I was watching Stripes the other day, which, combined with my play-through of Ghostbusters: The Video Game, reminds me how much I love Bill Murray and Harold Ramis. There's this scene in Stripes, Ramis's best in the film, in which he's teaching ESL because he's poor and can speak English better than your average person who can't speak English. Asking the group if any of them knows some English, a timid Italian man raises his hand and offers, "Son of bitch! Shit!" Which is quickly echoed by the rest of the class. This is followed with Ramis and his students, well:
Ramis: I met her on a monday and my heart stood still
Class: They do run run run they do run run
Ramis: Somebody told me that her name was Jill
Class: They do run run run they do run run
Which qualifies them to sing along with their taxi's radio.
Which is funny shit. So, this got me to thinking about my possible post-graduation plan of becoming an English teacher abroad. [insert "study a-broad" joke here]. And while I do, sincerely, want to be paid to do something I do everyday for free (correcting people's grammar), I also want to subvert other peoples' cultures. Maybe I could go to Japan and tell the girls that they don't have to think in terms of what will make them most Japanese, but rather what will make them happy. I could tell the boys they don't have to suppress their sexuality any more than they have to exaggerate it; they needn't have nosebleeds or tentacle rape monsters. They could be themselves, honestly. Or I could tell them I'm glad America dropped the Bomb for no good damn reason and they all need to get their buckteeth fixed. Zing! I'd be like a goodwill ambassador version of Robin Williams in Dead Poet's Society, except, you know, funny and racially insensitive. But mostly funny (through racial insensitivity).
I've wondered, based on my recent cosmopolitan experiences in Chicago, how far I could take this, and if it's a humane idea. In my commuting to the Windy City I arrive at Union Station and take my lunch at the food court. While we all know food courts are havens for international understanding, the one at Union Station is exemplary, teaching me all I could ever hope to know about the world's major food-producing cultures. There's Burrito Beach (Mexicans love the runs at the beach), Jamba Juice (only black people seem to work there, which makes me think there's a racist hiring manager somewhere who assumes "Jamba" is an African thing), Pizza Hut (the traditional Italian kitchen is a thatched roof shanty) and Nuts On Main (because Americans know it isn't a real snack food 'til it's covered in candy). Best of all, though, is the "Cajun" joint. It has Chinese food. And people. And is 0% Cajun. What really gets me about this place is those people. I've come across the gift culture of Chinese people before. They are generous, after a sense, but that sense is they expect something in return for the little junk trinket they gave you that they promise they didn't just pick up in Chinatown that morning. These counter jockeys are likewise free with the food, hawking samples at passersby. What has become a joke to the commuters is the siren call accompanying the offer of General Tso's chicken, a raspy, cartoonishly accented beckoning of "Yummyyummyyummy."
I hear this most every time I walk by and I can't help but wonder, "What mean son of a bitch taught this guy English? Who told him people talk that way?" One of my first visits home from college, I referred to something as "neat." My dad bemoaned the money spent on my education if I was going to talk like that. I rephrased to "herculean," but I realized his point: there is an edge of the contemporary in not sounding like an idiot.
World, watch out. I laugh at people sounding like idiots. Ostensibly, I groan, but when a kid on the train is arguing you can't just turn nouns like "sandwich" into a verb, I laugh out how damn dumb he sounds. Imagine, I teach 60+ Japanese kids to say, "I am very happy to be undercutting your economy." Or, less subtle, "I could make some Cajun foods for yous. It's yummyyummyyummy." I'd tell them "Cajun" is the American word for "Nihongo." The "foods" I read on a tip jar at a Chinese buffet and always found it funny.
I know I'm coming down on Asians really hard, but they are the likeliest victims of bad English instruction. This is understandable, considering Asian languages are pictographical, entirely different syntaxically and inferior to American English. Then again, all languages are, because those languages didn't coin the word, "television." This gives me a sort of, oh, I don't know, Jacksonian power over my potential students, and looking at the examples of poorly-taught English in my own land, it arouses a feeling for them I suppose I feel for most Asians exploited in American culture. No, not arousal, despite the unequal representation of Japanese girls in our otherwise fair-minded adult entertainment industry. No, I'm talking about pity. Because, seriously, no one should be told it's ok to yell "yummyyummyyummy" in public.
So, I think I'll just limit my cultural sabotage to more constructive measures, like telling kids they can be creative and free-thinking. I know I could tell them that the best way to learn the parts of a car is to wash mine, but I'd just feel bad. I think it's best for everyone involved if I can just get them to lighten up a bit, and maybe they'll turn down the whole "wearing band-aids and black lace to try to stand out in my homogenous and public gang rape-loving culture" trend. Maybe I can help them reach a level of English enabling them to not be a nude sushi table. Maybe not. My conscience is still out on that one. Either way, I think I'll forego my God-given right to indoctrinate impressionable children for my amusement, and, being lame, help them realize their potential.
Unless, of course, I end up teaching in Germany. I know better than to cross those crazy krauts.
-Black Ranger
