Glenn's Adventure in Advanced Linguistics
It was the early 2000s in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, where the sound of the call to prayer mixed with the beeping of cell phones that still had buttons. Our group of English teachers had just rushed out of Extra, the local electronics store, holding a brand-new flat-screen TV. The store was closing for prayer time, and we got out just in time, which made our little adventure even more exciting.
As we made our way through the maze of parked cars to our old van, which we called the "Suber Ban" (it was pretty beat-up and had seen better days), an old man came up to us. He was small, had a kind face with lots of wrinkles, and looked like he might be from Indonesia. He started talking excitedly in a language none of us knew, pointing at the TV and down the street.
Usually, in situations like this, we would smile awkwardly, nod a few times, and use hand gestures to say, "I have no idea what you're saying." Then we would go our separate ways, both feeling a bit confused but still friendly. But tonight was different. Tonight, Glenn Downsworth decided it was his time to shine.
Glenn was a funny guy—a long-time English teacher with a bunch of colorful Hawaiian shirts. He was middle-aged, with pale skin that never seemed to tan, messy brown hair, and a weird shoulder shrug he did when he talked. Some people thought it might be a little like Tourette's, but Glenn never said for sure. He just went with it—literally.
Without missing a beat, Glenn stepped forward and started talking to the old man in what could only be called advanced gibberish.
"Tantu gabba, lii ma juba cula cam li," he said with confidence, waving his hands in the air. "Ba juka limba sa limba cuja catimba calutu."
The old man paused, looking a bit confused, but then nodded like he understood. He spoke back in his own language, just as excited as Glenn. They kept going, making all sorts of sounds that didn't make any sense, but it was amazing to watch. Glenn looked so serious, and his shoulder kept shrugging as he spoke.
Our group stood there, holding onto the TV, with our mouths wide open. Was Glenn actually communicating? Did he know some secret language from his travels? The parking lot had become their stage, and they were putting on a show with no script.
"Ma simaba cula. Culata kim bo ja minla. Ka finda ka lunda, ka lundati," Glenn went on, nodding like he was giving deep advice. He wagged his finger, maybe to show that we didn't need any help. "Kama jumba kama lu patta ti," he finished with a big smile, which seemed to mean thank you.
The old man smiled back, his eyes crinkling. He took Glenn's hand, shook it with both of his hands, bowed a little, and walked away, looking happy.
We all stood there in silence, trying to figure out what just happened. Then we couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing.
"Glenn, what was that?" I asked, still laughing.
Glenn looked at us with a twinkle in his eye. "Advanced linguistics, my friends," he said. "Communication isn't just about words. It's about gestures, tone, and the dance of language!"
We stared at him, not sure if we were impressed or if he had finally lost it.
"But you didn't say anything! That was just gibberish!" someone said.
Glenn shrugged, like always. "Maybe to you. But to him, it was an honest attempt to connect. And that's all that matters."
As we loaded the TV into the Suber Ban, Glenn kept talking. "Language is just a tool. When you don't have the right one, you make it up. People appreciate the effort. It's about respect and trying to connect."
I had to admit, Glenn kind of had a point. In a way, he was right. The old man left happier than when he showed up, and maybe that was enough. As we drove off into the Jeddah night, city lights shining in the rearview mirror, I realized that teaching English abroad was going to be anything but normal. With people like Glenn around, every day promised a new adventure, a new lesson—not just about language, but about the funny ways people connect.
And that’s how the legend of Glenn's "Advanced Linguistics" was born, proving that sometimes, breaking the rules is the best way to communicate. Or at least, it's the most fun.