I entered the basement cafeteria of the school and immediately drew in my breath with a long, low, "Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuck." My female students were dressed up like a hooker prom court--some wearing tight short dresses and six-inch heels (with little bows on the back) and others were dressed up in long formal gowns: more than a handful wore white fur chubbys as well. Virtually all of them looked straight off a certain street in Amsterdam. In order to access the room where the party/performance was to be, a red carpet had to be walked, with requisite paparazzi. The girls clutched the arms of their dates--thankfully rather more traditionally dressed in suits and ties--and waited for their turn to act as if they were movie starts being stalked by paparazzi. No provisions for the exit/entrance of lesser mortals, such as staff and teacher, had been made, so we had to gallop past the overexcited whore-bedecked children in the glare of lights and haze of loud loud music boom-boom-booming. Once inside the main part of the cafeteria--normally a place so cold I keep on my down jacket and down coat and sometimes gloves and hat as well--I found that it COULD be heated--it just usually wasn't. Inside the cavern, a red carpet had been laid, chairs arranged, and we foreign teachers were told in no uncertain terms to sit in the front row directly in front of a five-foot high loudspeaker set at maximum decibel. Yes, what better way to celebrate the birth of Baby Jesus by hearing Eminem shout "Yo Motherfucker!" in verse? Clement Clarke Moore would have rolled in his grave, had he been there. Of course, just a few minutes of booming profanity and most of us were mercifully deafened and had to resort to shouting through the rest of the long, long evening.
The party, scheduled to begin at six, had been pushed back to seven, and began promptly at 7:28, with the explanation given that "the children had been working so hard to make it nice." After the serenading by Em we were treated to other songs the Lord taught us, each accompanied with an extra track of kittens meowing and dogs barking on various notes, some of which were horribly discordant with the tune being played (or the words being shouted.) Still, we preserved, and we finally handed a bulletin listing that evening's entertainment, sixteen separate acts, including "Hey Jude" sung by the economics teacher everyone foreign or Chinese avoids. (I kept saying, "Wouldn't 'Hey Jude' go down better at Easter?" but no one got the joke.) The number rehearsed by the teachers--"Good King Wenceslas"--evidently failed to make the cut. This was promising to be a night of quality entertainment.
The music begins: four of my female students dressed in knee-high black platform boots with seven inch heels, silver bustiers, and black ruffled mini skirts and ripped high-high fishnet stockings held up in place with garter belts stride on to the stage and began a dance which lacked only a pole to be illegal in most states. Five male students, wearing considerably more clothing, accompanied them. Dance moves included a simulation of standing rear entry, hair pulling, face slapping, spanking, and (drum roll please) a little light fellatio. The audience went wild with glee and the teachers behind me commented in happy tones how "merry" it was. I sat in shock and horror: the head of our department rose to her feet in a rage and walked out, not caring if anyone saw her or her look of disgust. "They're making a mockery of Christmas!" she said as she gathered her coat.
My own feelings were running high: these same students had missed 90% of their English classes the past month, ostensibly to "rehearse." All had skipped English that afternoon, and all had failed their pronunciation final exam the day before, being unable to recite ONE SINGLE LINE of "Deck the Halls With Boughs of Holly" (even without the uber-difficult line, Fa la la la la, la la, la la.) As an educator I was outraged, as a person of taste, no matter how questionable, I was seriously offended. Oh, it gets better: just to make the mockery complete, a student gave a seriously wonderful rendition of a Mongolian cowboy song (truly good) and a handful of students did less objectionable material. And then it stopped. After 8 acts, it stopped. We were all counting--eight down, eight to go, then we're OUTTA here!--but no, it was a dance too. Yes, that's right: intermission. The students ran screaming to the area behind the audience and began hip-hop dancing--again with loud and pounding music. They were NOT performing the waltz, fox trot, or other social dances most Chinese do very well, nor were they dancing swing dances, which they had roped another teacher into teaching them for free after school. This was nasty: this wasn't pop-and-lock so much as cup-and-cock grinding. Did it stop after one or two? No, no, no, it kept going on, and on, and on...desperate for a drink of water, I circled the floor and found a station serving "traditional Christmas snacks" which consisted of hot water, slices of plain white bread, a few trays of sliced cake (replete with that white shaving-cream "frosting" Chinese people use) and a platter of strawberries, hulled, next to a tray full of entire unpeeled bananas. (The latter more or less in keeping with the general theme of "Thai-Ladyboy-Hooker" that seemed to prevail.) I wouldn't have been surprised to see a tray of ping-pong balls, but perhaps that was later in the evening. I had a blinding headache at this point, the combination of a late evening, stress, and that hideously loud music, so I thanked the Principal and the Academic Team Leader and snuck out. By the time I got home, around ten o'clock, my ears were still ringing and I thought wistfully of the simple and tasteful pageants of my experience, where the only vulgarity of the evening was the unfortunate choice of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" as sung by Mrs. Brutka's fourth grade class. (My mother is such a traditionalist she won't even have "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" played at home. Yes, she's a WASP.)
