The Angriest I Have Ever Been At My Mother

That's the card I received for American Mother's Day. Please notice that the card is in English. Oh, and that's me in the pink and purple stripes.

No one can make you angry like your mother can. It usually doesn't take much, an innocent comment, sometimes just a look, that goes straight to your heart and immediately infuriates you. I remember plenty of slammed doors as a teenager and the occasional "you're ruining my life". I even remember an argument years ago which ended with me storming out of the house in tears.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mother. We are very different people and very different mothers. Even so, she had her hand in who I am today, tears and all. My mother knows I love her because I tell her so. We're the rare breed of mother and daugher who actually say the words "I love you". I must admit that I was the one who started it. I don't recall any "I love you's" from my childhood, not a one.* As an adult I was very resentful of this fact. Some years ago I decided to be an adult about it and change it. What was the worst that could happen? My parents wouldn't say it back? Of course they would, and they did. Thus, a new family tradition was born. That means that "I love you" was the last thing I said to my father and the last thing I heard from him. You never know when it's the last one. 

Moms have a big influence on their kids. I know that some day, my girls will grow up and sit around the table talking about how I infuriated them over the years. Just the thought of that warmed my heart. I'd like to hope that now I am an adult, I could return the favor to my mother....and infuriate her like she has infuriated me.... and have some influence on her...positive influence, I hope.

The town where I grew up is teeny tiny, and located in a rural area.There is a university though, so we felt all worldly about that when we were kids. Any new people in our town were usually professors, doctors, or other professionals. It wasn't a place where people moved to but rather away from. I mean there wasn't any reason to move there if it wasn't for a job. We didn't get many or any foreigners back then.

Flash forward to today...my hometown is still teeny tiny. The area is still rural, but maybe a little less than before. There's still a university - it's even bigger than when I was a kid. The newbies in our town come from all kinds, not just professors or professionals. We even have some foreigners.

My aunt happened to be our Spanish teacher in school. We couldn't figure out why we had foreign language lessons back then. We didn't see the need. Plus we did everything to sabotage my aunt's lesson plans, thus leaving us after all those years with little to no Spanish in our heads. My aunt is retired now, but she substitutes in the district schools and works as an aid when a Spanish-speaking kid needs language support. My mother was telling me about my aunt's latest position as an aid in one of the kindergartens. There was a kid who couldn't speak English almost at all. My mother's commentary on that (break out the mom voice), "Well, apparently his parents can't speak a lick of English. I don't know what the problem is, if they're just too lazy or too stupid to learn."

And that's where my head exploded. Pure fury. Skype hath no fury like a daughter for her mother. I don't even get that mad when my mom Skypes me in the middle of the night and asks why I'm not asleep. 

My question to my mother, "Do you think I'm too lazy or too stupid to learn Polish?"

My mother, in her totally mom voice, "No, of course not honey. Polish is a very hard language! And you are a very busy lady. You have your work and the girls."

"So Mom, maybe those parents just came to the US. Maybe they work long hours. Maybe they haven't had an opportunity to learn. There are a million reasons why somebody wouldn't know English and stupid and lazy are not at the top of the list."

The conversation went downhill from there, you can be sure about that. I was angry and disappointed that my mother would not have more sympathy for an immigrant parent when I myself am an immigrant parent. Me, her child.

I still love her though. She's my mom.

Happy Polish Mother's Day!

*I just remembered one "I love you" from my childhood. My father dropped me off at my high school and just as I reached the main doors where my friends were waiting, he got out of the car and shouted, "Chri-is! I loooooove you!"

One of the many places…

…I will never live…

…because I cannot pronounce it.

Jesteśmy w Polsce i mówimy po polsku

Czy mówi Pan po angielsku? (Do you speak English, sir?)

Czy mówi Pani po angielsku? (Do you speak English, ma’am?)

Czy mogę mówić po angielsku? (May I speak English?)

How many times have I asked these questions? Maybe a hundred times or more. These are the kinds of answers I usually get:

Nie, nie mówię po angielsku. (No, I do not speak English.)

Nie, nie mówię po angielsku. Może po niemiecku? (No, I don’t speak English. Maybe German?)

Nie, niestety nie. (No, unfortunately not.)

Nie za bardzo mówię ale rozumiem. Prosze mówić po angielsku i ja po polsku. Damy radę. (Not very well, but I understand. Please speak English and I Polish. We’ll manage somehow.)

Tak. (Yes.)

Yes, a little.

Yes, of course.

Sometimes I get a nice surprise like with the insurance agent last year who inspected the Jeep. He had worked a few years in Scotland and in addition to being handsome, had a beautiful Scottish accent. Unfortunately, his cost projections for repairing the Jeep were considerably lower than our mechanics.

Or many years ago when I was in hospital in Gdynia and I met a nice sailor, well a retired sailor, in his seventies. Our conversation started when he invited me into the elevator saying in English, “Please go first. Beauty before age.” How sweet.

Or just recently the building inspector who came to check our new central heating installation at our house surprised me with her fantastic vocabulary, of course, concerning home installations – her specialty. It was a real pleasure to talk with her and ask her some questions about our home.

You see, it is a surprise and a pleasure when someone speaks my language. I don’t expect it from anyone. And why should I? This is Poland. People don’t need English in their everyday lives. These days, I try to do everything in Polish but when the issue is complicated or I am feeling especially tongue-tied, I occasionally give in to my weakness and ask if my conversational counterpart speaks English as I did this week. Now I have a new answer to add to my list. Can you guess what it is?

Nie. Jesteśmy w Polsce. Mówimy po polsku. (No. We are in Poland. We speak Polish.)

And that from someone who has authority over my children.

Marszu Niepodległości i Sprawiedliwości – March of Independence and Justice

Yesterday, the political party PiS organized a March of Independence and Justice in Warsaw. I was thinking about the anniversary of martial law in Poland yesterday and apparently PiS was thinking about something else.

There were a lot of anti-Tusk signs and anti-Sikorski signs especially after Sikorski’s public comments that we (Europe) cannot afford Germany’s lack of action in face of the financial crisis. PiS has expressed a fear that Poland’s sovereignty is threatened by membership in the European Union. Just an FYI – Poland currently holds the Presidency of the Council of the European Union.

Here’s just a taste of what Kaczyński had to say about it. Read more here in Gazeta Wyborcza.

