Tuesday 9/3:  Class confusion, Death by Spice, and Cockroach Battles

 

Got to class expecting to be stuck with the 8AM section but figured I’d check out the 10AM just in case by some miracle there was an opening.  When I got there, everyone was asking the teacher to sign their change forms so they could shop elsewhere, so she said That’s it, since there’s not enough people, I’m canceling this class.  In other words, we couldn’t come back if we didn’t get in somewhere else.  But you [“should be able to get in another class,”] she said, and booked, probably going home to sleep since she seemed to hate the 8AM section as much as us.  Like lost wandering souls, I and the big girl from Costa Rica went to the section in Room 919, which was also pretty full.  The teacher was gabbing a lot, had a flat face and I immediately didn’t like her as much as the first, who was cute and soft-spoken.  This teacher asked us why we were here and why the other teacher cancelled the section; in other words, sounding like she didn’t want us.  At the break we all ran into each other in the hallways, asking which classes we’d gotten into and if we should ask the first teacher to re-instate the class since we all couldn’t get in elsewhere.  But JiaLan, the LA girl Elsa, and the Brazil girl had thought it was too easy and were still hoping to get into higher levels.  So I sat through the same class with the flat faced teacher.  There was a funny-looking American kid with floppy hair who apparently was the wisecracker of the class, next to me.  After that I went to the 10AM which was taught by this same teacher.  She said there was no point in me staying since it would be all the same, and I could get into this section if one more person dropped out, which she’d know about by tomorrow. 

 

I killed the two hours until cooking class by emailing.  At the cooking classroom door was the floppy-haired wisecracker from this morning, who said, “It’s you!”  His name was Steven.  The teacher was businesslike and spoke all in Chinese and said she’d give us recipes for everything we make, all only in Chinese.  Knowing how useless that would be to me, I got out paper and pen to take notes as she started making Chow Mein, explaining this wasn’t a real Chinese dish, just a [“side dish”].  She invited us to come try chopping scallions and the pork with the huge thin cleavers, then fried it all in the big wok.  Around the room were about 8 stations of stovetops and sinks in a U form, with the table in the middle where we all sat.  The class was timid and I was the first to get up and volunteer to chop, wondering why they were all being pussies.  She examined my scallions and said to chop them thinner next time.  Steven was already convinced the teacher hated him because he’d asked her at the start if they could cook vegetarian dishes, and she responded with a glare.  We were 15 minutes into the first day but he was convinced that she sneered at everything he chopped.  I was hoping she’d explain how to choose vegetables in the market and what kind to get and what they were all called in Chinese, and how much of each thing to add, but she never did, and when I asked, she said it’d all be in the recipe.  The recipe that I wouldn’t be able to read.  The best thing was getting to eat it at the end, and while I wasn’t that impressed with the class overall, having free lunch every Tuesday is a draw. 

 

After that I went to FSE, taking a cab to give myself a break from bus-confusion hell.  Julie Hu wasn’t at all what I’d imagined.  From emailing her in the US I’d thought she was a young Taiwanese woman who spoke English really well, and was planning to give her one of my Yale T-shirts I’d bought.  I spoke to her on the phone after I arrived and thought she sounded like an old white lady.  Was she ever.  Snow white hair, grandmotherly stature, soft voice; reminded me of my high school French teacher.  I sat down and gave her my new address and phone and otherwise she looked like she didn’t quite know what to do or say to me, even though they’d said it would be nice of us to stop by before Orientation.  From there I called Gary to see where they were and where to meet. 

 

I wanted to quickly fax a work document to Dr. Cheng who was going to look into getting me the NTU ID, but Julie had disappeared and I was instructed to talk to Amy Sun, a middle aged Chinese woman who talked forever on the phone until I cleared my throat and approached her and she noticed me sitting there for the first time. She told me I should see the other Amy, the woman who’d just told me to see her, and was about to turn away.  I had to literally get in her face and tell both of them multiple times how I just needed the work document or something like it for NTU to make my ID, and confused, they kept asking why, and that this wasn’t proper for sending, and that they would write another letter after Orientation since they had no time.  I kept insisting this was fine, Amy Sun insisted they’d had Fulbright students at NTU in the past who never needed it, I replied that Dr. Cheng said I was their first Junior Scholar and the past people were Senior Scholars who hadn’t needed it, but it was like talking to a deaf (but certainly not mute) person.  She didn’t listen and kept shaking her head wondering aloud why they needed it, but suddenly said OK, she’d fax it; as if she was done showing me what a strange, unreasonable request this was and she was being super-benevolent for granting it.  She reminded me of a typical Chinese boyfriend’s mom—she’s smiling at you yet you know she’s thinking something critical about you in her head, like your skin’s not smooth enough or the bridge of your nose not high enough. 

 

As long as I was being a pain, I then asked about my cash advance.  Since the money guy, Mark, wasn’t there they took out 10,000NT for me from petty cash and said Mark would give me the rest at Orientation.  I had to write a “receipt” stating I received 10,000 and they’d deduct it from my advance.  Again with melodrama Amy asked Wasn’t I so relieved now to have some money?  As if I’d come penniless to their door and 10000NT was going to start my life anew.

 

By that time I had to call Gary again to tell him I’d be half an hour later than we said, and I went to wait at the Fuhsing bus stop for what felt like forever, in totally stagnant, hot air from the cars and weather and no relief from no breeze and no shade.  It was totally miserable, watching dozens of regular buses pass by, not believing that a pretty pink bus saying Living Mall would actually come.  But it finally did, and I got on and saw the mall loom ahead.  He was right that I couldn’t miss it and that it looked like a planet—a huge round structure with ring around it like Saturn.  I saw the three of them waiting on the corner as the bus pulled up.  Gary asked “Ok, what’s the horror story this time?” 