I understand that after some time, the "acts" resumed, and it ended as scheduled at 9:30 or so. My Chinese co-teachers can't understand why some of us were upset and offended: they claim when they see movies or TV shows about the US, the Christmas dance is exactly like that. How do I tell them that we don't combine the Snoball with stripping? That a dance is a dance and a talent show is a talent show and a Christmas pageant doesn't come with the Dance of the Seven Veils, no matter how sexy? Taste, people: taste! It's not my job to "explain" the "right" way to do things, but still...what's my responsibility in letting this sort of thing pass without comment? Would I have been less judgmental and pissed off if my own skipping students hadn't opened the party with that vulgar act? Perhaps. In hindsight, it may have been that tray of white bread slices that made me run, but I like to think the educator in me was more offended than the gourmand. (Yes, I know the difference between gourmet and gourmand.) Merry Chronnukah, y'all.
The party, scheduled to begin at six, had been pushed back to seven, and began promptly at 7:28, with the explanation given that "the children had been working so hard to make it nice." After the serenading by Em we were treated to other songs the Lord taught us, each accompanied with an extra track of kittens meowing and dogs barking on various notes, some of which were horribly discordant with the tune being played (or the words being shouted.) Still, we preserved, and we finally handed a bulletin listing that evening's entertainment, sixteen separate acts, including "Hey Jude" sung by the economics teacher everyone foreign or Chinese avoids. (I kept saying, "Wouldn't 'Hey Jude' go down better at Easter?" but no one got the joke.) The number rehearsed by the teachers--"Good King Wenceslas"--evidently failed to make the cut. This was promising to be a night of quality entertainment.
The music begins: four of my female students dressed in knee-high black platform boots with seven inch heels, silver bustiers, and black ruffled mini skirts and ripped high-high fishnet stockings held up in place with garter belts stride on to the stage and began a dance which lacked only a pole to be illegal in most states. Five male students, wearing considerably more clothing, accompanied them. Dance moves included a simulation of standing rear entry, hair pulling, face slapping, spanking, and (drum roll please) a little light fellatio. The audience went wild with glee and the teachers behind me commented in happy tones how "merry" it was. I sat in shock and horror: the head of our department rose to her feet in a rage and walked out, not caring if anyone saw her or her look of disgust. "They're making a mockery of Christmas!" she said as she gathered her coat.
My own feelings were running high: these same students had missed 90% of their English classes the past month, ostensibly to "rehearse." All had skipped English that afternoon, and all had failed their pronunciation final exam the day before, being unable to recite ONE SINGLE LINE of "Deck the Halls With Boughs of Holly" (even without the uber-difficult line, Fa la la la la, la la, la la.) As an educator I was outraged, as a person of taste, no matter how questionable, I was seriously offended. Oh, it gets better: just to make the mockery complete, a student gave a seriously wonderful rendition of a Mongolian cowboy song (truly good) and a handful of students did less objectionable material. And then it stopped. After 8 acts, it stopped. We were all counting--eight down, eight to go, then we're OUTTA here!--but no, it was a dance too. Yes, that's right: intermission. The students ran screaming to the area behind the audience and began hip-hop dancing--again with loud and pounding music. They were NOT performing the waltz, fox trot, or other social dances most Chinese do very well, nor were they dancing swing dances, which they had roped another teacher into teaching them for free after school. This was nasty: this wasn't pop-and-lock so much as cup-and-cock grinding. Did it stop after one or two? No, no, no, it kept going on, and on, and on...desperate for a drink of water, I circled the floor and found a station serving "traditional Christmas snacks" which consisted of hot water, slices of plain white bread, a few trays of sliced cake (replete with that white shaving-cream "frosting" Chinese people use) and a platter of strawberries, hulled, next to a tray full of entire unpeeled bananas. (The latter more or less in keeping with the general theme of "Thai-Ladyboy-Hooker" that seemed to prevail.) I wouldn't have been surprised to see a tray of ping-pong balls, but perhaps that was later in the evening. I had a blinding headache at this point, the combination of a late evening, stress, and that hideously loud music, so I thanked the Principal and the Academic Team Leader and snuck out. By the time I got home, around ten o'clock, my ears were still ringing and I thought wistfully of the simple and tasteful pageants of my experience, where the only vulgarity of the evening was the unfortunate choice of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" as sung by Mrs. Brutka's fourth grade class. (My mother is such a traditionalist she won't even have "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" played at home. Yes, she's a WASP.)
I understand that after some time, the "acts" resumed, and it ended as scheduled at 9:30 or so. My Chinese co-teachers can't understand why some of us were upset and offended: they claim when they see movies or TV shows about the US, the Christmas dance is exactly like that. How do I tell them that we don't combine the Snoball with stripping? That a dance is a dance and a talent show is a talent show and a Christmas pageant doesn't come with the Dance of the Seven Veils, no matter how sexy? Taste, people: taste! It's not my job to "explain" the "right" way to do things, but still...what's my responsibility in letting this sort of thing pass without comment? Would I have been less judgmental and pissed off if my own skipping students hadn't opened the party with that vulgar act? Perhaps. In hindsight, it may have been that tray of white bread slices that made me run, but I like to think the educator in me was more offended than the gourmand. (Yes, I know the difference between gourmet and gourmand.) Merry Chronnukah, y'all.
Hilarious! Please keep writing!
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