Taxi U

My wife and I have been taking Mandarin lessons, out of simple necessity as well as part of our life-long pursuit of defying the Ugly American stereotype. After 10 sessions with an excellent teacher, I now speak enough Mandarin to make my life even more difficult. At the very beginning of learning a new language, one learns to say things and ask questions a bit before one can understand the replies. People misspeak when they say it’s important to be able to ask for directions in the native language. It’s far more important to be able to listen to the answer.

Fortunately, I have an unlikely ally in my pursuit of poly-glottal glory: taxi cab drivers. Ever since we first arrived here, our ever-changing array of chauffeurs have taken an interest in teaching me how to speak their language. I think it’s because I sit in the front seat, thereby opening up the possibility for conversation. My wife thinks its because my accent is better than most, and hearing that, they think I’m ready to learn. Either way, I’ll take it.

Our first taxi-tutor taught us to properly pronounce the names of the streets we live on. It was a short trip to Carrefour and he only had time for a few streets, but they were highly pertinent words. I would have tipped him, but I’ve been told that it only confuses the drivers.

Our next in-cab-instructor was a real wise guy. I sat down and said, “We’re going to Carrefour in Gubei.” He said, “No, no, not we. You’re going to Carrefour, I’m driving the cab.” He then asked me if we were going to eat on the bottom level, I said yes, and he said a few things I didn’t understand. Then he asked if my friend in the back was my girlfriend. I said she was my wife, so he proceeded to teach me the Shanghainese terms for wife and husband, so I could sound more proper.

Recently, I sat down in a cab with a 300k+ driver, who amazingly didn’t know where we lived. I told him that I knew the way and would tell him directions. So off we went, me issuing profundities like, “Left, right, straight ahead.” The most complex piece of language I offered was “Can we turn left on Hongqiao Road, here?” To which he replied, “We can.” Nonetheless, at the end of the trip, he asked me how long I had been in Shanghai. I said since August and my auto-assessor said it sounded like I had been here two years. My personal satisfaction was tempered with shame that four-year-old Chinese is considered such an accomplishment for foreigners.

Today, my didactic-driver decided to take it to the next level. As we pulled up at a long light, he reached for a newspaper. I was a little concerned, but then the professing-pilot put it in front of me. Pointing to the large headline, he proceeded to teach me the pronunciation and meaning of the first four characters. The lesson was delightful and appreciated, but so unexpected that I almost laughed out loud. We went on to a discussion of Aobama (Good!) Bush (Bad!) and how last week, I said I was from Australia, but this week I could say I was American. Despite the wide ranging discussion, he also asked how long I had been here, but before my ego could burst the cab doors off, he said my Chinese was "bu hao," or not good. He explained a little, which I couldn't understand, but clearly, I had been slacking off since the last guy.

I’m a little concerned that my next trip is going to include a quiz before I can leave the car and some homework before I'll be allowed to ride again. I guess it comes with being a full-time student here at Taxi U.