Am I in the Wrong Classroom?

I’m getting better at this. Some days, I even know which classroom to go to and which students will be there when I arrive. On the best of days, I walk away feeling like we all learned something.

Other days, professors approach me and try to remember their college English—which they haven’t used in years—while their students harass them from the hallway.
“Speak English, teacher!”
The professor stammers until I offer, “Am I in the wrong classroom?”
“Yes!”
So I leave, because he seems older and wiser than I am. His students file in, while mine begin to gather around me in the hallway, and we all stare in expectantly.
“Is there a problem?” the professor asks, finally.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure this is actually our classroom.”
“Oh, we’ll go somewhere else, then.”
He files out as his classroom full of boys snickers and trails behind.

It seems this one was on me. I should have asked someone, “Some of my classes haven’t met yet. Do you suppose someone else has been using our classroom in the interim?”

Still other days are like hide and seek, or lost and found. My students aren’t in classroom 4, because some kids are “having a meeting.” So I look first in 5, where we sometimes meet, and then in 2, where we met once. I find them in 3, where I’ve never been.

Someone could have mentioned that nothing is static; that your students will be in the general area of the fourth floor, wherever they can find space. Someone also could have mentioned that Friday is a special class, a blend of students from earlier classes who come for extra practice—a reality that involves planning a second lesson, or quick improv. Yes, someone could have mentioned it. But, more importantly, I should have asked.

I should have asked more questions from the very beginning. The questions are basic, and I can’t believe I’ve just caught on.
Number one: “How will my day be different than the schedule claimed it would be?”
Number two: “How will today be different from yesterday?”
Number three, if anyone can think this far ahead: “How will tomorrow be different from today?”

As the culture shock begins to fade away, the burden of personal accountability is increasingly clear. When I am walking down the street and I hear the ominous collecting of throat mucus behind me, it is not that guy’s responsibility to avoid spitting on me. It is my responsibility to stay out of his way if I don’t want to get spit on today. When I am walking toward a parent steadying her toddler so he can pee by the sidewalk, that parent has her hands full. It is up to me and only me to walk around the stream if I don’t want to get peed on today.

I expected—and still expect—to learn an enormous amount by living in a foreign environment. Somehow, I didn’t expect China to be a nation that would teach me so much about independence and personal accountability. The most exciting thing about residing in a different culture is anticipating the myriad of things I’ll eventually be wrong about.