Language usage: slang

 

Old friend Valerio posted a photo of something he saw at Heathrow (en route to Rome) which says "Chat to us via WhatsApp", wanting to know if "chat to" was correct English. He says only "chat with" is used in American English.

    This reminds me of my time in Taipei working for Conoco Taiwan.

    A radio operator colleague's friend, Mr Yang, was a manager at a hotel who decided to run a little business on the side, training tourist guides.

    There was a national exam for it, comprising the obvious elements related to tourism: the geography and history of Taiwan, especially the popular tourist sites, and English.

    The English test was in two parts: a multiple-choice Q&A test (for the Listening element), and a one-to-one interview (for the Oral element).

    Mr Yang asked me to design a batch of sample multiple-choice papers for his course, then record them (with me and a male voice to distinguish between the Q role and the A role).

    Rather than just let the students listen to the recordings (which was all they had to do for the test), Mr Yang decided to invite me along for the feedback once their answer sheets had been marked (by one of his staff). This would give the students extra Listening and Oral practice and interaction, which was all good preparation for the interview element, and of course for real life listening and speaking (which they didn't get much of in those days). Most forward-thinking indeed, to give his business that extra pull factor.

    When the would-be students found out at enrolment that the teacher was to be someone from Singapore, a lot of them objected, saying they wanted an American. One of them, a Singaporean studying at the National University of Taiwan, said, "I'm from Singapore. I know what the standard of English is like there. I don't want to learn English from a Singaporean."

    Mr Yang said they could attend a couple of lessons to find out for themselves what the quality of my English was before deciding to register and pay. At the end of my first lesson, all the Doubting Thomases paid up for the whole course without testing me for the rest of the two lessons that they were allowed to sit through before paying up. (A lot of them said, in case you're interested, that, in their experience, not all native-speakers knew how to explain to them how the language works or why.)

    Their multiple-choice test exercises could be, and were, marked (during the break before I stepped in for the feedback) by Mr Yang's staff using the answer sheets provided by me (the setter). My presence, therefore, had to have a value-added element to it, so:

* Rather than just let them have their marked answer scripts back, I asked them to explain why their right/wrong answers were right/wrong. This gave them some practice in speaking, as well as some training in being what I now call in my teaching of Mandarin "Sherlock Holmes" (one of his skills being deductive reasoning) -- a skill they'd have to apply in real life, without the teacher being there to give them the nod (or otherwise).

* I threw in as much extra information and insights as I could into things related to the English language that they might not know. One example: names used in real life / informal reference / as nicknames, especially by Americans*, don't always match their official versions -- Bill for William is not so far out, but Chuck for Charles is not such an obvious link, nor Dick for Richard, nor Bob for Robert. When I saw them scribbling furiously in their notebooks, I knew I was on the right track. (Taiwan was an ally of America at the time, so they were mostly exposed to Americans, e.g., the soldiers based there. In fact, all white-looking foreigners would be "American" to them, even those who speak with a very strong non-English accent, e.g., French, German, Italian, Spanish, because Taiwanese people didn't know enough English, nor enough about the outside world, to be able to tell the difference. The Western equivalent would be that "all Chinese people look alike" -- in my case, "all Africans" when I first went to SOAS / School of Oriental and African Studies.)

* I taught them as much tourist-scenario-based English as possible, which also served as preparation for the one-to-one interview element of their test. One obvious scenario was shopping, so I went for role-playing, e.g., how to ask about prices / ask for other options in colour or size, etc. To one of the phrases I taught them, "That's too expensive," a student raised his hand and said, "I thought the way to say it is, [complete with an American twang] 'It's a rip-off!'" Hahahahaha, I still laugh now as I'm writing this. I had to issue the warning (and still do, now, more than half a century later) that it would be safer to steer clear of slang.