Chcę wam przyrzec, że PiS stanie na czele walki o Polskę suwerenną! Aby obywatele Polski mogli sami decydować o tym, co jest ważne. Stać nas na to! Gdyby nie to chore państwo, gdyby nie te interesiki, nasz naród parłby do przodu jak Chiny. Musimy zrzucić ten worek kamieni. - Jarosław Kaczyński

I want to promise you all that PiS will lead the fight for Poland's sovereignty! So that Polish citizens can decide for themselves what is important. We can do it! If it were not for this sick government, if it were not for these little deals, our nation would push forward as China has done. We must throw off this bag of stones. – Jarosław Kaczyński (translation mine). *

I cannot think of a more independent and just country than China to model our nation after.**

*If I understand correctly the “bag of stones” is the membership in the EU and the “little deals” are agreements with the EU.
**I thought we were supposed to model ourselves after Hungary? Jarosław, I can’t keep up.

Angina po polsku

Little Rosie has angina. Angina!?! you say. Don’t worry. It isn’t that serious. She has angina po polsku.

I remember the first time I heard the word angina in Poland. One of my students called me to cancel her lesson because she had to pick up her child from kindergarten and take him to the doctor. She said that he probably had angina. My reaction - No leć! Go! Go to the doctor immediately, maybe even the hospital. My student, the mother of the little patient, didn’t seem to be all that concerned. I thought, maybe angina isn’t such a big deal here in Poland.

Of course I was thinking of angina in English – actually I was thinking of angina pectoris, a heart problem while my student’s child was suffering from angina in Polish which is in fact tonsillitis or acute purulent tonsillitis in Rosie’s case. She has all the telltale signs – fever, vomiting and white spots on her tonsils. She’ll be on antibiotics for the week and stay home from pre-school obviously.

Aahh, acute angina…that reminds me of a joke.

Keep yourselves well!

Liquid modernity and wyrwa enroiczna

“Kiedy przestaję już ogarniać współczesność, kiedy świat mnie otoczający stawia bariery, który nie jestem w stania sforsować umysłem, gdy zdumienie nad zmieniającą się kulturą masową i obyczajowością przyjmuje już formę graniczną – wtedy sięgam po książki Zygmunta Baumana i w nich szukam wyjaśnień, szukam, mówiąc krótko, ratunku.”

Krzysztof Varga 14 LIPCA 2011 Duży Format GW

Whoa. This is the first line of Krzysztof Varga’s column entitled Lost in the Supermarket czyli ja wszystkożerca in Gazeta Wyborcza’s weekly supplement Duży Format. After that first line I not only wanted to immediately pick up a book, any book, by Zygmunt Bauman, but I also wanted to read Varga’s column beginning to end, which I have done - a few times actually. It was difficult for me. C’mon, liquid modernity is a difficult subject in any language, let alone a “foreign” one. Lucky for me, Bauman who was a Professor of sociology at the University of Leeds, published his many works in English. Oh empik, please, please, please be able to get me some of his books.

Wandering down the page, I decided to read the column by Wojciech Orliński entitled Wyrwa enroiczna. Yeah, I didn’t know what it meant either…but now I do. Thank you Mr. Orliński. You may have experienced wyrwa enroiczna (phrase coined by Anna Bednarczyk) if you have done translation of any kind.

For example, your client asks you for better price terms in the contract for the upcoming year asking, “We are interested in increasing our discount in the contract for next year.”

You reply, “Niestety nie jesteśmy w stanie panstwu przyznać wiekszy rabat w tym roku na takim poziomie zamówień.” (Unfortunately, we are not in a position to offer a larger discount at such a volume of orders.)

Your translator translates your statement as, “No discount.”

Get it?

Wyrwa enroiczna is the gap in meaning or eloquence from the original text to the translated text. It can be the fault of the translator (as in my example above) or just a product of the differences in languages. Orliński describes this phenomenon giving examples from the works of Stanisław Lem, famous Polish science fiction writer, from the book “Lem i tłumacze” a collaborative effort under the editorship of Elżbieta Skibińska and Jacek Rzeszotnik.

The phenomenon is not exactly “lost in translation” but at least “diminished in translation” – the assumption being that the translated text gets the short end of the stick. And that is every translator’s dilemma. For the translated version to be just that, a translated version, not a better version, not a worse version. I recently completed my first large translation (Polish to English, of course) completely on my own. It was a challenge for me, but the text was well-written without too many hearts or flowers if you get my drift. I feel that the English version is very loyal to the Polish version. My success!

To be a good translator, it is not enough to know the 2 languages. Some degree of creativity and imagination is necessary especially in works of literature. It is said that Stanisław Lem was a great poet. I have read his books in English and it never crossed my mind even once to describe his work as poetic, but Orliński has given me something to consider.

Take this line from Solaris (given as an example in Duży Format) of “Bezwzględna cisza wypełniała całą Stację” translated as “Nie słyszałem żadnych dźwięków”. I can see why we hold different opinions on Lem as poet. Orliński read the original book and I read another book entirely, a book free of poetic turns of phrase.

So how should we translate this line from Solaris?

Should it be…?

“The absolute silence filled the Station.”

or maybe…?

“The ruthless silence filled the Station.”

or…?

“The merciless silence filled the Station.”

or even…?

“The Station was filled with a cruel silence.”

or maybe as it was very dryly translated…?

“I couldn’t hear a sound.”

It’s not so easy.

I think we could coin another phrase here…let’s call it reverse wyrwa enroiczna meaning when the the translated text is shinier and more beautiful than the original. First of all, let me say that I like to listen to eloquent speakers just as much as the next guy, but I also appreciate the simple eloquence of plain talkers, for example Lech Wałęsa. However, my first contact with Wałęsa was during his visit to the U.S. and his address to the U.S. Congress. So eloquent was his speech that even the hardened, jaded U.S. congressmen and women were drawn to tears…as was I. Fast-forward to today…I know Polish…kind of…and while I enjoy the straightforward manner of Lech Wałęsa (in Polish), I now know that his moving speech in the U.S. was the combination of good speechwriting and reverse wyrwa enroicza – the translation being a polished version of the original.

Now, I gotta go. The match is on.

Or maybe it should be…

Teraz muszę się z wami pożegnać. Mecz jest transmitowany w telewizji.

or maybe…

Idę teraz. Mecz grają w telewizji.

or even…

Na ra. Spadam. Mecz jest.

:)

Capital of Culture - Stolica Kultury

Sitting at a particularly long traffic light (90 seconds red, 45 seconds green and another 90 seconds red before I could go), I switched over from my usual talk radio station to the other station, the station I don’t often listen to. My talk radio station was turning over the same topic that they have been turning over for a while now – Why do we have enough money for a new fountain and stadium, but we don’t have enough money for preschools? In this city, that’s the eternal question. It hits pretty close to home, and I am sick of hearing about it actually because the fountain is built, the stadium is under construction and my Rosie will not go to preschool next year.

But anyhow, where was I?

Oh, the radio station.

