Professor Yeti

Dear Professor Yeti,

I work at the reception desk at the National Center for Slavic Studies in Cincinnati, Ohio. Just now a man asked me if I were from Czechoslovakia, and I didn’t feel like correcting him, so I just said, “No, I’m not.”

“So what nationality are you?” he asked.

(This is a very rude question, but I knew what he meant and I didn’t want to snap at him, since I was supposed to be polite — I work at a reception desk, remember.)

“Spanish,” I said.

“Ah, España!” he said, “Hola, Amigo.”

“Umm,” I said.

He then pontificated upon the greatness of Spanish culture and said, “I bet you’ve eaten a lot of great paella!”

I nodded sheepishly and then — Thank God — he left.

But, Professor Yeti, I’m not Spanish! I was born in a suburb of Detroit and have lived in either Michigan or Ohio my entire life! My parents hail from Michigan and Kentucky, respectively, and now life together in retirement in Akron! But for some reason, because I work at the Center for Slavic Studies — which screams “Culture!” to people who have none — some visitors feel it’s fair game to inquire about my “nationality”! They treat me like I’m some sort of curio placed out front — a sort of sampler of the Slavic-ness inside!

But I’m an American! Born, bred, and raised! It doesn’t make any sense! I have brown hair, dark eyes, and a natural tan and somehow people feel like this is invitation enough to ask: 1. Are you Slovakian? 2. What is your religion? 3. Do you know why Slavic people behave as they do? Etc, etc, etc! And these are people whom I’ve never met who are asking me this!

When I say I’m from Detroit, they roll their eyes and ask, “Where are you really from?”

“Really, Detroit,” I want to say, “I speak one language — English — and my favorite drink is Pepsi Cola! Now leave me the hell alone!”

“No, no, no, really where are you from, what is your origin?”

Eventually I cave in and say “I’m Spanish.”

Then they coo and remark how I have “Spanish” eyes, or try to speak Spanish to me, or hint at what good lovers Spanish men are! Do they think I find this interesting?! Do they think them saying “Yo quiero habanero!” has any resonance with me?! My great-grandparents on my father’s side lived in Spain! I’ve never even met these relatives, never been to Spain, and I’ve only been to an authentic Spanish restaurant a few times in my life! But, because I don’t have blonde hair, everyone idiot that walks through the door seems to want to categorize me, to ‘understand’ me by placing some horribly ill-fitting label on my personality — it’s incredibly demeaning!

And don’t even get me started about being Jewish! I’m not Jewish! But so many people, after then find out I’m not “Czechoslovakian” ask me, “Are you Jewish?”

I want to shout at them: “Are you serious?!!??”

But I don’t, and I don’t know how to respond because there’s nothing wrong with being Jewish — I have quite a number of friends who are Jewish, some of whom are “whiter” than I am, by the way — and so I sort of want to say I am Jewish, just because I can tell the thought makes my interrogator uncomfortable. But that wouldn’t be factually correct (and Lord Knows, I don’t want to hear anything about Chanukah) so I say, “No, I’m not.”

The person who asked then gets a relieved look on their face and says, “Oh. . . . I once knew a Jewish person (As though this is of any interest to me! ) and you have a very Jewish nose (What in the fuck??! ) so I thought maybe you were . . . ”

Who in the hell thinks this is acceptable? No one approaches a black man and says to him, “Boy, since you’re African, it must be really tough for you — what with all the atrocities your people are committing over in Darfor — it must be tough to see your relatives do that.” No! No one would say something as absurd as that! Never! But somehow because I “look” Russian/Czech/Italian/Spanish/Jewish/Arabian/Mexican/Argentinean, etc (depending upon the context — and the very fact that I’ve been told that I “look just like” so many different nationalities should be a dead give away that the notion is total bullshit) I am continually asked about my “culture,” my “people,” my “ethnicity,” etc.

But how many times can I say!? I’m from Detroit! I now live in Cincinnati! I like basketball, chess, rock-and-roll, and pizza! Leave me alone! Why is this so difficult to grasp?????

Jack Balestero, Cincinnati

Dear Jack,

As Bill Clinton famously said: I feel your pain. As a yeti and a notable outsider, people often (with such bright-eyed enthusiasm, I might add) say things like: “I once knew a beaver — he was very nice. He liked acorn stew — I bet you’re pretty used to acorn stew . . . ” Occasionally, when I have time and am feeling inexhaustibly patient, I explain to these people that 1. Beavers are indigenous to North America, whereas yetis are indigenous to Nepal and Tibet 2. I myself know plenty of beavers and find nothing especially interesting in the fact that they know a beaver. 3. I happened to quite enjoy acorn stew (and know much more about it than they) but my enjoyment of the dish is sheer coincidence and has nothing whatsoever to do with some strange “mammalian kinship” they think beavers and yetis share.

