Culture shock...

Okay, so I was talking to The Honey a few days ago about my job. I was telling him about the fact that I am the only woman on my shift in my department for whom English is a "First" Language. Hell, I think I am the only woman on my shift in the entire plant with that distinction. So communication is often difficult at best. Tonight we had a "safety meeting". It was supposed to be about the use of PPE (Personal Protective Equipment). What it ended up being was all of us sitting around in the office (the classroom was in use), staring at the walls. Why? Well for one reason, the boss man doesn't think we need to review the material considering the fact that the only safety equipment we use in our department is hard hats. ( I still can't figure out why though. I stand in one spot packing packaged meat into boxes so that it can be shipped to your local Super-Center for that store with the smiley face as it's mascot. You know the one, he runs around rolling back the prices?) So rather than actually watch the film we were supposed to view, we all signed the form saying we understood the rules for PPE use, and then sat around to kill the time that the film would have taken up. Now, that brings us to reason number two as to why we did not actually have the meeting. If we did actually conduct the safety meeting, it could have taken hours. Why? You may be asking. Well, because for the people in my department to all see the movie in their native tongue, we would have to watch about five or six films. Since we are all supposed to be together while viewing the films, that would mean that we would all have to sit through an English version (for me), a Spanish version, A Vietnamese version, A Chinese version, a Japanese version, and an Arabic version. How silly is that? The boss man made a good call tonight, but I am not looking forward to when we do have to actually watch the films next month. (Next months meeting is on hand washing.) I won't be able to stand it. See for me, hearing all those different languages spoken around me all the time gives me a headache. It is not that I mind any of them really, but as soon as I get off the production floor and out into the halls, I take out my ear plugs and insert my ear buds, drowning out the cacophony of gibberish that invades my ears, with the sweet sounds of Hinder or Incubus. At least they are in English, so it is the one time of my night at work that I actually understand what someone is saying. I walk around in my own little world, coming out only long enough to smile at The Cutie when he smiles at me. (He has made it a point to come and talk to me a few times each night for the past two nights in a row, how sweet of him really, considering he probably thinks I am insane the way I watch for that smile.) He made a joke tonight that the only time he ever sees me without something in my ears, is when I am on the phone and am holding something to my ear. He has a point, but it is not an easy thing for me to deal with, that all of these people choose to live and work here in this country, hell half of them have become citizens, yet they are unable (or unwilling is more likely) to learn English. They talk about me to my face, in their native tongues. (I know this because one of my good friends from my old plant works with me, and she speaks Arabic. (She will not tell me what they were saying about me, just that it was not nice, and that women should not say those kinds of words.) Nice, huh? I have never done anything to deserve being talked about in a manner that a friend is not even willing to repeat. I show up on time everyday, and do my job to the best of my ability, then I go home. How does that deserve some one's anger? The Hispanic girls at this plant have been far kinder to me than I had expected, but, and here is a big but.... Most of them speak only the most basic English, and so therefore do not attempt to converse with me. There is one girl, the one I work with on my line, who has tried desperately to communicate with me, and I with her. She is a very nice woman, and I like her very much, but we can not do more than just speak to each other in our native tongues, and hope the other understands enough to get the drift of what we are saying. We have broken down a time or two and called over a translator. Translation, that is another thing that irritates me about the place I work. We have dozens of people running about in light blue colored hard hats. That color indicates a translator. But do not pin your hopes on being able to communicate with one of them. Most of them only speak two languages. Well, that would be fine for me except, I only speak ENGLISH! What happens when I need to speak to the girl who only speaks Japanese? Well, it goes something like this...I call over the Japanese translator, who only translates into Arabic, so we call over an Arabic translator, who only translates into Spanish, so we have to call over the Spanish translator, who translates to me in very broken and hard to comprehend English. Yep. All to ask the Japanese girl where she put my box labels while I was on break. It just isn't worth it. I usually end up playing a very crude version of Charades or Pictionary instead. With about as good of results.



I am also appalled by something else that happens at my work. Something I knew in my heart was taking place, but I didn't want to accept, until The Honey made sure to bring it to the front of my mind by telling me ALL about it. (Thanks HONEY!) That is, the unusual bathroom habits of people from other countries. Now, just let me say, I avoid our bathrooms at all costs. I often wait until about half way through the shift to excuse myself to go take that pee break I have been so desperately needing. Why? Well, it is simple. If I go mid shift i can use the upstairs bathroom that is for the sole use of the "Office" personnel. I just sneak up there when they are all gone for the night. I do this because the downstairs "Production" bathroom, is disgusting. All of the time. I don't mean your average paper towels on the floor gross. I mean toilet seats always soaking wet. Feces covered paper in the garbage cans that are in each stall. Unflushed toilets. It just gives me the Heebie Jeebies. (Kind of SKEEVES me out, if you know what I mean.) See, when I first started working at this plant, I noticed some of the women from the Middle East, and All places Africa, carrying bottles or cups full of water to the restroom with them. In my heart of hearts I knew why, but it didn't really hit home for me until The Honey told me that in the countries these people come from, they do not use toilet tissue like we do, they use water, and their hands, to wash their asses when they are finished using the restroom. EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! Wow, my stomach turned just typing that sentence. How nasty is that? And why do they find it necessary to leave their nasty ASS WATER, all over the seat for the next person to enjoy. Yuck! I guess it is a good thing I am not wealthy. If I was, I would want to travel the world. If i did, and I went to a country where those kind of bathroom habits were practiced, I would go broke, starting a public awareness campaign on the proper use of toilets and bath tissue. That's all, Goodnight.