On the radio station that I usually don’t listen to, they are going through their usual banter, putting stars and politicians in their place. I stick to this station until the number of fat, fart, sex and stupid blond jokes reaches a saturation point and then I switch back to my talk radio station. All the while, I’ve got my eye on the traffic lights and on the 2 young boys who are trying to persuade the drivers trapped at the light to have their windows washed for the small price of some spare change.

The boys are very polite.

Ma’am, may I wash your window please? Just for some spare change? Or even for a nice smile?

I decline just as nicely – I have no spare change and I am all smiled out - and this time they move on to the next car with no arguments.

Sir, may I wash your window please? For some spare change or maybe a cigarette?

The gentleman agrees and pays in tobacco. He even offers the boy a light.

How very civilized.

A commercial comes on my talk radio station. The City is a candidate to be the European Capital of Culture (2016) –Europejska Stolica Kultury.

Cool.

As the boys walk back to the front of the line of cars, I overhear from one of them…

Tak, kurwa, słyszałeś co powiedziała? Ja pierdolę, następny raz dostanie w łeb. (Fuck, did you hear what she said? Holy shit, next time she gets it in the head.)

How very cultured we can be when we want to be.

No worries

Rosie did not get into pre-school in Stage 2 of the recruitment process. I think that the principal and I have a different understanding of the phrase nie martw się (don’t worry).

When I asked about my Rosie in Stage 1 of recruitment, the principal replied nie martw się. I understood nie martw się as Rosie will get in - her sister attends the school already for heaven’s sake. The principal understood nie martw się as go away and leave me alone, you stupid parents.

When I asked about Rosie in Stage 2 of recruitment, the principal replied nie martw się. I understood nie martw się as Rosie will get in - there are 2 spots open for heaven’s sake and the principal has the final say. The principal understood nie martw się as bugger off, you stupid parents.

When the principal asked, one day before the class outing, if any parents could please, please, please come along as a chaperone (because they had one too few), I said nie martw się. I understood nie martw się as Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it. The principal understood nie martw się as Don’t worry. They’ll take care of it. And we did. Misiu showed up the next day bright and early and took the place of the absent teacher.

Hmm.

Pre-school, we have a problem.

Now that we are on the reserve list waiting for somebody to drop out from this pre-school and hoping that Rosie will be selected for that (so far non-existent) spot, I am really starting to worry.

My first Polish jokes - Painters at PZU

For some reason when I first came to Poland, people liked telling me jokes especially the joke (maybe you know it) with the punch line “piłka…do metalu” (complete with arm motions showing a ball and then a saw). The problem with that joke is that it is only funny in Polish. Translated to English it doesn’t make any sense. And even if you can figure it out, nothing kills a joke more than a long, drawn out explanation. So after about the 10th time hearing this joke, I just smiled and laughed at the appropriate time thus allowing at least the joke-teller some enjoyment.

So while living at PZU (if you don’t know, check out some old posts), I had an opportunity to hear this joke again – from the painters.

It was definitely unfortunate for me that PZU decided to paint their premises during the year of my stay. I got to know about it when I came home to my Archives and found my door wide open and all my belongings gone, excluding the contents of the wardrobe which were still there (but the door to the room was open and unlocked). I immediately went to the caretaker to politely inquire as to what was going on (translate – to ask her what the f*#$ was going on). She informed me that the building was being painted and that I had been moved to another room. Strangely enough, they wanted to leave my wardrobe in its original place but they moved the fridge from the kitchen to another room for me. Weird.

After many a morning of running into the painters on my way to or from the bathroom, one painter decided to be brave and talk to me. He started with a joke. I politely waited for the punch line and after seeing the hand movements indicating “a ball for sawing” I laughed accordingly. My newfound painter friend, spurred on by my laugher, decided to tell me another joke unfamiliar to me. As I didn’t understand a word, I didn’t laugh at the appropriate moment and after an awkward silence I said goodbye and continued back to my room. About 15 minutes later a friend came to visit me. She had also brought a message with her from the painters. They asked her to apologize to me for their “off-color” joke. Apparently, the second joke was a bit risqué and they thought that was why I hadn’t laughed.

All turned out well as the painters later invited me for a shot of vodka in my (and all of PZU’s) kitchen. When I stammered out one of the few clumsy yet useful phrases I knew in Polish “Bez popitki?”(without chaser?), the vodka-pouring painter laughed whole-heartedly and called for all the other painters to join us. A little bit later, well exactly 4 shots later, I had to excuse myself to go to one extra-curricular hour of English at the vocational school. When I arrived, my students, judging by the redness of my cheeks, decided that the weather must have turned colder since the morning ;) Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, totally unprofessional and unethical behavior I exhibited at the start of my career.

PS More recently I had a group of business people every Monday and Friday morning. The deal was that Mondays were mine, I could teach whatever “business crap” (as they put it) I wanted and Fridays were theirs to talk about whatever subjects they wanted – usually cars and cars and cars.

Every Friday morning started out with the “Peter Show” a 5-minute joke-telling set by the Vice-President of the Board of Directors aka Peter. His jokes were definitely off-color which I enjoy (who doesn’t?) and his comedic timing perfect. What he was lacking, due to all that “business crap” I was teaching them, was the proper vocabulary needed to tell such variety of jokes. So every lesson began with a pre-lesson vocabulary check with me. You know, nobody wants to “burn” a good joke. However, when you as teacher are asked practically all the vocabulary needed for a joke, you’ve pretty much got the joke figured out. But no worries, my fake but sincere-sounding laughing skills are just about perfected after all these years of teaching adults (just kidding). To give you an idea of how my Friday mornings usually started, here’s a taste…(attention - it's gonna be vulgar)

Peter: Chris, Chris! I have a really funny joke to start the lesson today. I just need one word.

Me: Cool. What’s the word?

Peter: How do you say “pizda” in English?

I knew that lesson was going to be a doozey.

I love my job!

I guess Polish really is hard, even for the Poles ;)

In case you haven’t heard, Poland has suffered a serious spelling gaffe, by our President none the less.

Here’s what happened. President Bronisław Komorowski and wife wrote an entry in the book of condolences at the Japanese Embassy. He wanted to write that Poland connects with Japan in pain and in hope which should be “w bólu i nadziei” but instead he wrote “w bulu i nadzieji”.

What can I say? Even I know how to spell these words in Polish. President Komorowski responded in the only way he could. He apologized and has corrected his entry. He did also add a little dig at Kaczyński (opposing party) claiming that Kaczyński writes “obiad” (dinner) as “obiat”, but overall his apology was genuine.

