I'm currently reading Lost on Planet China by J. Maarten Troost (a big thank you to the Rupprechts and Deborah McCoy in particular for the gift), an extremely well-written and hysterical account of a westerner's journey through the seething, quasi-post-apocalyptic juggernaut that is modern day China (to paraphrase the author). I've found the book to be especially relevant as I try to make my way through my own international adventure, and would certainly recommend it to anyone currently living abroad or planning to do so.
Anywho...at one point Troost describes a train ride from Beijing to Qingdao. As is Chinese custom, when the train arrived hundreds of Chinese surged into the cars, leaving a startled Troost without a seat. Not only did he not get a seat, but he ended up stuck on an airless indoor platform, wedged between 12 stinky, chain-smoking Chinese men. And that is where he stayed for the full duration of his 6 hour trip. "Damn," I thought to myself. "That would be THE WORST thing ever. Thank God I'm not in China."
So I had this story in mind as I stood in the Wroclaw Glowny (main) Train Station with 20 other Polish Students, waiting for our train to come. We were bound for Duszniki-Zdroj (Douche-Nee-Kee-Zedroige), a small mountain town near the Czech border, where we would spend the weekend "integrating" the new members of IKSS- the University's student organization for culture and sport (Juniatians think JAB).
A train pulled up and I assumed we would get on, but the students assured me that this was the incorrect train. "Are you sure?", I asked with a fair amount of skepticism. "Positive," was the reply, with some intermixed Polish that I'm sure was something to the effect of "stupid American." So it was with some level of indignation that I found myself in a full sprint several seconds later, trying to bite, scratch, and claw my way into the crowded train car that was really built for half as many people as were trying to board. And as the third to last guy on (no apologies from the "positive" students) I inherited that wonderful space on an airless indoor platform, in a standing wedge between 6 other Polish guys with a 5 hour journey ahead of me. "This is the WORST THING ever," I thought to myself.
And it was... for a while at least. The only thing that saved me was the prohibition of smoking on the train (which is quite surprising considering the Polish commitment to smoker's rights...if I had to guess i'd say it was no lower than the 3rd or 4th on their version of the Bill of Rights, after freedom to consume vodka but well before due process or eminent domain). So as train clank-clunked down the rail at a brisk 50 km/hr (about 30 mph), making the 1 and a half hour trip (by car) into a 5 hour trip, I settled myself into that comfortable space between my compatriots back and elbow, and tried to enjoy the Polish countryside (which seemingly goes from the antiseptic burbs of New Jersey, to the fields of Nebraska, to the Sierra Nevadas in a matter of kilometers.)
But our arrival in Duszniki made the whole ordeal worth it. If you had to draw up a picture of your perfect little European mountain town, this would be it, babbling brook and all. On Saturday morning I had the chance to go for a run around town, and found an ATV trail (except I'm sure it was a horse and wagon trail, judging by the remains on my shoes) that switch-backed up a mountain into the forest and through the quaintest little village I've ever seen (farm animals in the only road and all) only to dead end at the top where it opened to a astonishing panorama of Duszniki, the snow-capped mountains surrounding it, and the Czech Republic off in the distance. To Eileen: if you wonder why anyone would ever want to be here, it is for this place and several others like it.
The rest of the weekend, however, was spent mostly indoors going through the "integration" routine that I've now internalized after a college career heavily-grounded in student organizations like this one. There were ice-breakers, discussions on effective communication, and goal-making sessions. The only difference was that it was all in Polish. And that most everyone had a beer in their hand the whole time (for some reason I don't see JAB holding a retreat with "Drinking Games" on the agenda).
It would have been a perfect weekend if it wasn't for the aforementioned Polish. From the beggining, I told the organizers that I didn't want them to cater their discussions to the one Amerykanin in the room. And they didn't, which meant that I spent most of the time trying to use visual cues and the 50 or so Polish words I know to make sense of what was going on around me. So After spending Friday and Saturday morning focusing every neuron in my brain on the various "tsch's" and "ski's" in the Polish dialect, I finally gave in to the white noise around me (becuase that's what it sounds like) and spent the afternoon and evening in oblivious repose with by best friend, pivo (beer).
