October 10, 2008: Cluj, Day Three – Flash-mob

Dear Friend,

Another assignment I received during that meeting a couple days ago was to be a part of the flash-mob. I have to admit, I don’t really know what a flash-mob is. I haven’t even seen the videos on youtube. What I do know, though, is that it’s a group of people who gather at a certain public place and for a certain period of time perform a certain unusual act. An example would be when a bunch of people in the crowded streets of Toronto suddenly started having a pillow fight with each other, and everyone else around them who weren’t in on the plan. That’s an example.

Our flash-mob, thankfully, will not involve pillow fights, as I’m sure that would get out of hand. Instead, eight of us will where festival T-shirts with a letter on it. When we line up in order, the letters will form the word “voluntar,” volunteer in Romanian. I’m “U.” The plan is that when we arrive at our destination we’re supposed to run around like crazy, then when Eugen (“O”) stops and gives the hand signal (putting his hands in the air) we’re all suppose to line up to form the word. We can’t speak, move, or react in any way to what people are doing around us. This sounds somewhat like Invisible Theatre, I realize, but it’s not quite that. At least, not in my mind, and at least not right now it isn’t.

Our actual scheduled flash-mob takes place on Saturday, but for rehearsal and publicity purposes, we’re going to do some of it today. We ended up going to a number of sites around Cluj. Each time our tactic changed. We would run around, move in slow motion, or walk in a line and make train noises. When we formed the word, others would hand out flyers for the festival. We also handed out flyers when we were walking to our next site. It was an interesting experience, but nothing like I had imagined it would be. Some people we met asked questions about volunteering and about the festival. I just smiled and “coercively” handed out flyers.

Tonight was my night to cook. Maria told me she thought that since the first night the Italian made something Italian, the second night the American should make something American. I decided on grilled cheese and soup. We couldn’t find tomato, so we dealt with a Ramen kind of chicken flavored soup. While I was cooking (or attempted to) the others were at the site of the festival, setting things up. After the experience I had, I think I should’ve declined the invitation to cook. I’ll explain presently.

I know how to cook. I’m not a gourmet chef (I once thought of going to school for culinary arts,) but I can cook. I know how to make things other than macaroni and cheese (which I really don’t like.) The only unforeseeable issue with this statement is context. I know how to cook at home, with my stove, in my kitchen. I can even cook in the kitchen of Northwestern’s cafeteria (I’ve done it before.) In another country, though, with a temperamental gas stove, I discovered I wasn’t very skilled. My own stove at home is a gas stove, but this one was a temperamental gas stove. It was a disaster.

I got everything set up, prepared the ingredients I needed, even had the pans out I would be using. The kitchen of the hostel was, for lack of a better term, claustrophobic. There wasn’t enough counter space and everything was tucked in a corner. The kitchen was also an area where people walked through. There were three different entrances/exits and the kitchen was the apex. I even remembered all the times my mom telling me that having the burner on high doesn’t necessarily preparing food quicker. I took every precaution I could think of to keep the system running smoothly. However, it was all in vain. I threw away a quarter of the sandwiches I made, after setting the fire alarm off twice, and burned myself a number of times. I ended up resorting to making my sandwiches in the microwave, which solved, in my mind, nothing but making the sandwiches gooey.

Remember those stages of “challenge by choice?” I was very near the red panic zone by now. I was so embarrassed by the whole ordeal, especially after what had happened last night. I was really trying to invest and make what I thought was a simple, American meal only for the entire thing to blow up in my face. I was probably still inhaling the smoke from the last alarm when I started doing dishes.

The reactions were not as I had expected. Actually, I had been trying to not expect anything from my colleagues upon their return. I was just hoping there would be food to eat. However, everyone was very thankful for the work I had done. I was so exhausted from the stress by that point that I looked half dead to the world. I’m very serious, I was really bent out of shape and burnt out by it all. Everyone, though, was very gracious and did indeed enjoy the food I had prepared. I felt better, at least, about my effort.

I had the chance to express my disappointment from the past two nights to Diana. I explained once again my desire to invest, but not knowing how. Diana then told me I had already invested quite a bit with the banners and just sticking to making supper despite all the obstacles. I could’ve snapped and given up, but I didn’t and that was investment to her. She empathized with my stress and reminded me that I was in a different country among people of a different culture and that I needed to not have such high expectations. She assured me I was doing fine.

I felt better after my conversation with Diana. She had plenty going on that day, but still had the grace and concern to listen to what I had to say and give me her thoughts. She also said that Romanians are not typically people who give a lot of compliments, so when they do they mean it. That being said, I need to learn to believe that the compliments I receive are true, something I’ve struggled with for a long time. Thank you, God, for grace, because today was certainly a day I needed it.

Blessings.
Kailen