Technical Difficulty

The other day I was in my nearby gas station getting my daily cup of coffee; fuel, you know. No java snob me: I kind of prefer this gas station coffee, cheap, to that of the many coffee places, less cheap and usually served with an attitude. Anyway, as I'm milling about getting my shot of caf and the rest decaf, my lid and paper cozy, I'm in the middle of two Asian guys rapidly speaking their language. Chinese, I think, but what do I know? As usual in such a situation, my narcissistic paranoia kicks in: what are they saying about me? Are they commenting on my choice of shorts? Then, in the middle of their conversation, one of them says, in English, "technical difficulty." They both laugh. As I am not presently spilling coffee over myself or struggling with getting either the lid or cozy on, I am relieved that they apparently are not talking about me. A few seconds later, the same one repeats "technical difficutly" and they both laugh again. That's when I started to think.

Why, in their lively conversation, must they use English--their only use of the language that I ever hear--when speaking the phrase "technical difficulty"? The phrase is not some idiomatic expression unique to English and untranslatable in their own tongue, is it? Surely there must be a pretty literal translation conveying the same thing, right? I mean, if the guy said "snafu" or "on the Fritz," I could understand the deviation into English, but "technical difficulty"? Certainly the phrase "technical difficulty" can be used figuratively, in a humourous sense (like a Viagra-needing guy, much to his chagrin, explaining the situation to his lover, for instance), but still, to two guys speaking their own language exclusively up to this point, why the need for the English "technical difficulty"? Obviously I love the quirks of the English language, but I don't understand this one. Of course I could have asked the guys, what's the deal with the English use of "technical difficulty," but at heart I'm a shy guy, and I've learned that doing your business in and around the coffee bar in the local gas station in the morning is akin to doing your business at a urinal--get the job done with no frivolous chatting with your neighbors.

On most days I would now divert myself into a lengthy discussion of the phrase "on the Fritz," but since no one seems to know how or why the phrase came about (earliest printed use seems to be around 1903) and I just can't bring myself to waxing balderdash about guys named Fritz at the moment, I'll leave it all be. But let me just confess my most embarrassing "technical difficulty" experience.

Back in the spring of 1985 I was student teaching at a large high school outside of Chicago. On my first day I was understandably nervous as hell. The real teacher, a nice guy who looked and acted remarkably like the actor who played Doogie Howser's father, introduced me to the class of about thirty high school juniors. The TV show "Fantasy Island" was still very much in people's consciousness at the time, with Ricardo Montalban's epic portrayal of the white-suited Mr. Roark. I spell my name Rourke, but the pronunciation is the same. As you might recall (I sympathize), Mr. Roark had a midget sidekick named Tatu, who began every show by exclaiming, "Da plane, da plane!" as the small airplane arrived at Fantasy Island bringing that week's guests. You no doubt see where this is headed. Anyway, after introducing the new student teacher, Mr. Rourke, the teacher told me that the class was finishing its viewing of a video of Shakespeare's Macbeth. He asked me to rewind the VCR to the beginning of Act IV. Now VCRs were still kind of in their infancy at the time, but I knew how to rewind and fast forward and press play. No problem there. And although I had studied Macbeth, I didn't know it that well to be able to tell quickly and decisively just where Act IV began on a video of an unfamiliar production. And so the budding teacher, not thirty seconds into his career, stood with his back to the teeming multitudes, absently pressing rewind, play, fast forward, play, rewind, etc., praying for a flash on the screen, "Act IV begins here!," praying for Doogie's father to come over and help me, praying for a fire drill, praying for anything, as the "da plane, da plane!" catcalls started to increase in volume. The TV was set up right near the door: Walk, I told myself. Just walk away. You'll be a legend in their reunion stories for years to come, and I'm sure there are other careers out there for you.

I honestly don't know what happened, other than I didn't walk, class somehow went on, and within a day or two I was teaching the class and suffered no real discipline problems, and never heard about da plane again. Prayers answered. I guess, technically speaking, there was no real technical difficulty that day--the VCR definitely was rewinding, fast forwarding, and playing. The difficulty was all mine, with Shakespeare and confidence. But whenever I hear the phrase "technical difficulty," even when spoken by two Chinese guys amidst the traffic round the coffee machines at the gas station, I always flash back to that moment of crisis: stay and face the difficulty or walk away. Over the years, mired in stacks of papers, I often wished I had walked away. Ah so. But not really.