...Two..." "......Three..." I tried to remain calm. "...Four..." ".................Five........." "Six." I sure am thirsty. "..Seven.." ".....Eight." "Nine..." And I really have to go use the bathroom. "....Ten...." "...........Eleven...." "...Twelve......" This was going to take forever. Not only because of the large number of students in the room, but because they were international students. All the people who didn't speak English well were gathered together. Communication difficulties ensued. To add to the challenge, many of the oriental students seemed to lack the vocal apparatus necessary to project their voices more than a few inches. The man in front kept asking them to 'speak up'. He didn't realize that the only person he needed to hear to know the number of students in the room was the last one. His desire for perfectly articulated numbers was slowing everyone down. The inefficiency of this system caused me physical pain. The room was filled to capacity and the rows of students formed a perfect rectangle. Situations like this are the reason mankind invented multiplication thousands of years ago. I could hear long-dead Greek mathematicians weeping at the horror of it all. Sometime around student 20 or 30, I couldn't take it anymore. I stood up and yelled to the man who chose this tortuous method of counting: "There are 10 students in each row and 15 rows! That's 150 students!" Silence descended upon the hall. I had just enough time to think 'I have made a horrible mistake'. I forgot that I was in Europe. People are quiet, polite, and indirect here. No yelling. Especially no yelling at someone else that their idea is bad. I had just opened my mouth and confirmed for everyone that Americans are loud, obnoxious, and rude. I thought I had made no friends that day, when, to my surprise, my fellow students broke out in applause. I guess they didn't want to wait for lunch either. I learned there are moments when it's not so bad to be a loud American. * * *
P.S. When my row emptied, and I was free to get a drink and use the bathroom, I no longer had the need to do so. Just as I expected. * * *
Before I came to London, I assumed when I started attending classes, I would be `special' because I was from overseas. Back in college, the rare foreign student was an oddity. I remember one guy who came to Geneseo from England and was completely overwhelmed by the advances of females. One of my professors quipped that the girls 'could smell the different gene pool'. So, in another of a long list of naive, preconceived, and ultimately false ideas, I assumed that my Americanism would be valuable cultural capital. I was wrong. LMU is a heterogeneous culture like none I have ever experienced. It is a different environment from the white-as-liquid-paper schools I attended in the past. Every race and ethnicity are present and, more importantly, they interact with each other to an extent that took me by surprise. In Geneseo and Garden City I was used to the minority groups isolating themselves from the majority. (Or perhaps the majority actively shunning them) But that is not the case here, there is no majority group and everyone interacts. I have met people from France, Kuwait, Italy, Nigeria, Russia, Spain, Bulgaria, China, Japan, Taiwan, Greece, South Africa and many others. The only group that seems to be missing is the British students. This makes me nervous. Do the locals know something about this school that I do not? Did LMU's postgraduate program have such a horrible reputation that only foreign students from thousands of miles away wouldn't know the school's dark secrets? I'm also annoyed because I traveled across the Atlantic Ocean in no small part because the British accent entrances me. But, I arrive to find that there are no English girls my age in the vicinity. I have two theories to explain this. Either when I was flying over here, they passed me in the air on the way to NYU, or they are trapped in castles protected by dragons. Either way, it's not going to be easy to find them. New York is very far away, and my dragon slaying skills have never been put to the test. * * *
LMU advertised and sponsored parties to help the international students meet each other. In particular 'The Big Fish' party, and an international-students only party. I'm never sure what to make of these events. I like them, but primarily because they present an unsolvable sociological puzzle. The manifest function of the event is to `meet people'. That's fine, but my observations do not confirm that this is what happens. It seems that the environment is actively hostile towards meeting people. For example, the music is so loud that talking is an enormous effort. I have identified four stages of degrading conversational strategies: 1) Attempting to have a conversation like normal people. This fails immediately. 2) Leaning in close to talk. People get stuck in this stage because of politeness. There is a social inhibition against telling someone you don't understand them. Both parties pretend to hear the other until it becomes painfully obvious that neither knows what the other is talking about. This usually happens when one person asks a question, and the other keeps nodding and smiling. 3) Yelling into the other person's ear. It's fun to watch people talk by switching back and forth like this, it reminds me of the French `dual cheek kiss' greeting. However, as the night continues, and legions of ear nerves surrender or die, even this method becomes ineffective. 4) Gesticulation. At this stage, ten thousand years of linguistic development are nullified and party goers are reduced to communicating ideas that can be expressed by pointing. I see many people sitting with three or four others that they came with, not talking, and looking around aimlessly. If these parties really were places to meet others, people would arrive individually, or change groups throughout the night, but they do not. A smaller number of people are making a valiant, though ultimately doomed attempt at conversation. An even smaller number seem to be having a good time, but these are so drunk they would enjoy factory work during the industrial revolution, so I'm not sure they count. All this is part of the puzzle. So I spend a lot of my times at these events, sitting comfortably with friends, not talking, with a half-smile on my face as I try to figure out why everyone else is here. Perhaps they are doing the same. Now that I have presented you with the image of me as an impartial observer of human events, it's only fair that I tell you that as the night drew on, I did embarrassing things. I don't drink often, so a small amount of alcohol makes bad ideas seem like good ideas. To exacerbate my situation, I have no concept of what my limits are. I had already been drinking for some time when a Bulgarian friend of mine suggested I drink vodka with her. Off to the bar we went. This is always an awkward moment for me. I don't know what to order. Ever. I don't know the drink names, their relative potencies, or gustatory palpability. All I know is I don't like beer, and the girl I'm with will usually order something that tastes like fruit for me if I act helpless enough. Not this time. Bulgaria was on the far side of the bar and no help to me. I muttered something to the bar girl about vodka and lemonade. She asked a series of questions, none of which I could hear. So, like and idiot in conversation mode #2, I just smiled and nodded. I ended up with some mystery drink that seemed awfully large and potent. Next thing I know the drink is finished, and Bulgaria and I are on the dance floor doing the salsa together. It was not a pretty sight. But it was very fun. |
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Copyright © 2003 Wellington Grey
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
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