Lottery day! Lottery day! I have been looking forward to this for two months.
I am not normally a lottery player, but in Taiwan you have to be a fool not to play. You see, every time you buy something from a store you get a receipt with a lottery number printed across the top. On the 26th of every odd month the newspapers print the winning numbers. The prizes awarded range from NT$200 ($6.25 CDN) to NT$2 million ($62,500 CDN). To get the grand prize, you have to match all eight numbers of the grand prize number. To win other amounts, you have to match at least the last three numbers of the winning numbers. There are three sets of winning numbers, plus the grand prize number. And yes, foreigners can win!
From what I can piece together from blogs and old newspaper articles, the Taiwanese government started this lottery sometime around 1999. Apparently a lot of businesses were making sales under the table and not paying the proper amount of tax, so the government figured if millions of dollars were up for grabs, people would demand their receipts. All stores, excluding street vendors, had to switch over to special cash registers that printed government issued receipts with randomized lottery numbers.
It seems to be working. Sales clerks are always forcing the receipt on you. I was feeling bogged down with paper in my first couple of weeks here with all the receipts being forced into my hand with the change. You definitely get strange looks when you refuse a receipt or throw out a fistful of them at 7-Eleven. If you are a lottery player-hater, you can toss your receipts in a charity box. Some charities have made tens of millions from donated receipts over the years.
I have over 200 receipts saved up. Unfortunately, most of them are for the January/February draw. This lottery is for November/December. But I still have about 80 chances to become disappointed.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
The Field Trip
“Oh, hello Teacher Amy!” I hear as I walk into work exactly on time at 8 a.m.
“Morning Molly.”
“You look tired. You aren’t used to waking up early.” This is not so much a question.
“Nope, you got me.”
Today we are taking 28 kids from our buxiban (cram school) on a special outing. They are done public school for Chinese New Year, so our school provides a “Winter Camp” for their parents to dump them at. I would normally go to work at 12:30, so this outing is not quite making me giddy. My only instructions are to watch the students and make sure they speak English. We are going to a science museum.
After we have given the kids three or four chances to go to the bathroom, we meet the bus outside and pile on. The bus is F’ing luxurious compared to the tin cans we rode around in when I was in school. It’s high set and spacious, plus there are doilies on the head rests, fancy curtains for the windows, several thin-modern TVs, and my seat has a faux wood tray/cup holder. Now, if only I had the foresight to buy a goddamn coffee.
The bus gets rolling and we pick up some more students and teachers from another Joy School. The DVD starts up; it’s an unanimated show about a man who sends a chimpanzee on tasks with a dog. In the first part, the chimp has to lead the dog down the road, across the river, to a farm, then come back home. The dog has a little backpack, so the chimp (called Abbo) has to make sure the lunch stays in. At the farm, the farmer lets the chimp eat the lunch, then gives him a melon to take back to the man. When the chimp fucks up (i.e. makes a wrong turn), the camera cuts to the frustrated man (“Abbo!”) who is apparently spying on his chimpanzee. It’s all in Chinese. So much for encouraging English.
“Teacher!”
One kid in the next row is leaving his seat. Between the two seats I see his travel buddy has a wet mouth and something on his hands. Brian Chen, no!
As I am the foreign teacher, I don’t have to get up. I feel bad about it, but not bad enough to get wet in some kid’s milky morning vomit.
I see my coworkers hand him a bag; the kid didn’t think to use one of the plastic bags in front of him. Then they grab tissues and begin cleaning up. Piles of tissues are put in the trash can by the back set of stairs, directly in front of me. I watch the antics of Abbo and try to keep my own stomach strong.
After about 45 minutes on the road, we arrive at the National Taiwan Science Education Center. The building is about nine storeys tall, and the first thing I notice upon entering is the clear escalator zigzagging up to each floor. All the mechanics are visible! I look up and see someone peddling an odd looking bicycle across a tight rope on the seventh floor. Now I’m excited. I can see a net with a few stray rubber balls underneath the rider, and some kind of ball cannon on either side of the tight rope. Can you try to hit the rider with balls?! It is a question left unanswered, because our students are to go straight up to the eighth floor.
We go into a room filled with inflatable moonwalks. There are six different jumping platforms – the kind you see at carnivals, or at rich kids’ birthday parties on TV. Retired grandmothers with headset microphones man each moonwalk. The students sit in rows and one of the volunteers explains the rules in Chinese. Then the students take off like cats riled up on catnip. Brian Chen, the carsick one, has to stop jumping almost immediately, go figure.
After half an hour of walking around the room trying to look busy, I get antsy. I want to know when the science and fun will start. I ask my co-worker.
“We will stay here until 10:50,” she says. “Then we can go back to the bus.”
“They’re just going to jump all day?” I ask. “No science?”
Mei laughs at me. “You seem so disappointed!” she says still laughing.
So I spend the next hour wandering around the room, and sitting next to Brian Chen. The students aren’t really talking, just yelling and laughing. There’s no English to enforce. I feel completely useless.
When it’s finally time to go home, we pair teachers with the high-risk students. And, as anticipated, we have two pukers. Brian Chen gives a good show again, and Calvin also puts his plastic bag to use. My enthusiasm for next week’s trip to the farm is waning. What disgusting adventures will we find there?
