When people from different groups collide, the results can go from horrific to hilarious and cover all areas, including financial, political, marital, etc. Living in Japan, I experienced them all, but language problems led the pack.
I can never forget my first day of class. I was met with a sweet young lady in the front row wearing a T-shirt displaying “I like a little pussy, too.” I assumed it was an homage to her much adored pet, but as I was not certain, I refrained from comment. Clearly I passed up what better teachers call a meaningful learning experience.
Likewise, I remember the question from a boy, “Sir, what is a dingleberry?” (What had that boy been reading?) I sloughed off with the old, “You’ll remember it better if you look it up yourself. Class dismissed.”
Confusion abounded outside the classroom also. A friend recommended visiting a beautiful lake and mentioned it was extremely profound. For years I assumed it was a place filled with mystical Zen vibrations and auras until I heard someone mention how deep the water was.
Several books have been written listing these wonderful sayings and signs. My favorite is a sign I often saw in Thailand: “Please do not put toilet paper in the toilet.”
Don’t laugh thinking it is only about them. We do it, too. The horrendous mistakes we make cause equal hilarity. I won’t bore you with mine in Japanese. Unless you can hear the difference between ike, ikke, and iike, then you won’t get it. I still don’t. My Japanese partner gets a kick out of the upside down or backward characters on the tattoos and Asian “authentic antiques” he sees here.
When we first join a group, we miss the in-jokes when everyone laughs except us. We hope we’ll understand later, but sometimes we never do. It is like being taken by a cast member to an opening night cast party. You are surrounded by peals of laughter. “My God, she only pushed it twice!” Shrieks and screams. “And then George said the tea is ready!” Hysteria reigns. Your friend, doubled over with laughter, can’t explain. Soon you are looking for a rope or a hari-kari knife.
As seniors, we have belonged to countless groups, each with its noteworthy tales of personalities, humor and excitement. But for others to understand the key point, so much background is needed they often lose interest before the conclusion. What a shame our great stories can only be fully appreciated by group members. People are always telling me long boring stories I don’t get.
What I’m trying to say is the old windbags should shut up and let me tell my stories.
