The Dangers of the Automatic Response (a.k.a. The Quest for the Perfect Reply)

As you may have read in one of my previous blog entries, engaging in local conversations, however fleeting, brings with it challenges unique to somebody who isn't that familiar with American culture or who doesn't use English as a primary language. What I've found is that within the normal course of a day, situations that may seem ordinary and trivial have in fact the potential for embarassment.

A typical example: I'm a coffee-drinker, so once in a while I'd pass by McDonald's drive-thru on my way to work and get a cup of coffee, maybe even a sandwich. After I pay and get the stuff, just before I drive off, the lady at the window will send me off with "Have a nice day!" at which I–automatically–will reply with "You too." Now, let me just point out two important details here:

1. That my response was automatic–meaning, my mouth was uttering something while I'm half-thinking (if at all); and
2. That my response was "You too", my heretofore standard response.

The reason this is an embarrasment waiting to happen is that it didn't really matter what the lady said; she could've said "Thanks for buying at McDonald's" (or "There's something in your nose") and I still would've said "You too". Factor in a caffeine-starved brain and you begin to wonder how I even make it past "Good Morning".

Automatic responses–definitely not a good thing. Same goes with "You too". Such a short phrase with such potent consequences. I think it might have been part playing-safe and part laziness that I gravitated toward that auto-response. I think my thought process was, "People wouldn't greet or wish me ill, would they? So if they tell me something nice then I can just return the favor with 'You too' right?" Wrong.

The problem isn't really that people said bad things (remember, this is Upstate New York, where people are generally nice). The problem lies more in the appropriateness of the response. 'You too' can only get you so far. As embarassing as it is to admit (and at the risk of being disowned by my elementary and high school English teachers), I've been known to respond with "You too" to statements like:

• "Your waiter will be here shortly. Enjoy your dinner."
• "Thanks for dining at Chili's."
• "Here's your ticket. You guys enjoy the movie."

And don't think I haven't tried other responses. I was using "Thanks" for a while until I was asked a question and I said "Thanks!"

I even tried repeating the statement because I thought that would be a safe response. When somebody told me "Have a nice day" I replied with "Have a nice day too". Admittedly it works the same as "You too" but saying the whole statement I thought had a more sincere feel to it. But of course I ran into the same problems as with "You too", and worse, when I messed up I messed up big, precisely because I was repeating the whole statement:

"Let me know if you need anything. Enjoy your dinner."
"Enjoy your dinner too."

So now there's a self-imposed moratorium on auto-responses until I find a better one. In the process, though, I've rediscovered the value in that old library poster: "Speech is silver, silence is golden". Confronted with a non-question, it's surprising how far a simple smile can take you. What's more, you can even throw in a "Yup" every now and then.

Learning

A t-shirt isn't exactly the first place you'll look for when you want to find pearls of wisdom, but that's exactly where I found one recently. Proudly printed on a man's shirt was the pronouncement: "Everything I Needed to Know I Learned from the Three Stooges".

Who hasn't? Every time Moe attacks Curly's eyes with those two fingers, and Curly quickly blocks them with an open-palmed hand, aren't they teaching us something about Human Anatomy—that the width of a person's hand is longer than either the forefinger or the middle finger?

Or when Larry's head follows Curly's hand as it goes up and up and suddenly brings it down, aren't they teaching us Physics—specifically, the Law of Gravity—in that whatever goes up must come down?

And when they start hitting each other, one after the other, isn't that Social Justice in its purest form? For how can you more eloquently portray the adage, "What goes around comes around?"

When you think about it, everything around us—slapstick comedy included—is an instrument for learning, if we only view them as such. But that's not to dismiss the importance of the more conventional methods of learning such as books and audio-visual media. In fact, two of the things I've really appreciated since moving to the U.S. have been books and public television.

For starters, there's the libraries. Shelf upon shelf of up-to-date books—and videos—and every city/town has their own. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the type who'll be caught dead hanging out in libraries; I think the last time I was in a library back in Manila, I was still in college struggling with homework. Which makes it all the more remarkable that I now—voluntarily, mind you—frequent our local library to (what else?) borrow books and actually read them. Who knew?

