Books!

A man came to the school and stopped by the teachers’ table. He notices I am white and strikes up a conversation with the question, “Are you a Peace Corps or a VSO?”
“Peace Corps.”
“So you are an American. The Peace Corps are from America. Which part of America are you from?”

He sounds like a guy who knows everything, so though I suspect he does not know Connecticut, I don’t want to insult him with the standard “near New York.”

“Connecticut.”
“Canada?” He is confused, because he knows the Peace Corps are not from Canada.
“Connecticut. It is near New York.”
“Connect-i-cut,” he says, implying: why didn’t you say you were from Connect-i-cut? of course I know Connect-i-cut.

“I like this book,” he continues, picking the top book off the pile of books that is next to me but does not belong to me. The book is a slim paperback with an illustration of an angry man on the cover. I forget the title but remember that, bizarrely, it was published by the Ford Motor Company.

“Do you know Maria Montessori?” he persists.
“No.”
“He was Italian…” (here the ellipsis represents the brief but forgotten biography of Montessori he shared with me) “He founded the Montessori Method of teaching, which is very similar to this,” he concludes, indicating the cover of the next book in the pile, an orange paperback with a black and white photograph on the cover, “student-centered teaching.”
“But these books are not mine, so I have not read them, actually.”

He picks the book from the pile and puts it on top of the first book he picked up. He seems to be relocating the original pile, book by book. When he removes the book about teaching methods he reveals a sea-foam green booklet on agricultural science.

 “My first degree was in agricultural science.” He wants me to ask about his second degree, but I decide to continue scrolling through my phone’s inbox instead. He picks up the booklet and starts thumbing through it.
“My first degree was in agricultural science,” he repeats, “But my master’s is in public sector management.”
He wants me to remark on the diversity of his knowledge, but I am preoccupied with selecting the messages I want to delete.
“First agricultural science, then public sector management!” he declares.
“They are very different.”
“Yes! Very different!”
“Agriculture and…”
“Public sector management!”

He turns to introduce himself to the teacher sitting across from me. I worry that I have been too rude, but when she replies to his questions with similar detachment, I decide I must’ve behaved in a culturally appropriate manner after all.