(Taiwan, 1975)

When's the appropriate time to cosh an abductor? (Taipei, Taiwan)

In my blog Be careful you don't get abducted: 03 (https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2026/01/be-careful-you-dont-get-abducted-03.html), reader Valerio has left a question: "...what would the appropriate time for coshing be?!...".

    The answer is a bit long, so here's a separate blog for it.

    My reply to Valerio's question above:

    "Appropriate time in a general sense would obviously be when his head was turned, which would make it easier for me since I'm small and female.

    "Appropriate also in the sense of if I thought he was indeed going to abduct me."

    The daughter of my Chief Geologist boss at Conoco Taiwan was 18 at the time in my first year at Conoco Taiwan.  She was blonde and curvy.

    She told me about what happened to her one taxi ride home.

    A lot of expats in Taipei during my two years there (1975–6) lived in an area of Taipei called Tianmu (天母).  Her house was one of those built on the slopes of the hill there, looking down on a huge swathe of Taipei.

    On a taxi ride home one day (evening?), Beth said to the driver when they got to her house, "停 tíng / stop," but he kept going.  She started to use English ("stop!") and Malay ("berhenti!") (her father had worked in Conoco Singapore for a few years), to no avail.

    The driver got to the very top end of the road, which was then just forest around.  As soon as he halted, Beth shot out of the cab and ran down the hill.

    If I'd been Beth in that cab in that situation, that would've been an appropriate moment for me to cosh the driver first from the back seat before I made my escape.

    Of course, I'd need to unlock the car door first before I could run out of the car after coshing him from behind (or the side).

    The frightening bit is:  the locking was controlled by the driver from the lever near his gear stick.  I can't be sure that I'd be able to pull the latch up from its sunken position in the door sill quickly enough, if at all.  I do have vague memories of surreptitiously easing it up on a few trips, just to make sure I could escape when needed, so I think it can be done by the passenger from the back seat as well.

(Taipei, Taiwan, 1975)

Primitive anti-theft precautions (China / Hong Kong)

 

The mainland Chinese drama series (set 1977–92) that I've been watching features a scene where the nephew (aged 11?) is visiting Suzhou (near Shanghai) from Guizhou (in S.W. China), which is a very long way away.  (His mother went there during the Cultural Revolution [1966–76].)

    His mother has sewn into a pair of his trousers some money for him to give to his [maternal] uncle and uncle's wife for all the expense that his visit entails.

    It reminds me of when I first flew out on 26 December 1974 to Taipei to start a new job (with the American oil company, Conoco).

    My mother's [younger] sister sewed a makeshift money pouch into the front of my trousers on the inside.

    I was making an overnight stay in Hong Kong (half day Saturday, Saturday night, half day Sunday) to take advantage of not having to pay extra for the ticket.

    This was how it worked in those days.  I had to let the travel agency know in advance, because they had to add an extra page in the ticket, to be torn off for each destination.  For example,

* Option A:  Singapore to Taipei (via HK [no direct flights in those days] but not getting out of the airport) would be one page in the ticket, since I'd be transiting in HK, not getting out of the airport.  That page would be torn off at the Singapore airport end when I checked in at the start of the journey.

* Option B:  Singapore to Taipei but stopping over in HK (i.e., getting out of the airport, and returning the following day for the second leg of the journey to Taipei) would be two pages in the ticket -- one page to be torn off at the Singapore airport end when I checked in; the second page to be torn off at the HK airport when I checked in next [the following day in my case].

    I wandered around the Kowloon area near my hotel on Saturday afternoon and spent all the money that I'd taken out.  I was going to do more walking around on Saturday night, having been recommended a famous open air night market, 通菜街 / Tongchoi Street, by my RI (Raffles Institution) ex-classmate James.

    To get more money to spend, I had to go back to my hotel, ask for my room key at Reception, go up to my room to fish out more money from the pouch sewn into the front of my trousers.

    I know, I know, why didn't I go to the loo on the ground floor of the hotel, or a public loo even?

