Issue date: 10/5/07 Section: Opinion

I shrugged off the initial scornful gaze she sent me and got up off the couch to introduce myself. She obviously saw me coming to greet her, but sat down anyway and turned away from me, her chair facing the computer. What followed was an encounter so horrifically awkward, it makes one re-consider the merits of solitary confinement. In an attempt at nonchalance, I stuck my hand out and said "terviseks" (Estonian for 'hello'). Nothing. Shit, I thought, did I say it wrong. Oh my God, does terviseks even mean hello? Anxiety setting in, I tried 'tere hommikust', another form of greeting. Still, nothing. I then proceeded to break the cardinal rule in Estonia: no touching. It was a simple tap on the back to get her attention, but the look on her face as she swung around in her chair was one of sexual harassment. A cursory hand shake then followed as she spurted out "Hello, good to meet you, thank you" and then quickly turned back to her computer. I wish this story could end right here with me demanding some respect, knocking over a desk, and then storming out of the building like a proud American. Unfortunately, I mumbled a pathetic "nice to meet you" and, utterly defeated, walked back to the ugly red couch to read some more of Adam Smith's thousand-plus page magnum opus.

Mere emasculation, however, was only the beginning; the immaculately dressed Nurse Ratchet sitting impossibly upright at her desk had declared war against everything I stood for in life. Continuing to stare me down, her eyes lingered at my bare feet resting on the table with malice. There is simply no time to mull over cultural awareness when you're defending dirty sweatpants, cheap haircuts, stubble, tennis shoes, and an entire generation of people who care more about their own comfort then societal formalities. She eventually gave up on the staring game, picked up the phone and, so I thought with grim satisfaction, got back to work.

About fifteen minutes later Mart came into the office looking sweatier than usual. He gave me a concerned look - I took my feet off the table at this point - and then proceeded to get about as passionate as a reserved Estonian family-man can get. I had no idea what he was saying to my co-worker, although the occasional pointing at my feet hinted at the general theme of the raucous quarrel. Abruptly, her disgust palpable, the she-devil jumped up from her chair and stormed out of the office. Cleaning his glasses as he cached his breath, Mart turned to me and said, with his wonderfully thick accent, "Jordan, Jordan. Oh my. What do we do. What do we do. I am amazed, Jordan. I am amazed. Over what, Jordan. She just doesn't understand you". A simple man, sort of like a stoic Eastern European cowboy, Mart then walked out of the room leaving me totally aghast on the couch and, once again, all alone.

I would find out later through Mart that my (ex) co-worker had called some official in Tartu working for the university and reported me as a "disgrace to the institution". The man then called Mart who explained that I wasn't a disgrace, just a slob, or so I think. There are few moments when I can say, without reservations and cockeyed bravado, that I am proud to be an American. Looking back on the whole fiasco, this was definitely one of those moments.

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