Here’s my question: Why do Poles even have spelling problems? Excluding a few letters which have interchangeable pronunciation “u,ó” for example, Polish is completely phonetic. Sorry Polish people, I have to explain this to our English speaking friends who have suffered through years and years of spelling tests and spelling bees trying to figure out if it should be “so” or “sow” or “roofs” or “rooves”. Listen to me English folks…in Polish if you know how to say a word properly, you should be able to write it properly as well, with little to no interpretation. No homophones. Can you imagine that? English speaking people should make spelling mistakes. Our language is completely messed up.

Now back to the President’s mistake. Just how big of a mistake was it? You know, after 8 years of George W. I have a pretty high threshold for presidential gaffes but for those of you who do not know Polish, I will try to explain the extent of the humiliation. It is like if in one official letter, the President wrote, umm, I don’t know “definately” (instead of “definitely”) and, umm, I don’t know, “ejucation” (instead of “education”). Ok, the “ejucation” example is maybe a little harsh, but it is taken from reality**.

parody of the President from Szymon Majewski Show

Spelling mistakes really get on my nerves (of course when made by others). I was interested in looking at some terraced houses being built close to our place until I saw the price :) and the billboard advertising “wysoki standart” (high standard) instead of “wysoki standard”. With an ad like that you are just shooting yourself in the foot from the get go.

One of my students who is infamously unpleasant to all (to me as well) writes “ktury” instead of “który”. It was my pure pleasure to point it out to him. Normally I wouldn’t have said anything but it was right after he very strongly criticized my Polish skills. Revenge is sweet.

** This is taken from a real life example of a classmate of mine from university. We were asked to exchange compositions in English Literature class before handing them in. My classmate’s paper was entitled, “The American Ejucation System” or something like that. It was in no way his attempt at irony, believe me. I told him to take a look at “ejucation” and he slapped his forehead and said “Of course” to which he promptly changed it to “Ejucational”. Problem solved.

PS Here’s a link to an old post of mine about the Polish language – Polish is hard. Enjoy.

Questions? Pytania?

Are pampuchy and kluski na parze the same thing?

What’s the singular of pampuchy?

pampuch? pampucha?

And why do my leniwe pierogi require 4 times more flour than the recipe?

Czy pampuchy i kluski na parze to to samo?

Jaka jest liczba pojedyncza?

pampuch? pampucha?

I dlaczego moje leniwe pierogi wymagają 4 razy więcej mąki niż w przepisie?

Don’t Put All Your Eggs In One Basket -Nie wkładaj wszystkich swoich jajek do jednego koszyka

Today I heard a very distasteful addition to the English language. It is a variation on the old saying, “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket” meaning, spread out your risk. Here’s the new expression, and I hope it does not catch on. Attention, it is rude so be forewarned.

“Don’t put all your Poles on one plane” 

Who comes up with this stuff?

PS One day after hearing this expression and being all outraged, I am now a little less outraged. I mean, they make a good point. Why’d they all fly together anyway? Anyhow, it is way better than a T-shirt I saw saying “Ląduj dziadu!”

For English-only folks: “Ląduj dziadu” (Land, old-timer) is poking fun (in a dark humor sort of a way) at the famous incident in which the late President Kaczyński told a man on the street “Spieprzaj dziadu” which means fuck off, old-timer.

Dzisiaj usłyszałam bardzo niesmaczny dodatek do języka angielskiego. Jest to zmiana starego powiedzenia: "Nie wkładaj wszystkich swoich jajek do jednego koszyka", czyli rozkładaj ryzyko. Oto nowe wyrażenie i mam nadzieję, że nie przyjmie się. Uwaga, to jest niegrzeczne, więc czuj się uprzedzony.

"Nie wkładaj wszystkich Polaków w jeden samolot"

Kto wymyśla te rzeczy?

PS  Dzień po zapoznaniu się z tym wyrażeniem i całym dniu oburzenia, teraz jestem trochę mniej oburzona. To znaczy, ono stanowi dobry argument. Dlaczego wszyscy lecą razem, tak? Tak czy inaczej, jest lepiej niż T-shirt, który  widziałam z hasłem Ląduj dziadu!

I can’t deal with it

I’d just like to go the book store and be surrounded by titles I can read. I want to buy any newspaper and easily understand all the articles. I want to talk with someone without having to think through the conversation in my head first. The typical gripes of someone living abroad - all these things which make my everyday life interesting and at the same time frustrating.

Let’s face it, I’m never going to be fluent in Polish even if I live here for the rest of my life. Can I deal with that? Can I deal with the fact that I don’t have what it takes to become fluent in Polish even if I live here forever?

Today, I’m feeling that no, I cannot deal with that.

Calamity Chris

Clumsy.

Klutzy.

An accident waiting to happen.

That’s me.

Hearing an “ow” from the other room or seeing a fresh bruise on my arm, Misiu always asks, “Did the wall jump out at you again?”

“No,” I answer indignantly, “The wall did not jump out at me. It was the door.”

His parting words to me each day are not the generic “Have a good day” or even “I love you”, but “Don’t hurt yourself”.(Nie zrób sobie krzywdy")

He knows me well.

I am a danger not only to myself, but also to the things around me. I just don’t know my own strength. I have a special acuity for breaking things especially handles, knobs, buttons and levers.

It all started in the bathroom. Unfortunately, not my own bathroom. It started with the bathroom at my parents-in-law’s.

First, we must know 2 things. Toilets in America and toilets in Poland have a slightly different flushing mechanism. The amount of force needed to engage the flush is also slightly different. You may never have thought about it, but your body carries with it the memory of this (toilet-flushing, door-closing, etc.) force. For that reason, you tap on your computer keyboard and not pound. You close the fridge door lightly and not slam. You flush with the force necessary as found in your tactile memory to make the water come down, but not enough to rip the toilet from the wall.

So, I always flushed with just the right amount of force until the day I exited my parents-in-law’s bathroom, eyes looking guiltily at the floor, clutching the broken flusher in my hand. My father-in-law tried to fix it, several times in fact, but somehow I managed to break it again-the action in my hand always overriding the order from my brain, don’t break the toilet, don’t break the toilet, don’t break the toilet. In the end, they had to buy a new toilet…with a different flushing mechanism which remains to this day intact despite my many visits there.

The door handle to their bathroom has not been so lucky. First in my defense, in the US we mostly have door knobs and not handles. These handles have always caused me problems. Often I cannot get a door to close properly, and I usually let it open, except for the bathroom…at my parents-in-law’s. That’s a place I need to close the door. And with my closing, so went the door handle not once but twice, unto countless times. Fortunately, the door can be closed by grasping the lock lever (which I will never use for its intended purpose as I would surely become imprisoned in there) and pulling tightly.

Sigh, if only my accidents were limited to home. I recently removed the door handle from the bathroom at my gynecologist’s office to which he swore that it had been broken earlier that day and he hadn’t had time to fix it yet. Yeah right.