    Well, my upbringing frowned on us using a public loo, and being a freshly arrived tourist, I wouldn't know where to find a public loo anyway.  As for going all the way up to my room vs using the loo on the ground floor of the hotel, it was just that my room would be more private somehow.  Since I'd gone all the way back to my hotel, I might as well go up to my room to fish the money out.

    Anyway, this happened more than once, because I kept spending money faster than I'd planned to, e.g., buying a winter coat (not available in tropical Singapore, and probably more fetching than one in Taipei -- I couldn't take the risk of finding out only after I'd arrived in Taipei).  So I had to make more than one trip back to my hotel for more spending money during that short stay in HK.

    Reading this now in 2026, you'll probably be laughing your heads off:  "How primitive a way of doing things!  What a country bumpkin way of going about it."

    Well, this was December 1974, and I was only 21 (young by the Chinese culture, especially for a female).  It was the first time I was going that far away from home without people to meet me at the other end (vs Jakarta in December 1973 when my Indonesian student's family looked after me).

(China, 1980 / Hong Kong, 1974)

Some Chinese practices: 01 (Calling someone by their full name)

 

In English, in an informal situation, when someone calls someone they know by their full name, it's usually for telling him/her off.  (Note the "disapproval" and "reprimand" in the AI overview below.)

(AI overview says) Quote Calling someone by their full name can signal formality, respect, getting their full attention, or even disapproval/mockery, depending heavily on context, culture, and relationship; it can signify a serious tone, a hierarchical difference (like a boss to an employee), an attempt to connect deeply, or a moment of reprimand, replacing casual nicknames with the complete, official address. Unquote

    I worked in Taipei with an American oil company, Conoco Taiwan (now ConocoPhillips), for two years.

    By Oriental standards in those days, for a girl to be working abroad at age 21 was considered young.  I didn't know anyone (friends or relatives) in Taiwan either, so a kind colleague started to invite me home to spend Sundays with her family -- parents and four children: the eldest of the girls being my colleague, the brother at university, the two younger sisters at school.

    I was, therefore, a regular guest at their home, usually arriving before lunch (their arrangement), and spending all day there with them.

    The first time I heard one of the family address someone else in the family by their full name, I thought, "Oh dear, s/he is in for it.  S/he is in trouble."  It turned out not to be the case.

    It also doesn't have to be from top to bottom, i.e., the parent or older sibling addressing the younger member(s).  It can be upwards as well.

    I now find the same practice in the mainland Chinese drama series, set 1979–92, that I've been watching on YouTube.

(Taiwan, 1975–6; mainland China, 1979–92)

The guardian angels in one’s life: 08 (The future boss)

I was to be the Personal Secretary of the President of Conoco Taiwan, being the most qualified of all the non-executive staff: best of the lot in English, knew shorthand, etc.  He was the President of Conoco Singapore (Conoco Western Pacific) playing a double role.  I knew him already, but only remotely, from my short stint as the telex operator there.

    Received a call one day from Dr. Page, who was to be the Chief Geologist at Conoco Taiwan, asking to meet up for a coffee.  Most odd, as I didn’t really know him.

    Over the coffee, it became clear that he was there as my guardian angel.

    His first question was, “Do you have to be Mr. Ward’s secretary?”  No, I was just happy to have a job out there.

    Next question: “Would you like to be my secretary instead?”

    It turned out that his originally intended secretary had been the target of snide remarks, he said, with people saying things like, “Don’t sit in that chair.  She’s just sat on it,” reducing the poor woman to tears.  (She left because of this.  No, the culture of the complaints procedure was not strong at all then, plus this was the East, where people are less assertive of one’s rights when it comes to such things.)

    Dr. Page said that with the President straddling the Singapore and Taipei offices (therefore not full time presence), I wouldn’t have him around to protect me from the bullying (since I’m an outsider, being from Singapore), so he’d like me to “demote” myself and be HIS secretary instead, so that he could keep an eye on me.