And then there's PBS. Most Americans might consider PBS one of the most boring TV channels in existence. After all, why watch PBS when you can pass the time with Lost or My Name Is Earl (and I'm not even talking about cable)? But I've found some PBS programs to be both very interesting and educational. Programs such as Nova and even the occasional concerts have been surprisingly engaging. Clearly, this isn't the Kabayan Gerry Geronimo-hosted public television that I grew up with back home. Sure, I may have learned how to grow earthworms in my backyard, but compare that to learning how the universe started and you get my drift.

I wish there was some way to make these same programs available to people back home. Better yet, I wish that local educational programs are imbibed with the same production values as they are here. Admittedly, there are inherent economic hurdles that will need to be overcome, but what a hopeful thought to be able to give the Philippines' youth—its future, essentially—some of the best tools that will help them discover more of the wonderful world they live in.

The Economics of Pants

The average height of a Filipino is about 5 feet 5 inches. The average height of a Filipina is about 5 feet. Our American counterparts, on the other hand, are several inches taller at 5 feet 9 inches and 5 feet 4 inches respectively. So it stands to reason that when I go to the mall to buy pants, being the average Filipino that I am (heightwise, that is), I will never find a pair that are just the right length. Genetics, demography and the garment industry have all conspired to deprive this benefit from people like me who are on the far end of the statistical bell curve.

Of course, I can always have them altered. Problem is, I only buy pants when they're on sale (not that I can't afford them; it just goes against my moral values to pay regular price), so to have them altered would be like winning the battle against the JC Penney army but being ambushed on the way home by a squad from Joe's Tailoring.

To the uninitiated, a little perspective: The last time I had pants altered here it cost me $7. The last time I had pants altered back home (which wasn't so long ago) it cost 30 pesos. Assuming a P50-to-$1 exchange rate, that comes to 60 cents. Sixty cents! That's not even enough to buy a can of soda from the vending machine. So please pardon my animosity at the very necessary art of alteration—as I'm sure American tailors are very adept at their craft—but where I come from, P350 ($7) will get you more than a couple of holes and stitches.

Being the astute reader that you are, however, you've probably figured out by now that this moral conviction emanates from a person who is, deep-down, a cheapskate. And you will be right.

Truth is, just to save the couple of bucks I would've paid for the alteration, I will inevitably endure months of wearing ill-fitting, curly-legged pants whose ends will end up gnarled from brushing against concrete.

I've always thought somebody could make a killing doing cheap alterations for all the Filipinos in Upstate New York.

The Pervasive Power of Plastic

Part of the excitement of my childhood was enrollment time. Even though it meant the impending end of summer vacation, for me it brought the promise of new stuff for school, like books. Having something new is always a wonderful experience, but in addition to this novelty was the ritual of trying to preserve that "newness", and what better way to do it than with plastic?

As far back as I can remember, book-covering has been a time-honored tradition that some may consider both an art and a science. I certainly had my share of measuring, cutting, folding and taping, all after first smelling the book of course (I know it's weird, but don't you just love the smell of new stuff?) And lest I forget the final touch: flattening the plastic cover under encyclopedias (which, my younger readers, means those big, heavy books that you see in the library, not those CDs that came with your laptop).

Plastic was the ultimate protector. There wasn't anything it can't defend against—rain, mud or ketchup. If a tabletop was worth protecting but you couldn't afford glass, you covered it with plastic. If somebody bought a car, the plastic on the seat covers stayed on—for years. In fact, the car would probably have its third set of tires but the original plastic cover would still be on.

And need I ask how many households had plastic-covered sofas? Never mind that you'd sweat like a pig everytime you sat on it or that you made fart-like sounds whenever you moved—as long as the fabric is protected, everybody's happy.

The list goes on and on: plastic-covered lampshades, plastic-covered appliances, and one of my favorites—that 2-inch square film of plastic that covers our cellphone screens when we first bought it. God forbid anybody should mess with that precious shiny thing, and we have good reason for it. It's because we know, deep in our hearts, that when we drop our cellphones from the third floor and the screen hits the pavement, that plastic will prevent the cellphone from shattering to a thousand bits and pieces.