Next, I broke off the door handle to my friend’s bedroom. She knows me and knows what I can do, so she just took it with a smile when I handed her the handle and said my embarrassed sorry.

The most embarrassing of my accidents (so far) had to be in a bank. Well, not in the bank but in the offices of the holding company that owned the bank. Of course, the office was all very elegant, at that time located in a tastefully renovated brownstone, complete with a lot of sexy glass  doors….with door handles. It’s funny how they always seem to come in pairs, doors and their handles.

Anyhow, I finished my lesson on the top floor and decided not to take the elevator down but to walk instead. I didn’t want to be lazy, and I also have problems with elevators. As I pulled on the door handle of the sexy, glass, floor-to-ceiling doors, a strange but familiar thing happened. The door stayed put, and the handle came with me. I knelt down and tried to put it back on giving quick glances behind me to check if anyone had seen me through all those damn glass doors. I tried and tried to put it back on, but jeez I’m not MacGyver. I had no choice, but to turn myself in.

I descended the staircase running through some possible  explanations in my head. As I got to the bottom of the staircase, I was met by the security guard. I sheepishly showed him the handle in my hand. He asked me, “Co się stało?” as if I were his daughter showing him my empty ice cream cone with the ice cream melting at my feet on the sidewalk. I handed him the handle and said, “Nie znam swojej siły”, and then I escaped!

Know your own strength!

PS  Door in Polish is plural. Doors are…Drzwi są even when you are talking about one door. My husband kept me quiet one whole evening by asking me how to say 10 doors in Polish. Dziesięć drzwi. Dzisięcioro drzwi. How about Dziesięć par drzwi….but wouldn’t that mean 20? Oh cholera, who cares?!?

Polish is hard

Polish is a difficult language. I know with that statement I am not “discovering America” (nie odkrywam Ameryki) as you say in Polish, but it is worth stating.

When I first came to Poland, I didn’t know a word of Polish. Well, except for szafa and dupa which are not especially helpful in everyday life. I didn’t even know tak and nie. (szafa=wardrobe, dupa=ass, tak=yes, nie=no)

Stupid, huh? Travel to a country for an extended stay not knowing the language at all. For an American, not really. As a 22- year-old American girl, I had the utmost confidence in myself and truly believed I’d just learn the language. Just like that. I mean I figured I’d have to spend about 4-6 hours a day every day for about 2 months, but that for sure, it’s learnable. It just requires some effort and a lot of memorization.

All of that would be true if I had been learning, I don’t know, English perhaps, but it just doesn’t work for Polish. Not that I didn’t try…until I finally gave up and stopped trying, my effort seeming futile ‘cause I couldn’t say anything anyhow.

I did learn a lot of vocabulary though. I loved sitting in my Archiwum reading the dictionary, making lists of words and memorizing them. I also tried to learn the vocabulary lists of the 1st and 2nd classes of high school (9th and 10th grades). I wanted to show my students that I was making an effort and on test day, they also prepared a test for me. I didn’t always do too well.

I had my favorite words, too. One of my all time favorites is smakołyk and its plural, smakołyki. It means a delicacy or treat as in a food treat, but I just love the sound of it - smak-o-łyk. Cool.

My favorite expression, I learned from my neighbor in the Village. It is lepszejszy. It should be dobry, lepszy, najlepszy (good, better, best,) but in his version it is dobry, lepszy, lepszejszy (good, better, bestest). This expression is totally awesome and I use it all the time. (Remember, Professor Miodek says the first rule of language is to communicate and next is to speak correctly.)

One of my least favorite words is wdzianko. It means something like outfit or smock, but somehow sounds like a dirty word to me.

Misiu’s old school mate who studied both Polish literature and English has his least favorite word – ruchać - (say it like you mean it and don’t forget to roll your “r” for dramatic effect). In old literature, it simply meant “to move”, but now it means “to fuck”. Another word from this base is ruch meaning movement, motion, traffic. And by the way, if while hitchhiking somebody stops to pick you up and asks you if you are going to Ruchaczewo, say no.

With a large vocabulary in Polish, you can understand a lot more of what people are saying, but you yourself cannot say very much. In English, it is quite the opposite. With just basic grammar and some vocabulary you can express a lot, even after only a few lessons.

Let’s take a look.

Today I go school. (Today, I’m going to school)

Tomorrow I go school. (Tomorrow, I will go to school.)

Yesterday I go school. (Yesterday, I went to school.)

Understand? Pretty much.

Let’s try in Polish.

Dzisiaj idę szkoła. (Dzisiaj idę do szkoły.)

Jutro idę szkoła. (Jutro idę do szkoły.)

Wczoraj idę szkoła. (Wczoraj poszłam do szkoły.)

(Wczoraj poszedłem do szkoły.)

Rozumisz?

Not convinced. What about this?

Using the same verb form in English we can change the subject to “he” or even “she, we, they” and still be more or less understood.

Today he go school. (Today he is going to school.)

Tomorrow he go school. (Tomorrow he will go to school.)

Yesterday he go school. (Yesterday, he went to school.)

In Polish, it is more difficult to figure out who we are talking about.

Dzisiaj on idę szkoła. (Dzisiaj on idzie do szkoły.)

Jutro on idę szkoła. (Jutro on idzie do szkoły.)

Wczoraj on idę szkoła. (Wczoraj on poszedł do szkoły.)

Kumasz? Coraz trudniej.

After learning food, I couldn’t order in a shop or restaurant. I had to learn whole sentences by heart.

Poprosze dziesięc plasterków szynki…

…which was good if I wanted 10 slices of ham. If I wanted 5 or 15 slices I was out of luck and how to explain to the lady that I don’t want the ham located near the hairy pig’s leg in the display case. That was beyond me.

After learning numbers, I couldn’t tell time because you tell time in Polish in ordinal numbers.

Która godzina? Pierwsza…

…which means 1st o’clock, not one o’clock and don’t get me started on the 24-hour clock and how that screwed me up at the beginning.

After learning days of the week, I couldn’t make an appointment.

Kiedy się spotkamy?

Na Poniedzałek? W Poniedziałku? W Poniedziałek?

Somehow, I managed to learn Żywiec and how to get 2 of them, practically from day one.

A girl has to have priorities.

So, I started to make sentences. I mean, I couldn’t just learn endless lists of vocabulary forever, could I? And one day walking with Misiu, I lamented that I didn’t have a hat. “Nie mam czapka,” I said. “Nie mam czapki,” he corrected. “What?” I asked. “It should be ‘nie mam czapki’ not ‘czapka’,” he further explained. And that was the moment I realized Polish was hard.

hat = czapka

I have a hat. Mam czapkę.

I have hats. Mam czapki.

I don’t have a hat. Nie mam czapki.