    Thank you, Dr. Page.  I’m eternally grateful to you for thinking ahead, being concerned about my welfare as a foreigner in Taiwan with no family or friends there.

(Taiwan, 1974)

The guardian angels in one’s life: 07 (The insider)

 

(From googling)

Quote

An insider, in various contexts, generally refers to someone who has privileged knowledge or access within an organization, group, or situation.  This could mean access to secret information, special influence, or a deeper understanding of how things work behind the scenes.

Unquote

Back in 1974, I was working as a legal secretary (at Boey, Ng and Wan in Asia Insurance Building), but wanted to work my way around the world.

    The idea of travelling around the world as a tourist didn’t (still doesn’t) appeal to me.  Staying in a hotel and eating out all the time is too superficial an experience of a culture for me.  I prefer to be a member of the local community for a stretch: working for a local business, living the life of a local (catching the bus every day, buying food at the local market to cook at home), speaking their language, knowing the local people as friends and colleagues.

    One day, I got a telephone call from my eldest sister, who was the secretary to the Chief Geologist in Conoco Singapore, telling me that Conoco was in the process of setting up a new office in Taiwan, to drill for oil off the south-western coast.  She suggested I apply for a post there.

    I said I was only a secretary, not an engineer or a geologist — why would they import a mere secretary?

    She said, “What have you got to lose by applying?  At the most, you don’t get selected.  Aren’t you trying to go abroad?”  I was persuaded.

    I strongly believe in fate, especially as I get older (with more years behind me) and have experienced episodes in my life that cannot be explained in any other way.  This is one of them.

    Bill Woodrum, the Conoco Singapore administrative manager, had been out in Taipei setting up the office, including interviewing staff for the various posts.  He’d found them not as good in English as the Singapore staff, with the secretaries not being able to do shorthand, so when he got back to his office and found my letter of application sitting on his desk, he snapped me up.  

    The first thing he said when I walked into his office for the interview was:  “How much do you want?”  He didn’t even need to go through my CV.  I’d done a three-month stint with Conoco Singapore as their telex operator almost a year back, while waiting for my London Chamber of Commerce secretarial qualifications to come through, so he knew what I was like as a worker.  

    (As soon as my Private Secretary’s Certificate came through, I got a proper secretarial job [which Conoco Singapore couldn’t offer me at the time, or I would’ve stayed with them] — as a legal secretary.  See blog https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2022/02/swans-feet-singapore.html for my interview for this post.)

    This is yet another example of fate playing a role:  the fact that I had a sister working there; the fact that the timing was just spot on (I wanted to go abroad, the admin manager had been disappointed by the calibre of the local staff over at the other end).  All these came together to propel me onto the path of going abroad to work, not as a tourist.  

    It was all very exciting for a 20-year-old (young by Oriental standards at the time).

(Singapore, 1974)

Habits are hard to undo: 01 (Driving in Taiwan)

 

When I was working for Conoco Taiwan in 1975–6, each big boss had his own driver (President, Chief Geologist, Chief Engineer, Administrative Manager).

    The drivers were needed for the morning journey in to the office and the evening ride home, then perhaps during the day for various activities like meetings outside the office, squash and lunch at the American Club, or dinners/parties in the evenings.  The rest of the time was spent sitting in the kitchen on standby (a lot of it discussing the situation with mainland China — I heard some interesting views; most of the Conoco Taiwan male staff were retired soldiers who’d gone over to Taiwan with Chiang Kai-shek, so they had family back there).

    The Conoco Taiwan President straddled the Singapore and the Taipei offices, spending more of his time in the former than in the latter, so his driver Jimmy was at a loose end most of the time.

    One day, he was so bored he suggested taking me to the Motor Vehicles Office on the outskirts of Taipei to get my Singapore driving licence converted to a Taiwanese one.

    The process was very simple:  eyesight test, colour blindness test, weight and height measurements.  That was it.  I got my Taiwanese driving licence within minutes of my arrival.

