My pronunciation is perfect. My tones are correct; I even inflect the umlauts over the “U” in Lu, meaning green. I repeat it several times listening for mistakes, examining my words for possible mistakes. There are none. The waitress stares at me blankly. Finally, after the 4th repetition, her eyes seem to brighten and she turns and quickly runs off to the kitchen. Moments later she returns and places before me a tall cool mug of beer.
In the United States, there is no real frame of reference for this phenomenon. It brings to mind a scene from the movie Anchorman where Ron Burgundy fails to comprehend the English advice of his Mexican bartender responding with “What? Were you saying something? Look, I don’t speak Spanish.”
Despite the myriad cultures comprising the U.S., when addressed by someone there, it is almost always in English. We come to expect it; regardless of the apparent nationality of the person speaking to us, we anticipate they will speak the lingua franca.
Not so in China. Perhaps it is because there are many foreigners whose knowledge of Chinese is paltry at best; perhaps it is simply because the Chinese lack the national sense of entitlement that leads Americans to expect everyone to know our language. In any case, it gives rise to the “Level 2 Language Barrier” or L2LB as I call it: the inability of a native person to comprehend that the language they are being addressed in is their own. So intently are they listening for the signature lilt of whatever foreign language they expect, they simply do not recognize the fact that what they are hearing is Chinese.
It leads to situations like this one, where after a long walk exploring my new neighborhood, I enter a restaurant off the beaten path which likely does not often cater to foreigners. It is on the second floor of a building housing a small cafeteria and a supermarket in the basement and it is very prettily decorated. The staff is polite and courteous and seemingly of sound mind.
So while I know that the L2LB is likely the cause of the confusion, I can’t help but to question myself. Did I truly learn Chinese? Was it all just some cruel joke played on us hapless linguists by our teachers? Is it possible that I don’t actually know Chinese?! It doesn’t help that many of the words we learned as standard for everyday things like “bathroom” and “restaurant” actually turn out to be the most obscure way of saying them. So I can’t help but to wonder if I’m truly that inept, or if, perhaps, I am the butt of some colossal cosmic joke.
It’s finally starting to sink in now, after a few weeks, that maybe it’s not ALWAYS me. Sometimes my lack of Chinese practice over the years IS the issue, but other times, when I get that blank stare of utter incomprehension, I may just be dealing with a L2LB.
Still, it certainly affects the confidence level required to function here in Beijing. Language skill often takes a big backseat to the audacity of the practitioner. I’d like to say it doesn’t, but these little encounters still take their small and temporary toll on my morale.
I order the remainder of my meal by pointing at the little pictures on the menu. I sit and eat, and I think.
And I drink my beer in silence.
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