“Morning Molly.”
“You look tired. You aren’t used to waking up early.” This is not so much a question.
“Nope, you got me.”
Today we are taking 28 kids from our buxiban (cram school) on a special outing. They are done public school for Chinese New Year, so our school provides a “Winter Camp” for their parents to dump them at. I would normally go to work at 12:30, so this outing is not quite making me giddy. My only instructions are to watch the students and make sure they speak English. We are going to a science museum.
After we have given the kids three or four chances to go to the bathroom, we meet the bus outside and pile on. The bus is F’ing luxurious compared to the tin cans we rode around in when I was in school. It’s high set and spacious, plus there are doilies on the head rests, fancy curtains for the windows, several thin-modern TVs, and my seat has a faux wood tray/cup holder. Now, if only I had the foresight to buy a goddamn coffee.
The bus gets rolling and we pick up some more students and teachers from another Joy School. The DVD starts up; it’s an unanimated show about a man who sends a chimpanzee on tasks with a dog. In the first part, the chimp has to lead the dog down the road, across the river, to a farm, then come back home. The dog has a little backpack, so the chimp (called Abbo) has to make sure the lunch stays in. At the farm, the farmer lets the chimp eat the lunch, then gives him a melon to take back to the man. When the chimp fucks up (i.e. makes a wrong turn), the camera cuts to the frustrated man (“Abbo!”) who is apparently spying on his chimpanzee. It’s all in Chinese. So much for encouraging English.
“Teacher!”
One kid in the next row is leaving his seat. Between the two seats I see his travel buddy has a wet mouth and something on his hands. Brian Chen, no!
As I am the foreign teacher, I don’t have to get up. I feel bad about it, but not bad enough to get wet in some kid’s milky morning vomit.
I see my coworkers hand him a bag; the kid didn’t think to use one of the plastic bags in front of him. Then they grab tissues and begin cleaning up. Piles of tissues are put in the trash can by the back set of stairs, directly in front of me. I watch the antics of Abbo and try to keep my own stomach strong.
After about 45 minutes on the road, we arrive at the National Taiwan Science Education Center. The building is about nine storeys tall, and the first thing I notice upon entering is the clear escalator zigzagging up to each floor. All the mechanics are visible! I look up and see someone peddling an odd looking bicycle across a tight rope on the seventh floor. Now I’m excited. I can see a net with a few stray rubber balls underneath the rider, and some kind of ball cannon on either side of the tight rope. Can you try to hit the rider with balls?! It is a question left unanswered, because our students are to go straight up to the eighth floor.
We go into a room filled with inflatable moonwalks. There are six different jumping platforms – the kind you see at carnivals, or at rich kids’ birthday parties on TV. Retired grandmothers with headset microphones man each moonwalk. The students sit in rows and one of the volunteers explains the rules in Chinese. Then the students take off like cats riled up on catnip. Brian Chen, the carsick one, has to stop jumping almost immediately, go figure.
After half an hour of walking around the room trying to look busy, I get antsy. I want to know when the science and fun will start. I ask my co-worker.
“We will stay here until 10:50,” she says. “Then we can go back to the bus.”
“They’re just going to jump all day?” I ask. “No science?”
Mei laughs at me. “You seem so disappointed!” she says still laughing.
So I spend the next hour wandering around the room, and sitting next to Brian Chen. The students aren’t really talking, just yelling and laughing. There’s no English to enforce. I feel completely useless.
When it’s finally time to go home, we pair teachers with the high-risk students. And, as anticipated, we have two pukers. Brian Chen gives a good show again, and Calvin also puts his plastic bag to use. My enthusiasm for next week’s trip to the farm is waning. What disgusting adventures will we find there?
The Big Stink
Hello and welcome. Thank you for your interest in my Stinktown blog.
I am writing to you from Sinjhuang City, Taipei County, Taiwan R.O.C. This is about a 35 minute bus ride away from the heart of Taipei City, the second most densely populated city in the world. I am in Sinjhuang teaching English to students aged 7-14 in a cram school, or buxiban.
Although Taiwan is known as a popular destination for English teachers, there is room for more! The best time to find a job in Taiwan is January, although jobs are available year round. If you want to join me in Taiwan all you need is:
- At least a bachelor’s degree in any field
- A 60 day visitor’s visa (You can ask a travel agent if you don’t know where to look. I got mine through http://www.embassylink.ca/)
- Money to last until your first paycheck ($1,500 is a safe amount)
You can find jobs by searching online, checking message boards at your hostel, and contacting agents. I got my job through an agent who e-mailed me job descriptions until I found one I wanted to interview for. Once you have secured a job, your employer should walk you through the process of getting a work permit and Alien Resident Card (ARC). They’ll also give you some kind of training. Once you have an ARC, you can get a bank account. You shouldn’t rent an apartment until you have secured employment for one year, as most apartments want you to sign on for a year as well. You’ll need a genuine Taiwanese person to sign the lease with you, but don’t worry, they are plentiful here.
Why come to Stinktown? To smell the smells you’ve never smelled. If that’s not good enough, keep reading and I’ll tell you what the Big Stink is all about.
* “Stinktown” and “the Big Stink” are terms referring to Taipei City and area. Note that these are not expressions that people actually use.
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