    Jimmy then said, “Would you like to drive back into central Taipei?”  

    What a treat!

    As soon as we left the Motor Vehicles Office, I was being careful to stay within my lane (of a six-lane motorway, three lanes each direction).  So, I kept the dotted white line (that delineated the lanes) immediately to my right hand side, as a guidance for the space for my car, which is the best way if you’re not sure how wide your car is.

    Unfortunately, the system in Taiwan is American, i.e., the steering wheel is on the left hand side of the car, and one drives in the right hand lane of the road.  (I was brought up in Singapore, which uses the British system.)

    By keeping the dotted white line immediately on my right, I ended up straddling two lanes, with the dotted white line running down the middle of the car.  Jimmy had to reach out and steer the car into the middle of the lane on more than one occasion as I kept trying to keep the dotted white line on my right hand side, purely out of habit.

    When I had to change gears, my left hand would go WHAM into the side of the door.  The gear stick was on my right hand side now.

    When I had to use the indicator while switching from one lane to another, I’d end up activating the windscreen wipers:  SWIPE SWIPE SWIPE SWIPE across the front screen.

    Everything was in the “wrong” place!

    Luckily, this was late morning and Taipei of 1975, so there wasn’t that much traffic around.

    Recalling this episode now, half a century later, I’m thinking not so much of the hazard I might’ve posed to the other drivers on the road.  Rather, of how it might’ve confirmed the then-commonly-voiced opinion of “these women drivers”!

(Taipei, Taiwan, 1975)

It’s all relative: 01 (Taiwan)

 

I grew up in Singapore where the weather is basically:  hot, very hot, unbearably hot; wet or dry.

    When I first arrived in Taipei on 27 December 1974 to work for Conoco Taiwan, I found it very cold, but wasn’t properly equipped for it, not having had the experience of buying clothes for anything other than the Singapore heat and humidity.

    Stopping over in Hong Kong, I’d bought what I thought would be adequate, but it was only a MacIntosh, which is not even made of wool.  I didn’t even think of buying a scarf or a pair of gloves, never mind a woolly hat.

    I’d go home from work, eat a hasty meal, then jump onto the sofa in the living room, with all the layers I could find (rug, blanket, winter coat, sweater) piled on top of me, and stay there watching TV until shut down time at 11pm.

    No remote controls in those days (not in the flatshare I was in, anyway), so if I didn’t like a programme on one of the two channels, I could either brave leaving the warmth I’d built up on the sofa and switch over, or stay and put up with that channel’s offerings.  No prize for guessing which option I went for.

    At shut down time, however, I had to decamp to my bedroom, where the bed had not been heated up by my body warmth for the last five hours, so I had to start the shivering process all over again.  (No, didn’t think of hot water bottles at that time.  I’d grown up in a culture where “hot water bottle” was only a concept on paper.)

    There was a big tall building across the road from my office block which had a giant digital display on its flat rooftop, showing the temperature in Centigrade, which I had to learn from scratch as we used the Fahrenheit system in Singapore during my childhood days.  (Not that it made much difference, anyway.  I could only relate to hot, very hot, extremely hot, unbearably hot, not cold to the point of shivering.)  I soon learned that if it said 10˚C or 12˚C, it was just about bearable.

    Writing this blog, I decided to google for what zone Taiwan is officially classed under, and I find that it is subtropical for the northern and central parts, with the south being tropical and the mountain areas temperate.  So, Taipei is only one zone north of Singapore, yet its winters could get to 8˚C, while Singapore would be 25˚C at the lowest and then, only after it’s been raining heavily for a few days in succession.

    Fast forward to December 1998 when I went back for my second return visit, after 19 years in London.  I found the weather there mild enough for just a cardigan most of the time, maybe a MacIntosh, but no need for gloves or scarf or hat.  (Yes, there’s always the possibility that it is also climate warming at work there.)

(Taiwan, 1974 and 1998)