"Colourful" Language

Have you ever experienced being a guest in a bilingual household where the dominant language spoken was not English, but one you did not understand at all? And instead of speaking English, your host speaks this other language to the other members of the house while you're in the room, knowing full well that you do not understand a word being said. Would you consider this rude?

I would, and do.

Twice in 3 days was I put in a situation where the majority of people present spoke two languages: English and either Punjabi or Spanish.

The first instance was with my supervisor from work. The plan was we would get a ride to the ferry together (to save the company my cab fare) for a conference in Vancouver. However, on the way we had to stop at her parents house so that her father-in-law could drive the car to the ferry and let us walk on. I figured it would be a 15 minute stop at most. Nope. We were there for over an hour. Normally, this wouldn't bother me at all. Except in this situation everyone around me was speaking in Punjabi. Hardly any English was spoken. I felt like a deaf-mute. I could neither listen to the conversation nor contribute to it. It was as if they were purposely excluding me from the conversation, because not only is there no way they did not know I couldn't speak Punjabi but also the father-in-law finally acknowledged my existence after more than half an hour in clear English. I couldn't help but be pissed off by the situation. I couldn't even watch the TV because it had Punjabi-speaking shows on.

The second situation was much different. While in Vancouver I roomed with a girl, Astrid, who could speak Spanish. She invited me out to the Richmond mall to meet her friend Carolina, who I found out could also speak Spanish. I resigned myself to the fact that once again I would feel like an outcast via language. However, to my surprise they both took my "monolingualism" into consideration. Carolina had trouble speaking English but she tried, and anything she spoke in Spanish Astrid translated for me. I felt so much better and really appreciated their consideration.

Essentially, I think, it boils down to manners. It's no different than poor table manners, which shows disrespect for those with whom you are eating. Speaking a language you know your guests or companions don't know is disrespectful because it indicates to them that you don't care how they feel...

Alright, that ended up being something of a venting session...it's something that's been bothering me since I went to Vancouver. Bad manners just hit a nerve with me.

Forever and a day

I'm working on a few posts which are taking nothing short of FOREVER! Every time I have a burst of inspiration I'm in the worst place and can never write the idea down. Then when I go to write about it...it's inexplicably gone! Ahh! I'm going insane over this.

Maybe I'm just concerned about what I'm writing about...Anger and it's forms...and split selves...and whether or not anyone cares to hear about it. And I know that shouldn't matter, but it's just an annoying paranoia I can't seem to get over. I feel terribly boring and out of sorts these days, and I'm not entirely sure why. Everything I try to say comes out very inarticulately. And even the things I do manage to get out of my head don't seem worth the effort...

Maybe I should just write about safe things...like shoes, books and muffin tops (By the way, $2.60 at Tooks on Cook will get you a decent cup of coffee and the best muffin in Victoria...it's my morning special.) I don't know...but something has gotta give soon or I'll go mad.

This is tragic...and slightly pathetic.

How to deal with telemarketers...

I love this piece of dialogue. I found this while searching for quotes online. I was never much of a fan of Seinfeld, but it had some really great moments, like this one for example.

Jerry: This isn't a good time.
Telemarketer: When would be a good time to call back, sir?
Jerry: I have an idea, why don't you give me your home number and I'll call you back later?
Telemarketer: Umm, we're not allowed to do that.
Jerry: Oh, I guess because you don't want strangers calling you at home.
Telemarketer: Umm, no.
Jerry: Well, now you know how I feel.
[hangs up phone]

I think that is great...it's the perfect response!

PS: Another result from my searches today: the "mutants" from John Wyndham's The Chrysalids are called "deviations." I have to read that book again...I can't believe my memory failed me so horribly.