Navigating Working in USA without Speaking English, part 1

I recently walked into a branch of a large, nation-wide company and realized that no one who worked there could communicate in English. It was not that they clerks did not understand fast, idiomatic English or they spoke with hesitation or they had some grammar mistakes. None of the three workers could answer the question “What is that?” when I pointed to one of the few products that they were selling.

The store was set up so that customers typed their request into a computer on the counter and paid with a credit card. When the computer pinged that the order was paid for, the clerks packaged the product and put it in a bag. If customers had questions, they were supposed to go the company’s website. I was messing up the system by talking to the clerks.

I have taught non-native speakers of English for over two decades so I was smiling, talking softly and trying simplification, restatement and other communicative methods, but they didn’t have any basics. I have been in countries where I could not communicate, but to work with such a linguistic chasm? Scary. It was after dark, 15 degrees outside and if one of them was in trouble, they could only run outside and hope to find someone who spoke their language. If there was any kind of problem they could not get information quickly; imagine if someone ran in and yelled “fire.”

This is personal as I am haunted by the death of Hawa Barry’s son in February, 2003. Barry was riding in a Boston subway car when a man yelled out a warning that someone had a gun. As other passengers tried to take cover, Barry did not understand the warning and stayed in her seat. She was struck by a bullet and went into premature labor. Her son died shortly after birth.

At the time, I was teaching a Red Cross citizenship class to students who had a low-level of English. When I read the news article about Barry, I thought, “that could have been one of my students.” During the next class, I tried to teach my students what to do if someone yells “duck.” The students thought this was very funny but I was trying to hold back tears.

In Oman I was back on the other side of a linguistic divide. Despite my repeated requests, the university where I worked usually sent out e-mails only in Arabic. I would open one with a few sentences in a huge, red font replete with exclamation points and have to call the secretary to find out what was going on.

And, of course, it is not just language. To be in a new place means constant adjustments and occasional panics. When I was sitting in a cafe in the mall, I heard a loud alarm going off. I looked around me, wondering if I needed to get up and leave. A man at near-by table said to me, “ok, smoking, no problem.” Not exactly reassuring (what was smoking?!) but since no one was moving, I decided to stay put.

I later found out that the alarm sounding meant that meant a man decided he wanted to smoke but didn’t want to walk all the way to the main entrance, so he walked out the emergency exit, triggering the fire alarm.  No problem when you understood what was going on, but scary when you didn’t know.

I will never buy anything from that company again as I feel that company’s behavior is unconscionable. They want cheap workers and people want jobs, but to allow your staff to work in such a precarious position is evil.

Returning to USA – Culture Shock essays

Researching and Working on the Arabian Peninsula: Creating Effective Interactions

How NOT to Describe People Who Are Foreign to You: Exoticizing Omanis

“What He Thought,” Heather McHugh