Getting down on Friday

Due to a confusing and ill-timed situation involving a sports day in the morning and a late afternoon class I was able to/was told I should switch my Saturday morning class to Wednesday night—which means that it is a proper Friday for me today!  The exciting prospect of lounging tomorrow morning was dampened slightly when I was told that the Internet guy would come for an installation anywhere between 9-5.  No culture shock for this situation—but I’m happy to do whatever it takes if it means that I will have Internet in my apartment (more on this later).

The joyous feeling of a proper Friday was overwhelming and I got a little goofier than usual with my Yo-Yo class.  After I teased them through English time I pulled out the all-magical Playdough for a “Funtime Activity!”…demonstrating how one makes a giraffe (it turned into a giraffe/camel hybrid) I set them loose to create their own animals.  It didn’t last long because they’re toddlers and Playdough animals are hard; soon they were showing me circles, squares and balls—but it was English and thus a success!  One of the kids with the most, ahem, spirit created a microphone and offered to let me sing.  I accepted!  Molding my own microphone I broke out into a unique(?) rendition of Bowie’s “Young Americans”—which in retrospect probably wasn’t the most appropriate choice for a class of three year olds, but I mumbled the whole thing anyway (Bowie, himself, wouldn’t have understood the lyrics).

The Friday glow followed me through the afternoon, allowing me to act loose and relaxed for the class that is most out of control.  By the end of the first hour I had caused three of them to cry—‘Stickyball’ can be both a gift and a curse.  But by the end of the second hour they became their usual uncontrollable selves.

And now, to relay the internet story…

I suppose technically it began on our post-TEFL certification course jaunt to Budapest; while walking home to Tiger Tim’s Hostel one night we happened upon a row of restaurants filled with twinkle lights.  Naturally we took a seat.  A waiter wearing a t-shirt with the official restaurant logo came over to take our order.  We weren’t ready and so he left—a few minutes later a man in an ambiguous stripped shirt appeared to take our order; we wouldn’t have thought much of it, but he didn’t seem to know the menu (or anything) at all—begging the question, “Does he work here?”  The meal continued; he failed to know more menu items; we noticed that he wasn’t serving any other tables.

“Does he work here?”

Then the final factor—he left.  We saw him greet a group of friends and we watched them all walk off together—into the night.

“Does he work here?”

He eventually came back and we proceeded to interrogate his whereabouts of the previous ten minutes, but he denied any unusual activity.

“We have a question—um, where did you go?”

“What do you mean ‘where’?”

“You were here, and then you walked that way; you were gone for ten minutes and no you’re back.  So, uh, where did you go?”

“I don’t understand.”

There was a ‘likely’ story involving a car and a closing parking lot and blah, blah, blah…but the question has been reoccurring.  Even in Taiwan.  There was the guy at the night market who tried to trick me into purchasing two pair of glasses for my ‘Waldo’ Halloween costume…taking them behind the kiosk’s sign to give them a thorough shine—and by ‘thorough’ I mean close to five minutes, without so much as a word.

“Does he work here?”

And most recently there was the Internet company man who was returning my call to the English department.  First, he tried to set me up with an email address, but I informed him I wanted the Internet…in general.  I was then told that I needed to purchase a router.

“Why do I need to buy a router?”

“Because we provide the service, not the equipment.  And once you purchase the router you have to call this number and they will walk you through the install.”

“I’d rather just schedule an appointment for someone to come out and install it for me.”

“Oh, we don’t do that.  You have to call this number—they walk you through it.”

“What is that number for?”

“To the blah-blah company.”

“Another company—not you guys?”

“Correct.”

“So if I have to buy the equipment, and call another company to set it up, and install it myself—what exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I buy the equipment.  I install the router.  I set up the wireless (with another company’s help)—what does your company do?”

“We provide the service.”

“Sure.”

I decided to scope out the electronics store across the street on my way to a different Internet company.  It was still cheaper to buy the router and use this (strange) company than go to the big organization.  So I purchased the cheapest one I found (US$20).  The front door had barely closed behind me when my phone rang.  It was the Internet company returning my call.

“No, someone already called me.”

“Ok, did you set up an appointment?”

“He told me you didn’t do that.  He told me to buy a router.  I bought a router.”

“Why did you buy a router for one computer?”

Silence.

“We can have our installation technician come out on Saturday to install your wireless.”

“That would be nice.”

Did he work there?