Generally, I can bother people into oblivion playing 20 questions. There are no limits to my curiosity, and in most cases, it gets the best of me. However, while I can ask for help in my classes, reading through a paper, or filing out an application, for everyday general things, asking for help is simply not okay. It is as if there is some line I am unwilling to cross; a line dictating that about which I can and cannot inquire. This little issue of mine is exaggerated here. Often times, when I finally foster up enough nerve to ask a question, I can't understand the response. I remain at square one, but now I have an audience to my ineptitude. So instead, I prefer to fumble through things on my own, making an idiot out of myself rather often.
When I first arrived in Basel, I searched high and low throughout the kitchen for a drip-coffee machine. What I found instead was a moka pot or macchinetta, a strange contraption of a coffee maker I had only seen once in my life before. Could I have simply asked how to use it? Yes. Would that have been easier and smarter? Yes. Alas, I did not. Rather, I studied the moka pot, attempted to open it, or tapped it against the table hoping it would just magically open on its own. I read articles online and watched youtube videos explaining how to use a macchinetta. It was all to no avail. Although I had figured out how to use it through my extensive studying, I couldn't seem to get it open to actually make any coffee.
My inability to simply ask my housemate how to open the moka pit had a negative effect on my mental stability this past month. During the school year, I down somewhere between three to six cups of coffee daily. I'm a college student; coffee and water are synonymous in my world. Thus, for the first few weeks in Switzerland, I went through caffeine withdrawal paired with jet lag. Everyday I enjoyed headaches, supreme sleepiness, and accidental three hour naps. (Granted I could have gone to cafés, but Switzerland isn't terribly economical. The cheapest coffee I've been able to locate is the equivalent of six dollars or more for roughly six ounces). I didn't give up however. Every couple of days, I would angrily pick up the moka pot and try to open it. Finally, my efforts have paid off, and I sit here today thoroughly caffeinated and pleased with myself.
What have I learned from this? Apparently nothing.
For my research, I really need to pick up some books from the library here. Unfortunately, it isn't quite as easy as pulling a book of the shelf and checking it out. For starters, I am having some problems figuring out their cataloguing system. Secondly, only one of the books I need is in the main library. I also need books from departmental libraries, the museum of culture, and the art museum in town. Some of these books I am allowed to check out; other ones I can only read in their respective libraries. Add in the fact that I still haven't settled completely on a single topic, and I am feeling a little lost.
At most of these places, there will be librarians to help me, and I know that I need to ask for help in locating the books and following the protocol of each library. As I see it, I have three choices:
1. Hope that the librarians speak English. However, since I have a slight command of German, this would equate to me being lazy. Also, I don't think it is fair for me to be in a German-speaking area and expect people to talk to me in my native tongue just so that I am comfortable.
2. Ask for help in German. A little better than the first one; however, it also means I have to haltingly stumble over my inquires and try the librarians' patience. And then, there is no guarantee I will understand whatever response they give me.
3. Try to figure it out on my own. But this may mean I am looking at another coffee scenario, and I don't have a month to figure out Basel's extensive library system.
Unfortunately, one of the woes of being a monoglot is constantly watching your dignity spiral down the drain.
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