This was the first time since arriving that the weight of my language ignorance truly hit me. Language is important for many reasons, but few have experienced the emotional and self-esteem related consequences that come from spending 48 hours mostly misunderstood by those around you. Its debilitating and isolating, and makes me long for that anonymous American bar where "everybody knows your name" (and how to prounounce it) but also the meaning of "first down", "face-planted", and "sonovabitch" (which, as it became clear to me that weekend, are vital language keys if you are ever going to explain american football to a foreigner).
So as I gazed out at the confused students listening to me lecture on the importance of student activism, I realized that my one responsibility for the weekend, the reason I was in Duszniki, was (mostly) all for naught. And that is why when it came time to write down my goals for the year, I unhesitatingly scribbled the following words onto the top line: "Learn Polish- Powodzenia!" (good luck)
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Procrastination
I knew this would happen.
I had all of these glorious visions of a daily blog with active commentary and an exponentially growing number of readers. A blog that would not only serve to send word of my travails back home, but would also serve as a place to discuss the issues of the day. This blog would take right off...friends would tell family, family would tell coworkers, coworkers would tell their neighbors, and the neighbors would realize that they just happen to be an editor at the New York Times and that this guy Shawn is brilliant. And then I would get paid.
But instead of cashing in on my dream job, I sit here with 4 posts (3 legit posts...scratch that, 2 legit posts [syllabus doesn't count]) to show for one month of cultural immersion. And I could spend the next 500 words making every excuse under the sun as to why this is the case (and they'd be damn good ones), but we all know the real reason. And I think it can be found somewhere in The Book of Shawn, Chapter 13: How to Write your Senior Thesis in 3 days.
So instead I'll take the high road and do what I always do when I screw up. I'll pull every b-s tactic in the book (of Shawn) to make the mess I've created look way better than it really is. In this instance that involves throwing this post up there to artificially inflate the post count without ever really saying anything substantive. In other instances it has involved cleaning the house so spotlessly after a parents-less rager that Doreen (the mother) knew something was up. Sorry Doreen.
But before I move on to something more pertinent, let me thank Ehoov, Linde, and Dr. Andrew, for living up to the readers end of the bargain and basically telling me to get my act together with this blog. Without your efforts I probably would not be sitting here right now filling space. A special thanks to Dr. Andrew- now that we have a real adult perusing this thing I may have to up the quality a bit. But then again...
I had all of these glorious visions of a daily blog with active commentary and an exponentially growing number of readers. A blog that would not only serve to send word of my travails back home, but would also serve as a place to discuss the issues of the day. This blog would take right off...friends would tell family, family would tell coworkers, coworkers would tell their neighbors, and the neighbors would realize that they just happen to be an editor at the New York Times and that this guy Shawn is brilliant. And then I would get paid.
But instead of cashing in on my dream job, I sit here with 4 posts (3 legit posts...scratch that, 2 legit posts [syllabus doesn't count]) to show for one month of cultural immersion. And I could spend the next 500 words making every excuse under the sun as to why this is the case (and they'd be damn good ones), but we all know the real reason. And I think it can be found somewhere in The Book of Shawn, Chapter 13: How to Write your Senior Thesis in 3 days.
So instead I'll take the high road and do what I always do when I screw up. I'll pull every b-s tactic in the book (of Shawn) to make the mess I've created look way better than it really is. In this instance that involves throwing this post up there to artificially inflate the post count without ever really saying anything substantive. In other instances it has involved cleaning the house so spotlessly after a parents-less rager that Doreen (the mother) knew something was up. Sorry Doreen.
But before I move on to something more pertinent, let me thank Ehoov, Linde, and Dr. Andrew, for living up to the readers end of the bargain and basically telling me to get my act together with this blog. Without your efforts I probably would not be sitting here right now filling space. A special thanks to Dr. Andrew- now that we have a real adult perusing this thing I may have to up the quality a bit. But then again...
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Doctor
With the American Congress raging over health-care reform, I found it quite appropriate that one of my first tasks in Poland would bring me nose-to-nose with that creation of Satan himself: socialized medicine. As a supporter of some version of health-care reform (anything, really), I welcomed the chance to go all Michael Moore on the Poland health-care system. Maybe I could do some research and let my good friend Barack (I did kinda work on his campaign) know how this social safety net really works.
