hostage

I don't do well with cafeteria lunches. Bowing to the bland conformity of tastes day after day makes me feel like my soul is in a padded chamber, slowly losing air. Every day its the same: I go down to lunch, hopeful, only get en eyeful of greasy soup with soy-sauce broth, sticky rice, kimchi and..."other".  The "other" all tastes alarmingly similar, despite differences in substance and composition. Greasy, peppered, pickled.

I have trained my face to stay calm while the principal looks on, smiling, as I heap the rice and kimchi on my tray and sit down among my co-workers, who are equally anxious that I enjoy the meal.

And then, there's the conversation.

God bless Susan's heart.  She tries so hard, everyday, to engage me in conversation. And I, like an ungrateful, petulant brat, refuse to give up the goods: instead of warm give and take, or gentle encouragement and correction, I give polite, clipped responses. One word, if possible. Yes. No. Mmm. Mmm? Oh, mmm.

Her side of the conversation goes in circular leaps and bounds, which I listen to, barely holding back a laugh.

"I went to the Jeju island" she said today, "by scooter."

Pause. Circular hand gesture.

"around the island."

Pause. Another circle.

"I rode on the scooter, going around."

Pause.

"Taking the scooter to the island, I used it go around. Around?"

Laugh. Pause. "Is it right? Around? Anyways, I want to say that used a scooter to around the Jeju island"

Yeah...I got that the first time you said it.

I have tried, gently, to interrupt this cyclical conversation pattern by telling her a key fact: I understand. To no avail, she just keeps plowing through the same phrase 50 times.

"I really want to say this one" she'll say.

Just listening to the wind up is enough to cause hysterics. So I stay silent, gently sidestepping her clumsy attempts to bull past my resistance with the grace of a matador.

Of course, sometime's interaction is unavoidable. Last week, I had to ask her a question about class. I wanted to show the students some clips from Fantasia.

"How long are the clips?" she said, "10 minutes?"

"Less then that," I said, "but I'm not sure."

"10 minutes?"

"Less then 10, I think" I said. "I'll check"

"10 minutes?"

"Less than 10. Some are only 5."

"So, 10 minutes?"

"No. Less than 10. But I'll watch them first, and choose which ones I want."

"Aaaah. Less than 10 minutes?"

"Mmm."

And that was a fairly easy conversation, folks. Hence, the one-word answers. It makes me feel a little cruel, but in between her feelings and my sense of sanity, I am more concerned with being able to sit in a room with her for 40-50 minutes without stabbing myself with the nearest sharp-ish instrument.