Other times I’m gruff, rude, short, snappish — or I just ignore them. On a few especially frustrating occasions, I’ve taken advantage of my considerable size and furriness to frighten the questioner off by waving my arms and bellowing incomprehensibly — I’m sure they believe this is typical yeti behavior and while I’m not usually one to indulge stereotypes, even my patience has its limits.

So my stance is this: explaining and re-educating humanity one ignorant dolt at a time is the idealistic and proper behavior, but you have my sympathies if you endeavor to do whatever necessary to get out of the situation as soon as possible.

Regards,

Professor Yeti

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Dear Professor Yeti,

How old are you?

Timothy “Not the Country Music Star” McGraw, Fresno, California

Dear Timothy,

This is a more complicated question than you may believe. You see, yetis’ biological clock is not analogous to humans’ and so if I told you my age, it wouldn’t give you a good sense of where I am in my life. Let me explain: we’ve all heard the phrase “dog-years” to describe the fact that a dog is middle-aged by the time it’s six years old (a dog ages seven “human” years in one calendar year) and find nothing strange in this. If I may coin a phrase, then, there are “yeti-years”: a yeti ages one-tenth of a “human” year per calendar year, meaning that when a yeti is three hundred years old, he or she is the human equivalent of thirty. Yetis are most like turtles in this regard (some turtles have lived over three hundred years, longer than the existence of the United States) though yetis live even longer — I once met a geriatric yeti who’d lived a full millennium.

Having said that, I’d rather not divulge my actual age as I have found that the length of my life makes most humans extremely uncomfortable — humans (nearly uniformly) find something unbearably daunting about meeting a creature who can remember when McKinley’s assassination was the most pressing topic of conversation — and I’m quite a bit older than that: the turn of the nineteenth century seems merely an instant ago — the Boer War, the Gold Standard Act, and this dainty little picnic I had in what-is-now a suburb of Paris . . . nothing but grain fields, cows lowing and a true love of mine sharing Camembert, Brie and a bottle of wine . . .

Nostalgically yours,

Professor Yeti

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Dear Professor Yeti,

I’m really thirsty, but I can’t get a drink because I’m at a company meeting. It’s a completely useless meeting, though I’m pretending to take notes. Of course, what I’m really doing is writing this letter.

I have a deep, searching question for you, Professor Yeti. All my life I’ve had to sit through and listen to boring people talk about meaningless drivel — in grade school, jr. high, high school, college, and now at my job for a large software company — and I’d thought that at some point the useless meetings, infantile lectures, endless storytimes, and unbearable personal anecdotes would cease — I had thought that once I grew up I’d somehow avoid subjection to all this unpleasantness. But I’m thirty-five years old now, Professor Yeti, and I’m hungry, thirsty, want to take a nap, and have to pee, but I can’t do any of these things because I’m in a meeting. Will this ever stop? Do you have any advice or words of comfort? Any suggestions for a new lifestyle?

Albert Beckenshaft, corporate drudge, 8th floor

Dear Albert,

Personally, I’ve never had this problem — I’ve always been in control of situations, and if there ever was a meeting, it was I who called it. Needless to say, my meetings are always fascinating — though this doesn’t help you too much, I suppose. Rest assured, though, empathy is one of my finest qualities and I shall use it to put myself in your shoes and give you the best advice possible.

My suggestions are thus: start your own business, become a freelancer of some sorts, or simply quit your job and see where that takes you. I know the latter sounds like a terrible idea, but being jobless can give you the free-time and self-direction necessary to figure out what you want to do. In the mean time, simply stop going to meetings, stop talking to bores, and ignore, well, anything that you find unpleasant. Then, when your boss calls you into his office (only heed his directive if you want to) simply tell him you’re too busy “being productive” and that’s why you can’t go to all those time-wasting meetings . . . I’m being a tad facetious, of course, but it’s for you to figure out how facetious — once you figure out how seriously you want to heed my advice, you’ll figure out how seriously you want to avoid meetings and the other unpleasantries of modern life.

Sincerely,

Professor Yeti

Professor Yeti is a world-famous expert and advice columnist. Please send correspondence to: professoryeti@professoryeti.com.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 17th, 2005 at 12:41 am and is filed under Ask Professor Yeti. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.