Interviewed

Today, I went down to NYIT to meet with Melissa Bos, the director of the English Language Institute. This, like all things, was to be an adventure. Again, on a gut feeling, I pocketed my passport, and again it was necessary (Jacqui advised me later that it’s probably best if I keep it on me wherever I go).

It began with my first solo taxi ride, and just my luck I got a cabbie whose knowledge of English extended as far as “no speak English.” I’d had the good sense to leave extra time to get lost, and to look up a few salient bits of Arabic vocabulary before I left–”right,” “left,” “go,” “turn,” “next to”–but I didn’t find two crucial words, “straight ahead,” and “turn around,” and it hadn’t occurred to me that a cab driver would not understand “sixth circle” (I didn’t know the words for “circle” or the ordinal number “6th”). So I gave the most complete directions I could (never mind the fact that I wasn’t 100% sure where the place was), and off we went, I with no idea whether the driver understood where I wanted to go. As it turned out, I had him go the wrong way on Shaara al-Zahran and had to mime turning around to get him to go the other way. Fortunately, Amman taxis are dirt cheap, and the mistake cost me only forty piastres or so. When we got where I meant to be, I gave the man an outrageously high tip for having to put up with me. I showed the guard at the gates of the campus my passport and told him who I was looking for, and her signed me into a guestbook and showed me where to go.

The meeting went well; Melissa definitely intends to hire me–pending my completion of this online TEFL course with which I’ve been rather lackadaisical (I told her I’d have it done in two weeks, well ahead of when she would be giving me a contract). She impressed upon me that she was pulling a lot of strings for my sake, not in a “you’d better be grateful” way, but more in a “this is how badly we need a young, male, native English speaker in this department” way. The pay, as I already knew, will hardly be stellar, but relative to the average Jordanian’s salary, I’ll be doing pretty well for myself–especially if I supplement it by giving private English lessons (or, as Melissa suggested, piano lessons, although I don’t know if I’m quite good enough for that–though in the words of Marge Simpson, “I just have to stay one lesson ahead of the kid”). She filled me in on all the problems of the university and of her department specifically, probably giving me more information than I really needed. She said she hopes to be able to give me two classes, but can’t promise more than one. I asked her about getting a long-term visa, and she said the school couldn’t get me that until I was hired full-time, which won’t happen unless or until I finish out one term with them and everyone’s happy (that wouldn’t be until January). She said that nobody would come looking for me if I overstayed my visa, even for a while, and that I would just have to pay a 1 J.D. fine for each day I overstayed it by, but I still would prefer not to have to pay any fines, so she suggested that I leave the country and come back in for a fresh visa. The cleaning boy brought us tea. She gave me directions for getting home and even drew me a map. All in all, a very pleasant job interview.

The taxi ride back home was easier, since it only involved going up one street. I came home to Jacqui’s news of the arrival of Nikolai II, and shortly thereafter, Denusha arrived. Denusha is the young Sri Lankan woman whom Jacqui pays to do housework and sometimes to help take care of the dogs. She used to stay here, in my room, but moved out a few weeks ago (I don’t remember why, but it wasn’t just because I was coming). Anyway, she’s a very quiet and sweet young woman, very capable and intelligent, with a winning smile. Jacqui takes good care of her, although she works several other jobs and I have no idea what her experiences there are like. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of her.

Jacqui and I were both quite hungry, so we went across the street to the Iraqi restaurant there. I sort of marvel at Jacqui’s ability to address people at length in English even when it is quite clear that they don’t understand anything she’s saying. Food items are high on my list of Arabic vocabulary to learn, lest I go on forever relying upon Jacqui’s mastery of crude communication (when the waiter didn’t understand “lamb,” Jacqui clarified by going “Baa! Baa!” I was a little embarrassed). The food was excellent.

On our way out we passed by a Saudi family. The man wore a plain white kaffiyeh, the adult women all wore the niqab, and the son wore a t-shirt that read “fuck off wankers.” Gotta love the Saudis.