Such is our trust for this wondrous invention, and all along I thought this was something unique to Philippine culture. After all, it would make sense that we'd use plastic a lot considering the rainy weather and air pollution. To my pleasant surprise, however, I stumbled upon an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Raymond and his brother Robert were visiting their mother and they were so careful about messing up the immaculate living room, and I noticed why it was so: everything was covered in plastic. Plastic on the sofas, plastic on the lampshades, plastic everywhere. And I later learned from one of my co-workers that this is an Italian trait, especially with the older folks. Isn't that cool?

And so now, I'm on the hunt for the next plastic-obsessed culture out there just waiting to be discovered.

He? She? It?

Have you ever been in a conversation, and you find yourself getting mixed up with he/she or his/her? Like, you'd be talking about Donald Trump and you'd say "her hairstyle"? I suspect not a lot of native English-speakers encounter this problem. For some reason—and I'm going to bravely propose a theory here—it seems that Filipinos have this peculiar predisposition because of a particular characteristic of the Filipino language: the existence of gender-neutral pronouns.
In Filipino, a person can be described (indeed, gossiped about) without necessarily divulging the person's gender, much less their identity. So a watercooler discussion might go, "Sinabi niya yon?!" ["He/She said that?! "] and the complete details of the latest office headline might be talked about, but the identity (and hopefully the reputation) of the people involved might never be touched upon. Such is not necessarily the case with English; you can only use "he/she" or "the person" so much. At some point, you'll start to sound like a user's manual or a spokesperson for political correctness.

So what I think is happening is that, in my mind, my verbal response is first formulated in Filipino—where my natural tendency is to use non-incriminating words like "niya" or "siya"—but during the translation process to English, a cerebral conflict ensues whereby my brain doesn't know whether to use "he" or "she", and before I remember who exactly we're talking about, the wrong word has spilled out of my mouth. You would think, having a 50/50 chance of getting this right, that I'd at least nail it half of the time. Of course not. And consistent with Murphy's Corollary of things going wrong with the maximum effect, I'd get the "he/she syndrome" as I'm about to deliver a punchline.

But what I've learned to be the most reliable substitute is to simply remember the person's name. And before you underestimate the importance of this skill, consider this: when you're in a meeting and you forgot everybody's names, how would you refer to the person across you who just happens to be a transvestite?

Which was exactly what happened to me—except that I knew the person's name :)

Red and Blue

Growing up in a warm, tropical country like the Philippines makes you wonder about a lot of stuff. Take the car thermostat for example. I remember thinking, for the longest time, why anyone in their right frame of mind would bother putting a "warm" setting. What, air outside not hot enough for you? I remember staring at that knob that goes from blue on the left to red on the right, and saying to myself, 'why even put a red side when nobody will ever use it?' In fact, nobody will even move the knob from the leftmost setting; if it were up to me I'd just glue it in place. Can't they just change it to blue on the right and dark blue (or even black) on the left? You know, "cold" to "frigid" (if that's even possible in the Philippines).

Of course, this was all before I realized there are some places in this planet where they actually value heat more than cold air, and inasmuch as car manufacturers would like to tailor their car models to the local market, customizing the car thermostat apparently isn't high on their list. But come to think of it, I guess it wouldn't be so bad to be prepared just in case of a global shift and the Philippines suddenly finds itself on the north pole (and then we can finally stop dreaming of a White Christmas).

And so, upon migrating to Upstate New York and experiencing winter for the first time, what an awakening it was for me to discover that yes, Virginia, there is indeed a use for that red side of the car thermostat.

How You Doin'?

One of the things that still gets me from time to time, even after living in Upstate New York for more than five years, is the greeting. You know, the 'hi, how are you' stuff. It's really supposed to be very simple: somebody greets you "Hi!" and you respond with a "Hi!", or, for the non-conformist, "Hello!" The problem is in real life, precious few ever use "Hi" or "Hello". What I've found to be the norm here is to greet somebody with "How are you" or "How's it going" or some variation thereof. And you're supposed to reply with "Good. How are you?" or "Not bad. Yourself?" or some sort of reply-cum-counter-question. For all intents and purposes, it seems that "Hi" = "How are you", meaning "How are you" is not really a question, but more of a greeting.