What???

I don’t have hats. Nie mam czapek.

Huh???

I have a blue hat. Mam niebieską czapkę.

I have blue hats. Mam niebieskie czapki.

I don’t have a blue hat. Nie mam niebieskiej czapki.

I don’t have blue hats. Nie mam niebieskich czapek.

And if you want to buy a hat and you ask the lady, “Czy są czapki?” her answer may be “Są czapki” (there are) or “Nie ma czapek” (there aren’t). But hey, why isn’t it “Nie są”???

UGGGHHH! What did I get myself into?!?

My vulgar little Rosie

Rosie is just now really starting to speak. Strangely enough she prefers Polish, while Lizzie at the same age preferred English. Lizzie’s preference for English stopped when she started Pre-school.

Ho-hum.

Rosie’s little voice and her sweet, little sentences are so cute. It’s sometimes very difficult to figure out what she’s trying to say. Before we try to decipher her code, we must first figure out what language she is using. That’s not so easy as she mixes her languages, her endings, her persons (you/me).

When we give her something, we usually say, “This is for you.”

When she gives us something, she usually says, “For you.”

When she doesn’t want something we have given her, she says, “Nie for you.” (“not for you” meaning in fact “not for me”)

Except when she says “for you” it comes out more like, um, well, “who you”.

That’s our vulgar little Rosie.

PS If you don’t know Polish, “who you” sounds like a pretty bad word in Polish :)

Doughnut po polsku

Poradnik: How to eat a Polish doughnut

A Polish doughnut called pączek is what we would call in America a filled doughnut. It should be large and round, about the the size of your fist with a kind of domed top. The traditional filling should be rose jam, although you can get it with pudding, cream or adwokat. The doughnut should be glazed (glaze: lukier, glazed: lukrowane, z lukrem) and sometimes is drizzled with chocolate (z polewą) or dusted with powdered sugar. I don’t really like glazed doughnuts or rose jam for that matter, but I make an exception every year on FAT THURSDAY (Tłusty Czwartek). Fat Thursday is the last day to stuff yourself before the start of Lent and what better way to do it than with doughnuts.

My mother-in-law makes very good doughnuts without any glaze or sugar on top – just the way that we like them. When I say we, I mean my m-i-l and I. The kids love the glaze and if you leave your doughnut unattended, you will soon find that it has been de-glazed (odlukrowane) for you by some very precise little tongues. The same little glaze-covered faces will innocently declare, “to nie ja” when asked what happened to your doughnut. (it wasn’t me)

I have never dared to make doughnuts at home. Doughnuts are deep fried, and I don’t really know how to do it. The key is to cook them at the right temperature for the right length of time so that they are brown on the outside and cooked on the inside. Babcia Ewa used to make doughnuts for the church, and bless her heart, they were almost black on the outside and raw on the inside.

When you bite into a Polish pączek it should conform to your bite but then spring back to its original size and shape, sans your bite of course. Glaze will stick to your fingers and quite possibly your lips and chin. Some rose jam, best when not too sweet, may also drip out. On Fat Thursday, you have special dispensation to lick the glaze and jam off your fingers and smack your lips. You also have dispensation to eat like a glutton even boasting how many doughnuts you have consumed like a college boy bragging about how many chicks (laski) he has scored. TV reporters will do segments on the news about doughnuts and how many calories they have, but nobody really cares because they are so good and it’s only once a year.

Today at my first lesson, the secretary asked me, “Do you count calories?” I asked her if I looked like someone who counts calories which is in fact a trick question because however you answer, it can be construed as an insult. “Well,” she continued, “I don’t want to make a faux pas, but I’d like to bring you a doughnut.” I agreed with a big “thank you” and now I’d like to tell you the absolute best way to eat a doughnut. The absolute best way to eat a doughnut is on a plate with a cup of coffee delivered to you by a pretty lady while you are getting paid to eat it. Smacznego!

The inspiration for today’s post is this drawing by Andrzej Mleczko. I bought a copy of it and intend to hang it in the kitchen of my house. http://mleczko.interia.pl/

Translation:

Polish Cuisine

Polish Roll (Recipe)

1. We buy a big roll.

2. We inhale it as fucking fast as we can so nobody can take it from us.

PS I wanted to translate “adwokat”, but I couldn’t find the proper translation. It is a kind of egg cream alcohol and in doughnuts it is a pudding with that flavor. I thought that maybe I’d have better luck with “pączek z adwokatem” but instead Google translator gave me “bud with an attorney”. (pączek is also bud like flower bud and adwokat is also lawyer) Hee, hee.

Our 1st Wywiadówka

Today, I went to the 1st wywiadówka of Lizzie’s school career and the 1st in my mothering career. The turn-out was sad, only 2 parents made an appointment with the teacher out of the whole class, but so what, my appointment was great and it was all in Polish!

It reminded me of my 1st parent/teacher conference as a teacher in the US . I was all prepared, and I lined up some chairs outside of the room just in case some parents had to wait to speak to me, the all-important educator of their precious children. I had more than 120 students and was a little nervous that I wouldn’t be able to meet with as many parents as I wanted to. Another teacher walking down the hall observing me and my chairs said, “You know no one is coming, right?” “What d’ya mean?” “No parents come to parent/teacher conferences in this school.” “Oh,” I said and went back into my classroom where I slumped down in my chair and waited and waited and waited. My first parent appeared and gave me his name which didn’t sound familiar. I couldn’t find that surname on my list. He then gave me his child’s name and we were rolling. I felt so teachery and after he left, I checked the hall for others waiting. No one was there. After more waiting, one of my students arrived with his grandfather who said that he now knew why his grandson was so interested in history. The poor boy was terribly embarrassed, but that’s what grandpa’s are for. After another hour of waiting, I decided to pack it in. 2 visits and not even of the problem students. 2 visits from 120 students.

Anyhow, back to Lizzie’s conference, Pre-school Parent/Teacher Conference, no less. I think it was her teacher’s 1st wywiadówka as well, so I went easy on her ;) I learned that Lizzie is a quiet and very well-behaved child, even too well-behaved. She likes to stick with her best friend and almost exclusively chooses cars and trucks to play with and always puts them away when she’s done. She is an excellent painter and takes her art work quite seriously. All in all, she is developing well.

Together, we devised a plan to separate Lizzie a bit from her best friend in the class because those two girls are addicted to each other. They both need to learn to mingle with the other kids. In addition, to draw Lizzie out, I suggested giving her a role to play. She likes to hide a little behind a role and feels freer to be more outgoing when she is playing someone else. I asked her teacher to correct her Polish and to not worry about her English “r” in Polish words. When she says rowerek, it is so sweet. I also asked her to be aware that Lizzie is so in love with Pre-school that she wouldn’t tell the teachers if she got ill…probably until it was too late and words like vomit and carpet come into play.

