The ones we know we don't know

Living in Changsha as a white person with at least passable competency in spoken Chinese affords one endless opportunities to toy with the perceptions of strangers in a way that is rarely possible in one's own country. Unfortunately, most people's assumptions about language ability seem to go to extremes, as is the human wont. While the incidental use of an English word early on in a conversation with a bank teller or vegetable vendor can turn a simple transaction into a futile and unnecessary search for basic English vocabulary, one well-placed and adequately-enunciated question in Chinese has the potential to bring forth an unmitigated typhoon of regional dialect, the number of words of which is roughly equal to the number of times the sentence will need to be repeated. Fortunately, nearly every single person I have ever met in China appears hard-wired to reflexively compliment the Chinese skills of any and all foreigners, no matter how undeserved such praise might be. Changshaers are pleasantly surprised that foreign interest in Chinese culture has trickled all the way to Hunan, and they embrace it heartily. It is useful to keep such enthusiasm in mind when deciphering the latest change in "plans," or reviewing one's latest purchase to see what God wrought.