So I ventured to the hospital, urine sample in hand (see post below) ready for my ABSOLUTELY FREE examination (well, excluding the 50 Grosze [15 cents] I paid for the piss cup). We walk a couple of blocks and stop at this decrepit monstrosity of a building and I immediately realize why they couldn't afford to provide everyone with their own piss cup. This place was a relic. It was almost as if the powers that be decided that if this place could withstand the blitzkrieg, then it could withstand 70 more years of neglected repairs. I ventured inside with trepidation...
We arrive on the 6th floor to some type of bio-bureaucratic hell. A hallway that goes on forever with 50 closed doors on each side and 200 people sitting in benches on either wall, all clenching their own distinctive color of piss. At various points one of the doors would open and some uni-browed sergeant-lady would yell some menacing polish phrase and everyone on the benches would stir ("There were 8 in the bed and the little one said..."). My translator and I took our place in line.
Eventually we made our way to the first door where I was asked to answer some questions (a task I repeated at every door). And they were always the same: my name, my parents names, my mothers maiden name, my fathers middle name (seriously) and other ridiculous things. In fact, I must have gone through 6 offices before they asked for any medical information. But then I reached the "hearing" doctor.
When I walked in the lady (who told me she speaks well English) was wearing a head lamp the size of a basketball. When she turned it on the room temperature increased by a couple ticks. She then proceeds to use said head lamp, and a large funnel (think beer-bong) to look in my ears. After melting my inner ear wax with her chapeau soleil she asked me (through the translator) to stand by the door and plug my right ear. She stood about 20 feet away and told me that she would say some words softly and then ask me to repeat them. She begins by making some unintelligible noise: "dun-da-dun." I respond: "dun-da-dun." Her next sound was: "horty". I respond: "horty." We went on like this for some time before I realized the old bat with "well english" was asking me to repeat various english numbers (read 'dun-da-dun' as 'twenty-one' and 'horty' as 'forty'). Nevertheless I passed the hearing exam with flying colors and went on the the eye doctor which wasn't without its own hysterics:
doctor: cover your right eye and read the highlighted numbers on the bottom line
me: two-zero-four
doctor: now cover your left eye and read the line again
*doctor does not change highlighted numbers
me: two-zero-four.
doctor: great, you have perfect vision.
So I bounced between the various offices, answering identical questions and receiving various med-evil tests, all the while feeling very much like Arlo Guthrie in "Alice's Resteraunt": "injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected." Finally the translator informed me that there would be just one more test and that it would be a good one because she would get to see my naked. And I had some mixed reactions to this, with one part of me feeling flattered that this gorgeous (like most of the girls here) polish girl wants to see me naked and the other part feeling pretty concerned that the combination of a cold room and an old polish man with latex gloves would leave my manhood lacking its usual robustness (ok, maybe not-so-usual). So it was with some sense of relief that I learned that by naked she only meant the top half and that rather than asking me to cough, another old lady asked me to stand in front of some x-ray machine so they could scan my chest. Regardless, I did my best to flex every sinewy muscle I had as the translator instructed me to contort my frame in various positions to get the best possible picture. I thought that I had impressed the chick until she spent the rest of the walk home talking about her boyfriend, the police officer (who up to this point, she had not mentioned.)
In sum: Barack, please do not follow Poland's lead. Unless of course you're looking to give every drug-addict a better opportunity at passing a government physical. Which in turn would stimulate the economy by giving us non-drug users an opportunity to make some cash on the urine black market. So on second thought...
So I ventured to the hospital, urine sample in hand (see post below) ready for my ABSOLUTELY FREE examination (well, excluding the 50 Grosze [15 cents] I paid for the piss cup). We walk a couple of blocks and stop at this decrepit monstrosity of a building and I immediately realize why they couldn't afford to provide everyone with their own piss cup. This place was a relic. It was almost as if the powers that be decided that if this place could withstand the blitzkrieg, then it could withstand 70 more years of neglected repairs. I ventured inside with trepidation...
We arrive on the 6th floor to some type of bio-bureaucratic hell. A hallway that goes on forever with 50 closed doors on each side and 200 people sitting in benches on either wall, all clenching their own distinctive color of piss. At various points one of the doors would open and some uni-browed sergeant-lady would yell some menacing polish phrase and everyone on the benches would stir ("There were 8 in the bed and the little one said..."). My translator and I took our place in line.