I’m pleased with Lizzie’s Pre-school. I don’t really have anything to compare it with. I didn’t go to pre-school in America. The day is nicely structured. The children have a lot of free play, semi-structured play and structured play. Each day they focus on different areas of development. One day is music, another art, gymnastics, etc. Today was addition and subtraction. Each group has about 20-25 kids, but they are rarely all present. Each group also has 3 teachers (a morning teacher and an afternoon teacher with some overlap and an assistant for the whole day).

They have to feed the little buggers as well. They have breakfast, soup and dessert, and dinner and fruit. After years and years of American processed school lunch, I am impressed with the food my daughter receives at school (ok, minus the breakfast parówki). At about 8:30, the kids have cereal with milk or oatmeal/cream of wheat, a sandwich and a drink. Sometimes they even have inka which thrills Lizzie to no end because she says that she had coffee at school. At about 11:00, they have hot soup and a dessert such as a cookie or fruit gelatin or pudding. At about 1:30, they have dinner which can be anything from pierogi (known happily by the kids as “Pierogi Day!!!!”), a piece of meat, potatoes, a vegetable, or crepes or pasta. Juice, water and compote are served to drink. They also get a fresh piece of fruit after dinner which they actually eat. They eat in the classroom and 2 ladies bring a trolley with food from the kitchen. Sometimes I’d like to get a plateful of dinner, too. It smells so good!

It’s a public school, but that doesn’t mean that it is free. The tuition, food, supplies, parent’s committee and some other payments add up to about 350 zloty a month. Is that cheap or expensive? It depends on your vantage point. The monthly gross minimum wage in Poland is about 1,300 zloty with the net minimum wage working out to be about 980 zloty a month. That means the cost of Pre-school is 36% of the after-tax minimum wage.

The next big event on the Pre-school agenda is a presentation for Grandparents because Thursday this week is Dzień Babci (Jan 21st) and Friday is Dzień Dziadka (Jan 22nd) (Grandmother’s Day and Grandfather’s Day). Our Babcia will be there. Lizzie has made a laurka (card) and has been practicing her poem for the show. She can’t wait!

Wierszyk:

“Kocham was”

Kocham moją babcię, kocham mego dziadka.

Ale jak im o tym powiedzieć?

Może im zaspiewać, wtedy będą wiedzieć!

Na zakończenie:

Aby babcia i dziadek

w zdrowiu długo żyli

Aby uśmiech dla nas mieli

w każdej wolnej chwili

You think your journey was bad po polsku

This is my first attempt ever to write something in Polish. I translated the post about my unfortunate train ride to the Baltic Sea as suggested. Translating it from English was the only way I could have done it. If I had to write it in Polish from scratch, it would probably go something like this- Pojechałam nad morze. Było do dupy. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t write some short spontaneous posts in Polish in the future as suggested by Ewa. Thanks for the encouragement!

After completing this translation, I proudly handed it to Misiu for correction and watched sadly at how many errors I had made. I am always complimented on my Polish when I speak which makes me think that the people I talk to are either mind readers, deaf or big fat liars. Actually, they are probably just really sweet and the same kind of people who will tell you that they like your new haircut, saying- “Your new haircut is faaannntastic! Mohawks are so universal.” (mohawk - po polsku irokez, you know, the other tribe)

For those of you who are not mind readers, I have included the corrected version. For comic relief, I have also included the original version written by me, all by myself in some language resembling Polish. Feel free to laugh at my Polish because this story, as you know, is a bit of a bummer.

By the way, I have left out the map of Poland. I figured if you can speak Polish, then you can figure out where the Baltic Sea is ;)

Wersja poprawiona

Wracając do moich pierwszych dni w Miasteczku. Podsumowanie: Byłam instalowana w moim pokoju czyli Archiwum w PZU, już poznałam Misia i niestety jego dziewczynę też i miałam całe dwa tygodnie do zabicia zanim zaczęła się szkoła. Co taka dziewczyna ma robić? Jechać nad morze Bałtyckie!

Koleżanka z czasów studiów była w Polsce kiedyś na wymianie studentów i wysłała moje dane kontaktowe jej najlepszemu koledze w Polsce. On mieszkał nad morzem i wierny polskiej gościnności zaprosił mnie do siebie na dwa tygodnie.

Wyruszyłam w podróż na którą składał się jeden krótki przejazd autobusem a potem następna dłuższa podróż do Poznania. W Poznaniu musiałam przesiąść się do pociągu i jechać dalej aż nad morze. Byłam bardzo dumna z siebie jak dotarłam do Poznania autobusem dopóki nie dotarło do mnie że nie miałam pojęcia gdzie znajdowało się PKP. Spytałam studentów którzy pokazali mi jak tam się dostać, chodzili ze mną, pomogli mi kupić bilet i jeszcze posadzili w pociągu. Wylewnie podziękowałam i potem ruszyłam w świat.

Naprawdę ten wyjazd był stresujący dla mnie. Martwiłam się o wszystko, że przegapię mój „przystanek” (nie zdawałam sobie sprawy że mój był ostatni na linii) albo że zostanę napadnięta. Zaczynałam podróż pociągiem w wagonie pełnym starszych ludzi. Czułam się jak dziecko które potrzebuje nazwisko i miasto przypięte na sweterku. Ci starsi ludzie powoli rozeszli się i w ich miejscu siadali malarze po pracy. Poczęstowali mnie wódką ale myślałam że lepiej odmówić.

Później też malarze rozeszli się. W końcu byłam sama i mogłam się zrelaksować. Konduktor już sprawdził bilety w moim wagonie a mój więcej niż raz. Zdziwiłam się kiedy po raz trzeci chciał sprawdzić mój bilet. Coś mówił po polsku a ja ani be ani me, nic nie rozumiałam. Szkoda, może można było uniknąć tego co się stało potem.