 

The mall was pretty cool, just because of the structure—stores were arranged in the circle, long escalators criss-crossed each other at different angles in the open middle space.  Kate shopped for a gift for her baby nephew and we kept stopping to look at cutesy Sanrio type things (she loves Woodstock and Hello Kitty and for some reason there are lots of toys showing them together) and Gary asked if I was looking at these things for myself or some little kid, laughed when I said Myself and said Kate and I should shop more together.  I spotted a Dippin Dots ice cream cart (but it was called something else) and was excited to get some.  After looking around forever for the salesgirl (it must not be very popular, she ran over amazed she had a customer) I ordered vanilla, strawberry, and “cho-ke-li” (the only one I know how to say in Chinese), and she gave me banana instead of strawberry.  I said “No, strawberry!” pointing, and she said, [“This right?”] Pointing at Banana.  For the love of God!!!  If the stuff has English LABELS, shouldn’t she know how they’re pronounced?  Arthur defended her and explained what I wanted and admonished me, “Why don’t you order in Chinese?”  I said because I don’t KNOW vanilla and strawberry in Chinese.  Anyway, it wasn’t that good, but I’d been craving ice cream since I got here.  Art slept on the bench until a security guard (they all wear bright orange blazers or pink shirts) came over.  I was expecting him to light into Art and say, What do you think you’re doing?  But he said Please don’t sleep here, although translated literally it’s more like, “I am so sorry to bother you sir, I beg of you this inconvenience.” 

 

We got on a bus to go pick up Arthur’s friend from the clubbing night, Lorraine, for dinner.  We got to a fancy financial building where she worked on DongHua Road, supposedly the nicest most prestigious building in Taipei, connected to the nicest hotel in Taipei, Far Eastern Taipei Metro which I guessed must be the place Dave and his family always stayed.  We went to a HuoGuo place, and at our table got a HuoGuo pot which was divided into 2 sections, one with red-hot sauce (literally called MaLa Tang or Deathly Spicy soup) and the other with mild broth which is the only way I’ve had it before.  Then we got up to the buffet bar where we could fill bowls with cold ingredients--meats, shrimp, vegetables, fish cake, fish, mushrooms, tofu, etc--and simmered them in the pot.  Kate showed me how to mix my sauce, using satay, some oil, garlic, green onions, sugar, ground peanut, and chilis.  The whole thing was a spicy-fest.  Gary bought us a SwanMei drink which was supposed to neutralize the spice, which it did, but tasted terrible.  Even Art didn’t even like it, so we got apple soda.  The HuoGuo was good, but after awhile the lamb meat flavor got into everything and it all tasted like lamb to me, so I stopped eating.  For dessert there was almond and regular jello with fresh passion fruit juice over ice.  There were little black passionfruit seeds in the juice and Lorraine pulled one out of her mouth that she thought felt weird.  It had legs and antennae. 

I have quickly adapted the habit of meticulously examining anything and everything that I am about to put in my mouth.

 

After dinner we walked to the nearby night market where I spotted the cutest stuffed puppy on a vendor cart.  It was floppy with eyes just begging me to take it home, the fur was so soft and it came in two different shades of tan and 2 different sizes.  It’s actually very rare that I find a VERY cute, very soft, stuffed animal.  But when I do, I fall hard.  I was still deciding, it was only about $US5 and he wouldn’t bargain, and Gary said if in the US we’d say, “$5? A steal, I’ll take it.”  Kate said to keep looking and we’d come back.

 

I had to buy a home phone.  We stopped in about 3-4 places and after changing my mind a lot, I got the cheapest one we found, in pink (to match my @#$! $30 pink SOGO alarm clock) and again they wouldn’t bargain, saying [“199 is already so low”].  But that’s not the point!

 

At a drugstore I got a cute 59NT Hello Kitty alarm clock that plays “It’s a Small World” and Gary said I could definitely return the SOGO ripoff.  Also got roach spray and bait, very important.  We went down another alley, no one buying anything except eats.   Art got more fruit, I commented on how much fruit he gets, and Gary said “You are what you eat!” 

 

By the time we circled back the puppy was gone.

 

At home I opened the door and the roach was there again.  “Ha, I’m ready for you now, motherf*cker!”  I squirted and it ran FAST, I had to chase it across the room with a steady stream of spray and drowned it in the stuff until it stopped moving.  Slightly nauseous, I scooped it up w/newspaper.  I put the spray in the kitchen.  Hardly a minute later, a SECOND one scurries out!  I had no time to get the spray and, disgusted and impatient now, I made a quick decision and stomped on it.  It made a POP noise and was left in a pool of yellow liquid.  Really nauseous, I cleaned it up and threw it out in the dumpster next door. 

I sat down depressed about my roach-ridden place, but felt a little better now knowing they were gone.  I decided to hook up my phone.  I looked at the cord coming from the wall and realized it was pretty long, and reached down to unravel it.  A THIRD roach was hiding next to the cord!  I yelped and cursed liberally (“F*cking A, I can’t believe there’s a third f*cking one in this f*cking place!!!”) and this time got the spray and killed it pretty quickly.  That did it.  The place was positively roach-INFESTED.  I was going to give Dad an earful about it.  I left the trails of spray on the floor, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to help keep them away.