Eventually we made our way to the first door where I was asked to answer some questions (a task I repeated at every door). And they were always the same: my name, my parents names, my mothers maiden name, my fathers middle name (seriously) and other ridiculous things. In fact, I must have gone through 6 offices before they asked for any medical information. But then I reached the "hearing" doctor.
When I walked in the lady (who told me she speaks well English) was wearing a head lamp the size of a basketball. When she turned it on the room temperature increased by a couple ticks. She then proceeds to use said head lamp, and a large funnel (think beer-bong) to look in my ears. After melting my inner ear wax with her chapeau soleil she asked me (through the translator) to stand by the door and plug my right ear. She stood about 20 feet away and told me that she would say some words softly and then ask me to repeat them. She begins by making some unintelligible noise: "dun-da-dun." I respond: "dun-da-dun." Her next sound was: "horty". I respond: "horty." We went on like this for some time before I realized the old bat with "well english" was asking me to repeat various english numbers (read 'dun-da-dun' as 'twenty-one' and 'horty' as 'forty'). Nevertheless I passed the hearing exam with flying colors and went on the the eye doctor which wasn't without its own hysterics:
doctor: cover your right eye and read the highlighted numbers on the bottom line
me: two-zero-four
doctor: now cover your left eye and read the line again
*doctor does not change highlighted numbers
me: two-zero-four.
doctor: great, you have perfect vision.
So I bounced between the various offices, answering identical questions and receiving various med-evil tests, all the while feeling very much like Arlo Guthrie in "Alice's Resteraunt": "injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected." Finally the translator informed me that there would be just one more test and that it would be a good one because she would get to see my naked. And I had some mixed reactions to this, with one part of me feeling flattered that this gorgeous (like most of the girls here) polish girl wants to see me naked and the other part feeling pretty concerned that the combination of a cold room and an old polish man with latex gloves would leave my manhood lacking its usual robustness (ok, maybe not-so-usual). So it was with some sense of relief that I learned that by naked she only meant the top half and that rather than asking me to cough, another old lady asked me to stand in front of some x-ray machine so they could scan my chest. Regardless, I did my best to flex every sinewy muscle I had as the translator instructed me to contort my frame in various positions to get the best possible picture. I thought that I had impressed the chick until she spent the rest of the walk home talking about her boyfriend, the police officer (who up to this point, she had not mentioned.)
In sum: Barack, please do not follow Poland's lead. Unless of course you're looking to give every drug-addict a better opportunity at passing a government physical. Which in turn would stimulate the economy by giving us non-drug users an opportunity to make some cash on the urine black market. So on second thought...
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Update
Ok...So I've been here for a little more than a week and a lot has happened. Rather than give you a Rupprecht-like run through on every little detail, let me just cover some initial surprises and we'll call it good.
Surprise #1: No one here speaks English
That's a lie. Many people speak English. But not nearly as many people as I thought coming in. Those that do speak English are normally too uncertain in their own ability to approach me. Until they get drunk of course, and then they want to know everything about America and what sports teams I like and whether high school was like American Pie or not. Then the next day when I try to talk to them they apologize for making a fool out of themselves and tell me that their English is not up to snuff and they can't talk right now bye.
Of course, there are several great English speakers who have pretty much kept me alive since I've arrived. But they're not the norm. And they're all under the age of 27. Which means that if you have to have your paperwork approved by 15 different departments staffed by 15 different old ladies, you're up shit's creek.
Surprise #2: Apparently I'm an English Teacher
First conversation with my boss:
Boss (one of the few 40 somethings that speaks English, albeit mostly broken): Greetings
Shawn: Professor Witchovsky, thank you so much for this oppor...
Boss: You will teach English 150 hours this semester.
Shawn: Ok, but how...
Boss: Iwona will give you the details, let me introduce you to your department head...
And that was it. And the details were skimpy. Two classes, once a week plus some private lessons to Asian students on the side. No materials. No instruction on how I'm supposed to do this,. Just a location and a roster. But teaching English is easy, right?
And lets not forget that my real job here is to be the student government adviser/director of student activities. Yeah, that's still on.
Surprise #3: (Relatively) Great Running!
The area I'm in doesn't exactly scream 'running mecca'. Has anyone ever been to Morgantown, WV in February? Sort of like that. Only way more post-communist-industrial-behemoth.
