Hello. The other day I noticed I had over 60 different visitors from Indonesia, which only means one thing: I’ve finally been discovered. 

I have to say I’m surprised at how long it took for students to find me on here. I figured it would take a month or two, but not a year and a half. 

Feel free to look at my past posts, though I am sure you will get bored. 

Also, to my year 9 students, I suggest you go study for your English final next week. It is not gonna be easy and don’t say I didn’t warn you. 


The Great Gaspy

This is an update on fast-food chicken girl. In the past few weeks since I last wrote about her, she has continued to shock me in her unashamed (and might I say uncomfortable) admiration of me.

A few days after she took that not-so-sneaky picture of me waiting for my food, I went back to the restaurant for some tasty chicken strips. I knew it was going to be a special experience when she squealed and fell to the floor behind the counter as I walked in. After I ordered and sat down, she continued her freak-out session with a couple of the girls behind the counter. After what seemed like 20 minutes, Gasping Girl’s right hand woman brought my food out to me. “Thank you mister. Excuse me, you take photo with my friend?”

Worst. Nightmare. A thousand thoughts rushed through my mind: “Run, Tyler, run! No, politely refuse and walk away. Come up with an excuse! No, take the picture. No this is so awkward! If you take the picture, maybe she will give you more chicken strips. Hmm, that sounds good. Plus this will make a great story.”

“Okay,” I reluctantly said. Delighted, she motioned for Gasping Girl to come out from behind that counter. I stood up and awkwardly stood by the counter, but Gasping Girl wasn’t coming! She was making a huge scene falling down and freaking out behind the counter. After about 60 seconds of this, she finally came and stood next to me, gave her phone to her friend, and leaned into me for the picture.  -__-

As all of this is happening, I just wanted someone to see what was happening and think, “Hmm, that’s not normal.” Both of the managers were standing there smiling and laughing, clearly excited for their employee and not upset in the least about how childish she was acting. In the hallway, I saw a student from my school walking by. “Look at me! Look what is happening to me!” my mind begged of him, but he walked by without a single glance in my direction. It seemed that this weird wonderland would remain invisible to all others.

What’s more, this incident has only strengthened her obsession, because she has increased the frequency and volume of her gasps when I walk by. It’s not all bad, though. I have received extra chicken strips on several occasions since then.

Finally, I have recently decided to officially refer to her as The Great Gaspy (though I might still unofficially call her Gasping Girl).

Back up off this

I’m currently sitting in a pretty good sized cafe, seats are available everywhere, and this guy comes and plunks down right next to me and starts smoking. I could move, but I am in a prime spot and all of my stuff is sprawled out over the table.

On a very related note, his first few puffs of cigarette smoke didn’t smell that bad (sometimes I think cigarette smoke has waffle cone undertones to it), but then it started smelling like fish cigarettes.

Now I’m considering all of the ways I could make him move. For example:

  • Stare at him like this.


  • Aggressively dance in my seat until he feels uncomfortable.


  • Sing loudly to myself, acting like I am really good when that is (clearly) not the case.



Mostly, though, I just want to make him feel uncomfortable.

uncomfortableUpdate: It seems by merely blogging about him leaving, he got the message. He moved 2 tables down from me.

Who’s the king of making people feel uncomfortable? That would be me.


I got another haircut this weekend, and unlike previous times, it was a success! I did pay double what I paid for last time, which meant I paid 8 bucks for a haircut. Despite the gaping hole in my wallet, I do declare that it was worth it.

For one, there was more than one person cutting hair, so I got to hop right into a seat.

Also, compared to previous haircut experiences, this was one went without a hitch. However, there were several strange things that happened.

First, the guy cut my hair for about 35 minutes. In men’s-haircut-years, that’s 57 years. He literally cut each of my hairs to his desired length. While I did die of old age, I much prefer this thoroughness to a quick, inconsistent cut.

Next, this was the first haircut in 4 tries where the barber actually used scissors. For some reason, barbershops here are obsessed with using thinning shears instead of actual scissors. Sure, thinning shears have their time and place, but they do not make a substitute for regular scissors. The last few times I have gotten my haircut, the guy has completely overused the shears, which makes me look like my hair is falling out. It also has created random, super long hairs that have managed to escape the shears for months. Gollum! Gollum!

