A Bad Hair Day
Paul, my American colleague, was a genial guy. He was really nice to me. I just started out at an English-speaking corporate world, and felt as secure as a rookie in a big league. To me, his friendliness made a huge difference; he always slowed down when talking to me, and never asked me the question like “Did you actually eat dog in China?”
Still, Paul's talk often confused the hell out of me, mainly because of his fond of slang. On the lucky day, I could infer with no trouble; “Bee, I’m counting on you to get this done, don’t drop the ball.” I didn’t. And I got it without knowing too much of American football.
On the not so lucky day, I had to take a wild guess; “Bee, we really hit a home run in our last project.” He was smiling, so I ventured that “hit a home run” could not possibly mean “shitty work”, one of his frequent terms. Then, there was truly bad day.
One late afternoon, Paul surfaced suddenly in my cubicle and said in a serious tone: “The big cheese is having a bad hair day. He wants to see us one by one; get your ass in his office now.” Then off he went, as quickly as he appeared.
I understood clearly every single word Paul uttered; after all, “big” and “cheese” are a piece of cake comparing to GRE vocabulary. But putting them together registered a blank in my head. So my ass remained where it was.
A half hour later, Paul popped in again. This time he’s not just serious; he was furious: “I told you to see Goldberg in his office, why are you still sitting here?”
My ass almost fell off the chair—Goldberg being our group manager. In a quick flash, I realized that Paul wasn’t referring to the food that no Chinese ever comes to like.
My ass was in Goldberg’s office in no time. I didn’t forget to glance at his hair, combed neatly but looked a bit of cheesy, which wasn’t that bad; his mood was. Leaning on the door, I was bitching about Paul's slang silently, while trying to figure out how to save my ass.
I survived. From that moment on, I swore I would never let anyone throw me a curve ball—sport slang or else—without batting back for an explanation.
Still, Paul's talk often confused the hell out of me, mainly because of his fond of slang. On the lucky day, I could infer with no trouble; “Bee, I’m counting on you to get this done, don’t drop the ball.” I didn’t. And I got it without knowing too much of American football.
On the not so lucky day, I had to take a wild guess; “Bee, we really hit a home run in our last project.” He was smiling, so I ventured that “hit a home run” could not possibly mean “shitty work”, one of his frequent terms. Then, there was truly bad day.
One late afternoon, Paul surfaced suddenly in my cubicle and said in a serious tone: “The big cheese is having a bad hair day. He wants to see us one by one; get your ass in his office now.” Then off he went, as quickly as he appeared.
I understood clearly every single word Paul uttered; after all, “big” and “cheese” are a piece of cake comparing to GRE vocabulary. But putting them together registered a blank in my head. So my ass remained where it was.
A half hour later, Paul popped in again. This time he’s not just serious; he was furious: “I told you to see Goldberg in his office, why are you still sitting here?”
My ass almost fell off the chair—Goldberg being our group manager. In a quick flash, I realized that Paul wasn’t referring to the food that no Chinese ever comes to like.
My ass was in Goldberg’s office in no time. I didn’t forget to glance at his hair, combed neatly but looked a bit of cheesy, which wasn’t that bad; his mood was. Leaning on the door, I was bitching about Paul's slang silently, while trying to figure out how to save my ass.
I survived. From that moment on, I swore I would never let anyone throw me a curve ball—sport slang or else—without batting back for an explanation.
posted by Lingual Bee at 11:09 PM
4 Comments:
David, it is a funny and sad story in one. Still have to check out a couple of slang expression from your blog. I am really impressed by your English.
Take care, Jola :)
Bee, I like this post very much. Lots of slangs and full of humor, although I had to look up the word curveball. - Butterfly
May I ask how long you have been learning English? Your English is really good.
An English learner
Thanks for your compliment. As I mentioned in my first posting, my formal English class started at the sixth grade and ended when I graduated from college.
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