So it was quite to my surprise that less than a block away from my dorm is a wonderful little park. And if you run through that park and cross a highway (Mainers think Rt 1, Juniatians think Rt 22, Massholes think Rt 7) you get to a much larger park. And if you run a mile and a half to the end of that park you get into these sprawling community gardens (like 500 acres worth) that are parceled off to 2,000 different citizens (more on these later). And then after you've run through that there's yet another park with the feel of a very much scaled-down central park. In all there's probably 6-7 miles one-way without really hitting much pavement.
While on my first run through these parks I noticed that everyone had their dog unleashed. As I approached the first unleashed pup, I readied myself for a sprint and desperately tried to prepare some sort of way to communicate to the owner (and dog) that I didn't particularly care for a chase. But then, like magic, I ran by the dog and it didn't so much as fart. Every other dog I've passed has elicited the same reaction: indifference! My first impulse was to be delighted and amazed at the ability of Polish owners to train their dogs so well. But then I realized that these dogs are probably just the last bastions of a communist way of life that demanded strict obedience and discouraged volition. And that's when I began to appreciate (if only for a brief second) being chased by some devilish (but truly free) dobermans one day in Livermore Falls, Maine.
Surprise #4 Where art thou Peanut Butter?
I knew there would be some comfort items not available to me here: NESN, Allagash White Ale, and Man vs. Wild Marathons come to mind. But one thing I was assured of was that Peanut Butter would be readily available. In all of its various forms. I need not worry.
Well that's bullshit.
It took me about 12 days of harrowed searching to come across the salty-smooth treat, and when I finally laid thine eyes on thous sumptuous bounty, it whilst be devoid of several of its relations, and instead offered in the standard chunky and creamy varieties that you can probably get at 7-11 or Sheetz. But instead of commiserating about the amount of trans-fat I was about to intake, I did what any other warm-blooded American would do and promptly bought 8 jars of the stuff and lathered it all over every other item I had purchased on the bus ride home. And oh...at that moment...I was oh so close to heaven.
Ok, there are many other surprises i could detail, but its getting late and I have an early morning work-required physical/piss test (which I administer myself prior to arriving at the doctor's- apparently swapping samples is not a problem here, or as my Polish friend put it: "In Poland, unlike America, we just trust each other to do what is right." I think she was joking, but nevertheless I was reminded of Hobbes "Leviathan" and it was a very long thought indeed.)
Surprise #1: No one here speaks English
That's a lie. Many people speak English. But not nearly as many people as I thought coming in. Those that do speak English are normally too uncertain in their own ability to approach me. Until they get drunk of course, and then they want to know everything about America and what sports teams I like and whether high school was like American Pie or not. Then the next day when I try to talk to them they apologize for making a fool out of themselves and tell me that their English is not up to snuff and they can't talk right now bye.
Of course, there are several great English speakers who have pretty much kept me alive since I've arrived. But they're not the norm. And they're all under the age of 27. Which means that if you have to have your paperwork approved by 15 different departments staffed by 15 different old ladies, you're up shit's creek.
Surprise #2: Apparently I'm an English Teacher
First conversation with my boss:
Boss (one of the few 40 somethings that speaks English, albeit mostly broken): Greetings
Shawn: Professor Witchovsky, thank you so much for this oppor...
Boss: You will teach English 150 hours this semester.
Shawn: Ok, but how...
Boss: Iwona will give you the details, let me introduce you to your department head...
And that was it. And the details were skimpy. Two classes, once a week plus some private lessons to Asian students on the side. No materials. No instruction on how I'm supposed to do this,. Just a location and a roster. But teaching English is easy, right?
And lets not forget that my real job here is to be the student government adviser/director of student activities. Yeah, that's still on.
Surprise #3: (Relatively) Great Running!
The area I'm in doesn't exactly scream 'running mecca'. Has anyone ever been to Morgantown, WV in February? Sort of like that. Only way more post-communist-industrial-behemoth.
So it was quite to my surprise that less than a block away from my dorm is a wonderful little park. And if you run through that park and cross a highway (Mainers think Rt 1, Juniatians think Rt 22, Massholes think Rt 7) you get to a much larger park. And if you run a mile and a half to the end of that park you get into these sprawling community gardens (like 500 acres worth) that are parceled off to 2,000 different citizens (more on these later). And then after you've run through that there's yet another park with the feel of a very much scaled-down central park. In all there's probably 6-7 miles one-way without really hitting much pavement.