Normal scissors on the left, thinning shears on the right.

Normal scissors on the left, thinning shears on the right.

After the haircut, I got the customary massage/neck popping/torture techniques that accompany men’s haircuts here. This time, the guy grabbed a clear liquid to use on my face, scalp, neck and back, which I soon realized was some kind of massage oil. It had a twist though–I soon noticed it had a menthol effect, similar to Icy Hot. This was fine until he started massaging my face and got the stuff on my eyelids (in an apparent attempt to gouge my eyes out). After about 30 seconds, my eyes started stinging. Because of the sensation, I couldn’t tell if I was crying. When I opened my eyes minutes later, though, they were red and looked like I had just buried a perfectly good tub of Ben and Jerry’s in the backyard. I secretly wiped the tears off my face.

The last thing, which was maybe the strangest, was what was happening behind me. A baby suddenly began screaming (perhaps because his parents just buried a perfectly good tub of Ben and Jerry’s in the backyard), and after about 5 minutes of nonstop, impressively loud screaming and crying, I finally looked back to see what was going on.

They were giving a 6 month old baby a buzz cut! What?!

It looked so wrong, and I was trying to fathom why the parents felt it necessary for their baby to have a military-style buzz cut. I came up with nothing. Ideas?

All in all, it was a success and I’ll go back.

Instant terror

To those of you who have never been temporarily trapped in an elevator, I encourage you to read this post so that you, too, can know how it feels.

About 40 minutes ago, I decided to run down to the grocery store to figure out my dinner for this evening. The elevator arrived to the 33rd floor, the doors opened, and I walked into the elevator (like I was walkin onto a yacht). The elevator descended, but stopped on the 8th floor to pick up a rather large group of middle aged and older people, all of whom seemed to be related and looked as if they were headed to church. They walked in (slowly) and the doors closed.

That’s when everything went downhill.

As soon as the doors closed, there was a loud beep, and then we dropped–like, free fall–about a foot and a half and stopped.

Immediately, the elevator felt smaller and hotter, and it became hard to breathe. My hands started shaking.

Were we gonna start dropping again for the rest of the 8 floors?

Luckily for me, Brady has had similar things happen to him in the elevator, so I knew this wasn’t too out of the ordinary. I tried to calm myself down, tried not to look too panicked as the rest of the people in the elevator spoke to each other in Indonesian. Then there was another beep and a voice came over the speaker. The guy nearest the speaker told him we were stuck. Phew, help was on its way.

I was able to calm myself down to a pretty normal state. At some point everyone realized I was in the back of the elevator with them, and they said something in Indonesian and all looked back at me at the same time. I forced a smile back at them. After about 2 minutes, the guy near the speaker pushed the button again to tell them to hurry up. They said they were coming. Then about 2 minutes later, the guy near the speaker pushed the button again and yelled at them to hurry up. He was clearly growing impatient, as he started banging his fists against the elevator door.

Then, as magnificent as an otter pop after playing in the sprinkler on a hot summer day, someone began prying the door open. Beautiful sunlight poured in. Aww, freedom. All in all, I think we were probably stuck for about 6 minutes.

When I finally made it outside of the building, I thanked God that the elevator didn’t decide to drop us for the final 8 floors.

Shout out to the old ladies in the elevator. They were probably in their 80s and handled the whole thing like troopers.

Grading tests

At school I am in charge of the entrance test that kids have to take in order to be accepted to our school. It’s not a very fun job, especially grading tests for students who I don’t even teach. The test I just graded may have made it all worth it, though.

There is an essay portion to this exam, as seen below:

Writing prompt

Now these kids are usually in 6th or 7th grade, so this essay is not the easiest for them (they are usually able to write a paragraph or 2). But look at this hilarious response I just read:

Response 1

Response 2

Not quite the response needed, but I like what is going on in this kid’s head.



Diaper food

Living in a different place and different culture, I often taste new things, see new things, and smell new things.

Currently in my teacher room, I am smelling something very new. For breakfast, an unidentified teacher decided to eat an unidentifiable food. The major offense of this food: the fermented diaper smell that is overflowing and strangling the teacher room.

Luckily the room has windows that open, so the odor should be gone within a few months. Hopefully there is no permanent brain/lung damage to anyone.