Now back home in the Philippines, when people greet each other in passing (say in a hallway), they use a simple "Hi" or "Hello": short and sweet, and always with a smile—sincere or otherwise. But when you run into somebody who's probably more than an acquaintance, you might greet them with "Hi! Kumusta na?" ["Hi! How are you?"] at which the person asked would reply "Eto, gano'n pa rin. Ikaw, kumusta na?" ["Same old, same old. How about you?"] which leads to a couple of minutes' worth of conversation (which by the way very seldom involves the weather—but this merits a separate topic). The question is really a question: an answer is expected, even anticipated. Which really makes sense, because after all, why ask when you don't really care about the answer?

Which is exactly why it still throws me off when somebody greets me with "How are you?", because it really doesn't seem to matter what I say in return—it's still just a greeting, not a question. Of course, it's always a possibility that this is all just happening to me. After all, who am I to assume that people will automatically care to hear if I'm doing well or not (my captivating personality notwithstanding)? But I've seen people greet each other (on countless occasions spending summer lunch breaks people-watching) and I hear the same exchange over and over again:

Jack: "How are you, Jill?"
Jill: "How are you, Jack?"

And nary a hint of hurt feelings as they pass each other, never really getting proper answers to their respective questions.

Admittedly, all this is foreign to me because of not having grown up here. Maybe in a couple of years I'll catch on, but for now I'll just smile as I recall greetings back home and hope that the next time somebody greets me with "How are you?" I don't reply with a sigh and "Eto..."

Weather, Traffic and the Filipino

It's a well known fact in Upstate New York that there's only four seasons: Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Construction. So suffice it to say that the summer season—road constructions and all—wouldn't be this area's claim to fame. That said, there's still those one or two days in July or August when the temperature reaches 100 degrees Fahrenheit (about 38 degrees Celsius) and the humidity is so high that it feels like I'm back home again. On days like these it's either stay at home and crank up the A/C or, for the rest of us who live in an A/C-less apartment, head to the mall.

There was one such day during the summer of 2004. So off to the mall we went, and as expected, so did about a million other folks. Needless to say traffic was really bad—and that's saying a lot (if you've ever lived in the suburbs, you know that there is no such thing as real traffic; what they refer to as "traffic" is really just the movement of cars that's slower than usual). As we got nearer and nearer to the mall, it seemed as if traffic became worse and worse. I really found it unusual, and was wondering about it until I saw what was happening.

Our lane wasn't moving at all because the cars on the intersecting lanes were blocking us. It was the typical case of a gridlock; everybody was in a hurry and no one would give way. Now, having grown up in Manila, this was just like any ordinary commute for me. But this was Upstate NY, and as far as I'm concerned, a gridlock happening in this area is about as common as Halley's Comet. I've come to know that people here are generally courteous and polite, and are usually considerate of others. So it was a bit of a mild shock that I was witnessing this. And then it hit me.

The weather, the traffic, the multitude of people—except for the cleaner air and the absence of jeepneys, I might as well have been back home. Which made me think: if Americans were living in the Philippines instead of Filipinos and given the same environment, would they react in the same way? Faced with never-ending traffic, would they also blare their horns to kingdom come and block all intersections within sight? From what I witnessed today, I believe the answer is a qualified "Yes".

Of course, something as complicated as the human psyche can't be pigeon-holed into a scenario like the one I mentioned. I can't even begin to think of all the possible factors that might affect a person's reaction to a particular situation. And this is the reason for the "qualified yes." But what struck me and was eventually an eye-opener was the realization that I was predisposed to believing that there was something innate about the American physiological make-up that made them better (and was thus the reason for the more prosperous country). Seeing Americans duke it out in a traffic intersection certainly dispelled this belief. To be fair, theirs is a pretty good system, traffic-related or otherwise. But when the system bogs down and everyone is left to their own devices, I have to admit that it feels pretty good knowing that we're all cut from the same cloth.

Which leads me to an even important realization: if Filipinos were given the environment here, would they be as considerate and socially-responsible as the people here? I believe this is a resounding, unqualified "Yes!". In fact, I don't even have to hypothesize—I just need to read about the millions of Filipinos living in foreign lands, not only managing to fit in but also excelling in their respective fields and bringing honor and distinction to the Filipino culture.

And this is where I get my renewed hope for the Filipino.