While on my first run through these parks I noticed that everyone had their dog unleashed. As I approached the first unleashed pup, I readied myself for a sprint and desperately tried to prepare some sort of way to communicate to the owner (and dog) that I didn't particularly care for a chase. But then, like magic, I ran by the dog and it didn't so much as fart. Every other dog I've passed has elicited the same reaction: indifference! My first impulse was to be delighted and amazed at the ability of Polish owners to train their dogs so well. But then I realized that these dogs are probably just the last bastions of a communist way of life that demanded strict obedience and discouraged volition. And that's when I began to appreciate (if only for a brief second) being chased by some devilish (but truly free) dobermans one day in Livermore Falls, Maine.
Surprise #4 Where art thou Peanut Butter?
I knew there would be some comfort items not available to me here: NESN, Allagash White Ale, and Man vs. Wild Marathons come to mind. But one thing I was assured of was that Peanut Butter would be readily available. In all of its various forms. I need not worry.
Well that's bullshit.
It took me about 12 days of harrowed searching to come across the salty-smooth treat, and when I finally laid thine eyes on thous sumptuous bounty, it whilst be devoid of several of its relations, and instead offered in the standard chunky and creamy varieties that you can probably get at 7-11 or Sheetz. But instead of commiserating about the amount of trans-fat I was about to intake, I did what any other warm-blooded American would do and promptly bought 8 jars of the stuff and lathered it all over every other item I had purchased on the bus ride home. And oh...at that moment...I was oh so close to heaven.
Ok, there are many other surprises i could detail, but its getting late and I have an early morning work-required physical/piss test (which I administer myself prior to arriving at the doctor's- apparently swapping samples is not a problem here, or as my Polish friend put it: "In Poland, unlike America, we just trust each other to do what is right." I think she was joking, but nevertheless I was reminded of Hobbes "Leviathan" and it was a very long thought indeed.)
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The Syllabus
Hello all and welcome. After much thought I've decided that the well-worn blog would be the best way to stay in touch with those of you back home who like me well enough to slog through my sloppy prose. Out of respect for your time (and my own desire to keep your attention) I'll do my best to keep posts short and exciting, with a focus on cultural transitions and ridiculous stories. That said, I can't rule out a diatribe or two. And if the Hoovers actively comment, that diatribe number will likely climb higher.
As the main purpose of this blog is to communicate with my friends back home en masse, I'd love to see this function more as an open forum and less as a journal. Though we're all busy and receiving various communications from all directions, I hope you can find the time (and incentive) necessary to let me know you're out there listening. So when you get the chance...tell me your thoughts, disagree with my posts (shouldn't be too hard for some), and bring a new perspective to the table. I especially look forward to any advice from former and current expats, particularly when it comes to finding peanut butter, dealing with angry non-english speakers, or finding a free way to rip red sox games off the net.
I will try to post every day, and am extremely optimistic that I won't get burned out and end this thing in a couple weeks. If you see me faltering, give me a kick in the ass and get me going again. If I have some incentive to post beyond my own desire to maintain my English skills (which is difficult considering i'm listening and responding to broken English all day), it will be a huge help....so thank you in advance for your assistance and cooperation.
As I've already broken my no-diatribe rule, I'll leave the post as is and trust that you understand what I'm trying to do here. Here we go...
As the main purpose of this blog is to communicate with my friends back home en masse, I'd love to see this function more as an open forum and less as a journal. Though we're all busy and receiving various communications from all directions, I hope you can find the time (and incentive) necessary to let me know you're out there listening. So when you get the chance...tell me your thoughts, disagree with my posts (shouldn't be too hard for some), and bring a new perspective to the table. I especially look forward to any advice from former and current expats, particularly when it comes to finding peanut butter, dealing with angry non-english speakers, or finding a free way to rip red sox games off the net.
I will try to post every day, and am extremely optimistic that I won't get burned out and end this thing in a couple weeks. If you see me faltering, give me a kick in the ass and get me going again. If I have some incentive to post beyond my own desire to maintain my English skills (which is difficult considering i'm listening and responding to broken English all day), it will be a huge help....so thank you in advance for your assistance and cooperation.
As I've already broken my no-diatribe rule, I'll leave the post as is and trust that you understand what I'm trying to do here. Here we go...
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