The Dumb Laowai

Vengeance, or just mischief, seems to take a different path in China. I’ve never heard of someone’s car being keyed or their tires being slashed. Maybe it’s that an automobile still serves as a very strong status symbol here, something you just don’t mess with. I saw a knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of the street over the tiniest of bumper scratches. The auto is sacred. No, if you want to mess with someone you go for where they live - their bicycle.

I seem to have acquired such a nemesis. At first I paid little attention to problems with my bike. It sits in an underground bike garage, jammed pedal to spoke with hundreds of others and just about impossible to retrieve without jostling a dozen others. So, naturally, I thought it was innocent bumps that screwed up my gear settings. I've recently come to think differently, as only another header over the handlebars can make you do.

Bright and early, in front of half a dozen old ladies already at their al fresco card game, I hopped on the bike and did my crash test dummy imitation because the chain was completely off the gear sprocket. Still groaning, I noticed that both gear shift levers had been altered before going about repairs. Mumbling the entire time about stupid kids or, more likely, some peasant from the countryside, I also discovered that my brake cable had been practically severed. All that was left was a single strand of wire. I was shocked.

I still think of it as amusing on occasion, but the truth is that it’s just as bad as, and maybe worse than, having someone cut the brake line on your car. Riding a bicycle in Beijing requires the nerve and skill to constantly avoid being a splatter on a car or bus, as well as dodging thousands of pedestrians and other bicycle riders, none of whom look one way, much less both ways before leaping into the fray. I guess I need to start watching my back. In the mean time, I’m now forced to take my bike up the elevator and park it outside my apartment. Since a bike takes up half of the elevator and one of the two elevators is out of order about half the time, this can be a bit of an irritant in a 24 floor building. Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m moving next month.

I’ve been a little irritated with my new commute to class. Since switching universities, I’ve been forced to spend about $7 a day on taxis, about 25-30 minutes each way. Bicycling isn’t practical and the subway doesn’t run close enough to be worth while. Still, I like my apartment and neighborhood, so I put up with it until last week. Although real estate prices have been climbing here, my landlord (or more probably the string-pulling wife) has also come down with Olympic fever. One of the symptoms is a desire to increase my rent by 25%.

This happens in every Olympic city. Everyone thinks that they are going to get rich. I know intelligent Americans and Europeans who have purchased second and third apartments, just waiting to make their score. None of them sees even the remotest possibility of a market correction (bubble burst) after the Olympics. The buildup has been unimaginable. I’m guessing that if you wanted to buy property here, the post-Olympics market will be heavenly.

Strangest English Name So Far
Beijing Candy (a man)

Close Seconds
Easy (woman) “Hi, I’m Easy!”
Cookies (man)
Pizza (man)

Some Europeans, especially the British, will immediately understand the concept of a Chinese post office, but to an American it is a very strange adventure, irritating and entertaining at the same time. I’m still discovering new things, and I’d always thought that a post office was a pretty bland, cut and dried sort of place. My only reason to go to the post office is to pay either my phone or water bill. I think I may have missed out on a lot. The opportunities are endless.

Last week I was waiting for my water bill to arrive so that I could pay both bills in one trip. I knew it would only be a few days because the meter reader had stopped by the previous week. Since the water meter is under my kitchen sink, it doesn’t get read unless I happen to be home. This creates a bit of a hit and miss situation and has raised some doubts in my mind as to the purpose of the meter after all.

Due to some quirk in schedules, I didn’t get my first water bill for almost four months after moving in and was pleasantly surprised when it only came to about 20 kuai. Subsequent bills for three, two and now a one month period have amazingly been practically identical. Perhaps I’m reverting to my childhood sleep-walking habits. Am I taking all-night showers or compulsively flushing the toilet in the middle of the night? Is the meter a dummy and they just go through the motions? Maybe I should just stop answering the door and pay another 20 kuai six months from now.

Anyways, the water bill finally arrived, taped to my front door. It was a masterpiece of timing, as I was storming out the door and heading to the post office whether it was there or not. You see, I don’t get a phone bill and I had been guessing how long I could wait before paying it. You get daily irritating, computer-generated phone calls reminding you to pay your bill, but I generally don’t understand anything but the amount. I’ve gotten to where I don’t even answer the phone because other than bill notices, wrong number calls are the only other time it wrings. I’d have it turned off, but it also includes my internet service. That’s how I discovered that I had waited one day too long - no internet. The result was that I wanted to pay immediately instead of waiting until the next morning when they opened and the lines would be smaller. I was about to get the full experience.

If you have any type of financial transaction, the first thing you do is go up to a computerized touch screen and get a number, similar to a deli. My ticket made it clear that I had 45 people waiting ahead of me, causing me to sigh and a few others to chuckle at my dismay. Dozens of seats were all filled. Even six or so small, plastic stools were all in use. Many people had bags of small bills to deposit. (The post office is also the government bank.) I was going to be there a while. I stepped back outside for a cigarette with about eight other people.

Grandpa was very dignified, calmly waving off various family members when they came to pester him. Apparently it was an outing for the extended family. A bad stereotype of a used car salesman (is there another kind?) was working some deals on his cell phone, pacing back and forth in black slacks, white socks, brown sandals and a loud, red sports jacket with oversized Chinese words written all over it. Two kids were making practicing their foreplay moves. Grandma seemed to be having a tough time clearing a hairball from her throat.
I wandered back inside to find that I was two numbers closer to getting out of there. I wandered over to the magazine section. After that it was the book section and the music aisle. I didn’t waste time with the movie aisle and headed back over to see if I could find a seat. I thought I saw one at the far end, but when I arrived I found it being used by a four foot tall woman doing a passable imitation of Yoda. Now I had to get back out of the seating area, easier said than done.

Stepping over a bag of produce, I bumped into a woman who was massaging a man’s neck. She squawked, he squealed. She gave me a dirty look as I apologized profusely, but he didn’t seem to be able to lift his head. From his muttering, I got the impression that this was a new symptom and not why he was getting the massage. My attention thus riveted, I managed to forget all about the card game I managed to back into. This time I was rewarded with a chorus of squawking.

I decided that the safest thing for me to do was to stand away from everyone else, next to the security guard with a helmet and a big baton. The villagers would have to think twice about coming after me now. I caught the announcement on the loud speaker: five more down, thirty-eight to go! I wasn’t going to make it!

As I stood behind the guard, who by now was starting to give me strange looks, I noticed several people walking in eating pita-type sandwiches and started to get a little hungry. It was a good reason to go back outside anyways. Next door was a grocery store that had small food stands selling through windows in the building. I’ll have to try it sometime. The food’s apparently pretty good, as evidenced by the hundred or so people jostling to buy some. I decided to wait and just watch the salesman for a while.

All-in-all, it took over an hour to pay my bills. No one was getting a haircut, but just about every other facet of life was represented. Just another day at the post office. I wonder how many of those people spend their whole day there?

T-Shirt Of The Week (And Maybe All-Time)
Express Yourself Excellent!

The Week’s Tacky Award Winner
CCTV-9 (English language television) boasting about China’s medal count (500) in the Special Olympics.


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