Konduktor z uśmiechem na twarzy zamykał drzwi do wagonu razem z firankami i jeszcze zamknął drzwi na klucz. Wyprostowałam się i protestowałam i wtedy ogromna łapa uderzyła mnie w głowę i twarz. Powiem wprost, dostałam w łeb. To było pierwszy raz w życiu jak dostałam w łeb przypadkowo albo celowo (i mam nadzieję ostatni). Byłam może nie nieprzytomna ale w kosmosie przez jakiś krótki czas. Jak wróciłam do siebie i ptaszki które latały około mojej głowy odleciały czułam jak konduktor złapał mnie między nogami i otworzył swój pasek. Wiedziałam, że muszę coś zrobić i uratować samą siebie od tego cokolwiek ten konduktor miał w planach. Jako studentka brałam udział w obowiązkowych zajęciach samoobrony dla kobiet i miałam ogromny psychiczny problem żeby krzyczeć i oddać komuś. Ta blokada zniknie kiedy atak jest na serio a nie instruktor noszący kostium z pianką. Kopałam go, uderzyłam go i jeszcze drapałam go. Szybko wstałam krzycząc głośno i uderzyłam w drzwi. Na szczęście byliśmy tylko 10 minut od ostatniego przystanku i pasażerowie już czekali na korytarzu. Pasażerowie też krzyczeli i w kilka sekund konduktor otworzył drzwi i uciekł trzymając pasek i spodnie z otwartym zamkiem w ręku. Pasażerowie spytali mnie czy nie jestem ranna i czy ktoś czeka na mnie. Nigdy nie byłam taka szczęśliwa jak zobaczyłam mojego nowego kolegę na peronie. Chyba pierwsza rzecz która powiedziałam mu było to że ten kraj jest popieprzony i że chciałam wrócić do domu jak najszybciej.

PS Jeżeli w Polsce zgubisz się i potrzebujesz pomocy, polecam spytać młodzież żeby ci pomóc tak jak ja zrobiłam w Poznaniu. Innym razem mój plan nie skutkował kiedy spytałam młodego przystojnego faceta na ulicy, (po angielsku) „Czy mówisz po angielsku?” i on na to „Tak, tylko. Jestem z Holandii” No, więc...

PS2 Oddać przysługę i pomóc jakiemuś zgubionemu biedakowi jak możesz. Kiedyś razem z Misiem pomogliśmy turystom w Mieście. Stali i szukali Rynku chociaż Rynek był tak blisko że był widoczny skąd staliśmy. Ich problemem była mapa Rynku, na której był tylko Rynek bez ulic prowadzących do rynku....i jeszcze to była mapa „pop-up”.

Oryginał

Wracając do mój pierwsze dni w Miasteczko. Podsumowanie: Byłam instalowana w moim pokoju czyli Archiwum w PZU, już poznałam Misiu i niestety jego dziewczyna też i miałam cała dwa tygodnie do zabijanie zanim szkoła zaczynała. Co taką dziewczynę ma robić? Jechać nad morzem Bałtycki!

Koleżanka z czasów studia była w Polsce kiedyś na wymiana studentów i wysłała jej najlepsze Polski kolega moje dane kontaktowe. On mieszkał nad morzem i wierny do gościnność Polski zapraszał mnie do siebie na dwa tygodnie.

Wyruszałam w podróż w którą składała z jedną krótką przyjazd autobusem i potem następna przyjazd dłuższą do Poznania. W Poznaniu musiałam przysiadać do pociągu i jechać dalej aż do morzu. Byłam bardzo dumną siebie jak dotarłam do Poznaniu autobusem do póki nie dotarło do mnie że nie miałam pojęcia gdzie znajdowało PKP. Spytałam jakieś studentów których pokazały mi jak tam dostać, chodzili ze mną, pomogli mi kupić bilet i jeszcze sadzili mi w pociągu. Wylewnie podziękowałam i potem ruszyłam w świat.

Naprawdę ten wyjazd był stresujący dla mnie. Martwiłam się o wszystko, że przegapia mój „przystanek” (nie dałam sobie sprawę ze mój był ostatni na linie) albo ze dostanie napadniętą. Zaczynałam podróż pociągiem w wagonie pełno starsze ludzi. Czułam jak dziecko który potrzebuje nazwisko i miasto napinany na sweterku. Te starsze ludzi powoli rozeszli i w ich miejscu siadali malarze po pracy. Poczęstowali mnie wódki ale myślałam lepiej odmówić.

Później też malarze rozeszli. W końcu byłam sama i mogłam zrelaksować. Konduktor już sprawdził bilety w moim wagonie i tak mój więcej niż raz. Zdziwiłam się kiedy po raz trzeci chciał mój bilet sprawdzić. Coś mówił po Polsku i ja ani be ani me, nic nie rozumiałam. Szkoda, może było unikać co się stało potem.

Konduktor z uśmiechem na twarzą zamykał drzwi do wagonie razem firankami i jeszcze zamykał drzwi na klucz. Wyprostowałam się i protestowałam i wtedy ogromna łapa uderzyła mnie w głowie i twarz. Powiem wprost, dostałam w łeb. To było pierwsze raz w życiu jak dostałam w łeb przypadkowo albo celowo (i mam nadzieje ostatni). Byłam może nie nieprzytomna ale w kosmosie przez jakiś krótki czas. Jak wróciłam do siebie i ptaszki który latali około mojej głowie odlatali czułam jak konduktor złapał mnie między nogami i otworzyło swój pasek. Wiedziałam że musze coś robić i uratować sama sobie od cokolwiek ten konduktor miał w planach. Jako studentka brałam udział w obowiązkowe zajęcie samo-obrona dla kobiet i miałam ogromny psychiczny problem żeby krzyczeć i oddać komuś. Ta blokada zniknie jak/kiedy atak jest na serio i nie instruktor znosiące kostium w pianką. Kopałam go, uderzyłam go i jeszcze drapałam go. Szybko wstałam krzycząc głośno i uderzyłam drzwi. Na szczęście byliśmy tylko 10 minut od ostatni przystanek i pasażerowie już czekali na korytarzu. Pasażerowie też krzyczeli i w kilka sekund konduktor otworzył drzwi i uciekł trzymając pasek i spodnie z otwarta zamek w ręka. Pasażerowie spytali mnie czy nie jestem ranna i czy ktoś czeka na mnie. Nigdy nie byłam taka szczęśliwa jak zobaczyłam moja nowa kolega na peronie. Chyba pierwsza rzecz który powiedziałam mu było ze ten kraj jest popieprzony i że chciałam wrócić do domu jak najszybciej.

PS Jeżeli w Polsce zgubisz się i potrzebujesz pomocy, polecam spytać młodzież żeby ci pomóc tak jak ja zrobiłam w Poznaniu. Innym razem mój plan nie skutkowało kiedy spytałam młody przystojny facet na ulica, (po angielsku) „Czy mówisz po angielsku?” i on na to „Tak, tylko. Jestem z Holandii” No, więc...

PS2 Oddać przysługa i pomóc jakiś zgubiony biedak jak możesz. Kiedyś razem z Misiem pomogłyśmy turyści w Mieści. Stali i szukali Rynek chociaż Rynek był tak blisko że był widoczny skąd staliśmy. Ich problem była mapa Rynku na tym która było tylko Rynek bez ulicy prowadzący do rynku....i jeszcze było „pop-up”.

Po polsku

Chyba powinnam pisać coś po polsku, ale co?