Lost in Translation

I had a bit of a "lost in translation" moment today when the postman came to visit. My mom had lovingly sent through some very needed secret socks (which I have yet to find here in this 'shopping haven') and so to check out our postal system, sent them registered mail. We can all breathe a sigh of relief that it arrived here in good time and in one piece; our Chinese address does indeed work. However it was getting the letter from the postman that proved somewhat difficult for me and my dreadful Mandarin.
Kyle was already at univeristy and I was having a bit of a morning to myself when our buzzer from downstairs rang (which has never happend before, so that in itself gave me quite a fright). There's a little camera on our end of the buzzer and I saw a man's face bobbing up and down as he went rambling on about something in Chinese...
I had no idea what he was saying or asking, all I could get out in my broken Mandarin was "do you speak any English?" to which he laughed and replied, "no" (in Mandarin of course). I was a bit reluctant at first but figured I had heard what I understood in Chinese to be 'come down'; so I got decent and fearfully went downstairs to the foyer, with no idea what to expect (for all I knew he could be a policeman!) I then gathered, due to the fact that he was handing out letters to people and having them sign for them, that he was the postman and so I was happy. But he was asking people for some number, and I had no idea what that was...id number, clearance number... I was thankful he just let me just sign some paper and after everyone had had a good chuckle at my expense, I was allowed to go back upstairs to open my mail. After opening the parcel and thinking the whole ordeal was behind me, I got into the shower.
Just as I had put the shampoo in my hair I heard banging at the door. We have had people barge into our flat by mistake before so we have got used to locking it now (and I'm so glad I did because he was trying to get in when I didn't answer the first time), but I thought the person would soon realise they had the wrong apartment and disappear if I ignored it. Turns out they didn't leave and after some shouting from both ends I reluctantly got out the shower sopping wet, draped a towl around my waist, put my glasses on so I could see, pulled over Kyle's shirt that wasn't white and with half shampooed hair, opened the door. It was the postman again - asking me for that number, but this time he had gotten clever and written what he required from me in Chinese on his cell phone, and then switched the language to show what he needed in English...Viola! Something I understand. I look on his cell phone and see the word "passport" and a light bulb goes on in my brain that the number they require from me is in fact my passport number! You think that would make me happy knowing what they needed, but in that instant I remembered that Kyle had our passports at university sorting out visa stuff, and so I was stuck once again. How do I tell this man, in my terrible Mandarin, I don't have what he wants, my husband does?!!
I decide to rummage through some papers in the hope of finding one that might have our passport numbers on it - no luck; I try call Kyle but he's in class so his phone's off - I'm officially stuck and I'm half dressed, dripping wet, with a Chinese stranger in my house. The thing about Chinese people that I have discovered is that even when you tell them you don't speak Mandarin or understand what they're saying, they continue to ramble on at the speed of light using words you would never in a million years understand! Now as an English teacher I come across loads of Chinese people who can't understand much English, and I purposefully slow down and use easy words for them to comprehend my meaning. No, not this man. He rambled on in the hope that I would miraculously gain all knowledge of the language in an instant and respond appropriately. That such miracle did not happen; but we did manage to exchange phone numbers (in a very round about way) cos I could understand and signal the word for cell phone towards the end. He then insisted I get my husband to call him with my passport number asap and after the 2 of us having a good giggle at the situation he left me to finish my shower. I have heard that since that incident, Kyle received a phone call and duly told the man on the other end my passport number, how very handy to have a husband who can understand Chinese on the phone. But still felt like such an idiot. The moral of the story (cos what's a story without a moral eh?) is twofold: I need to work harder at this language and everyone needs to remember that unless it's a very important document, send letters by normal mail. Receiving letters in my post box seems like a lot less hassle then dealing with the Chinese in the middle of my shower.