Chinese is not easy. In fact the very idea of it makes my head spin. It’s the tones. And the characters. And the classifiers. And the pronunciation of ‘ü’ and ‘r’ and ‘e’ and the nasal ‘n.’ And those damn tones.
Case in point: today I ran out of drinking water and needed to call up the water-delivery service to get a new container - of course this simple task is not easy. First I practice what I need to say with my trusty foreign friend - as if a fellow foreigner is the best person to ask (no offense, man)…anyhow, I’m hoping I can just get through what I need to say without any interruptions, receive recognition and confirmation from the person on the other end, let the delivery dude in when he arrives about 5 minutes later, pay him, say goodbye, and then congratulate myself for this little success.
Of course, things are never so simple. Mid-way through my tentative and stuttering request the lady on the other line starts asking questions. I repeat “I don’t understand,” and “I don’t know,” a few times as she continues to ask questions, finally a silent confusion sets in. Next I hear “hǎo,” and she hangs up. What the heck just happened?!? A minute later my phone rings. They’ve called me back, but this time there’s a man on the line, asking more questions. Not understanding anything he’s asking, I start trying to repeat my building and apartment numbers, experimenting a little with my tones in the hopes that I’ll eventually hit something recognizable to him. After several minutes of this he says “hǎo,” and hangs up. Does this mean I finally got it right, or did he just give up on me? Confused but hopeful, I figure that if no water-delivery man shows up within the next 15 minutes, I’ll call a friend for help.
Somehow, however, I must have managed to utter some slightly discernible words, as a cheerful water man was at my door five minutes later. Victory!!! Smiling at me, the first thing he says is “Nǐ bù hǔi shūo.” Knowing very well that I cannot speak Chinese, I nod my head in agreement and say, “Wǒ bù hǔi shūo.” After commenting on how clean my apartment is (Yea!!) and telling me how much I owe him, he begins to tell me what I should have said on the phone (I am able to figure out that this is what he is trying to communicate when he starts saying my building and apartment numbers). Knowing I will never remember this, as I can’t even understand much of it, I run for my vocab book and thrust it at him with a pen, saying “Kě yí...?” (Can you…?) as I imitate a writing motion. He obligingly writes it down in Hanzì and reads it to me before we repeat it together and have a mini-celebration of big smiles and happy hand gestures. I pay him the ¥8, confirm his suspicions that I am indeed an American, thank him, and say goodbye. An overall positive experience, despite a few confusing minutes here and there.
Thank goodness the people here are usually very kind and light-hearted, even while they are telling you that you suck at their language. Nonetheless, I am determined that in three weeks from now, when I need my next water-delivery, I will nail that phone call.
