And for my next trick, I will use my powers to decipher the meaning behind these symbols.
About twice a week, the laptop ayi visits my class.
The laptop ayi is the Chinese tech support woman who delivers a trolley of computers to the classes around the school, keeping them safe, making them purr, and treating the trolley like it was her prize pony. After I book the laptops she brings them at the designated time, unlocks them, tips her metaphorical hat, and saunters on her way.
But occasionally an issue arises: the laptops were not safely stowed in their closet for her to fetch them. A computer is missing, or some headphones, or a powerchord. The trolley has been double booked and she wants to clear up all the fuss so that everyone can be happy. At least, I assume this is what she’s saying. My Mandarin doesn’t exist.
There is nothing more embarrassing than when an adult tries to communicate with you and your failure is so abject that a group of six year-olds comes to your aid. As my students see my face redden they suddenly appear at my side, the whole lot of them, the ones who have spoken Mandarin from birth and the ones who learn it recreationally at school. “Don’t worry, Mr. M,” they seem to say, as they shoo me away so the grown-ups can talk. “We’ll handle this.” The gaggle of them converse pleasantly to the ayi, who nods and responds, thanks them pleasantly, and ambles off along down the hall.
Don’t worry, my surrogate mom will deal with this.
I sat in my apartment, thumbs twiddling. I was waiting for a mysterious stranger. There was no way of contacting her–my cell phone and internet service had been cut off, which was what prompted her visit. I turned off the lights to wait in the dark, as being without internet or cellular made me feel like a caveman anyways.
My real estate agent had sent her. Charlie was twenty-something and awkwardly tall, as though the material that made up his body had been stretched too thin beyond the original blueprints. His English was superb, which was his purpose in my life. Aside from securing the apartment in which I currently dwell, he was also my personal caretaker. He dealt with my problems when they grew to a complexity beyond what cereal to buy or how to brush my teeth.
Confronted with a cell phone that no longer cell phoned, I grunted and bawked and mashed at it like a Neanderthal or a grandpa dealing with a DVD player. My technology no longer did technological things, and I was already out of ideas. I scratched at my heavy, sloped brow, and attempted to wifi-squat until I could contact Charlie and whine at him to solve my problems for me.
Within hours Charlie had conscripted a young woman to find me at my apartment and shepherd me through the city. She attempted to give me a ride on the back of her tiny, delicate scooter, but being twice her height and weight made the prospect unfeasible, and her offer to let me drive her vehicle through the rain in Chinese traffic terrified me to the core.