9:00 am:  Work begins.  I turn on my computer and begin to check my e-mail.  There’s a load of e-mails from my mother.  I don’t have any specific assignments today from my boss, so I take my time in responding to her e-mail, as well as the one from my younger brother, Jonny.  During the time I take to read and respond to e-mails, I scrunch up my face and put on my best, “I’m doing something very important” expression.  No one disturbs me.  I check the water heater that is by the punch cards.  The yellow light turned on signifies that hot water is now available, and I can add it to my glass of Pu'er^W tea leaves that I am anxiously waiting to drink.

9:57 am:  My boss, Zhao Jing, strolls into the office without a care in the world.  He begins working on cleaning up the fish tank behind my desk.  The tank has three large goldfish inside of it–Larry, Curly, and Moe.  Larry is only happy swimming upside-down.  I think he swims in this fashion so that he can get a good view of himself in the mirror on the floor of the tank.  Or perhaps he does this in order show off his swimming prowess to Curly and Moe.  I don’t know.  Do fish think about these things?  Zhao spends the next 30-40 minutes cleaning and repairing the tank.  Larry never makes a peep.

10:15 am:  I refill my glass of tea with hot water for the first time.

11:03:  I ask Zhao if he knows of a good place to buy cross-training shoes in Beijing.  I just bought some Timberland shoes at a store when I was back in L.A. in February.  Went to a store in the Hollywood area and bought the first pair I tried on.  The thing with new shoes is that, a slight problem in design is sometimes difficult to notice when trying them on.  Slight problems in new shoes can become more and more frustrating over time.  I didn’t notice while in the store, but I’ve begun to realize that the right shoe is cut a little too high.  This error in design causes the lip of the shoe to rub against my ankle bone ever so slightly whenever I walk.  It’s just a little bit irritating; however, over time I notice it more and more.  When I tell Zhao about the problem, he thinks of a solution cheaper than purchasing new shoes.

“We should just beat the lip of the shoe down so it doesn’t come in contact with your ankle bone anymore.”  Sounds like a good idea to me.

He walks over to a cupboard and searches for something for a few seconds.  After finding just the right hammer, he puts the shoe down on one of the nice chairs that customers sit on when they are discussing travel plans for a trip to America, Korea, Singapore, etc, and starts pounding the shoe into the chair.  The sound it makes is a little offensive to the ears, so he finishes his work as a cobbler on the floor and beats my right shoe a few more times until he’s satisfied.

A job well done, he gets up and chants a short children’s song in English that his son has taught him (this song, has become sort of an anthem for the two of us):

“Circle cirle, round and round…triangle, triangle, ding ding down…” 

Click here to view the embedded video.

I put my shoe back on my foot.  Not bad, Mr. Zhao.  Not bad at all.

11:15 am:  I refill my tea glass again.

12:00pm–Lunch.  Because everyone goes downstairs for lunch at the same time, I almost always avoid taking the elevator to the Level Sub 3 cafeteria.  I usually eat lunch with Little Han and Sister Liu.  Sister Liu is from Hengshui^W in Hebei province.  She is a single mother with a 10 year old daughter.  Her former profession was that of a history professor, and she often gives me Chinese history lessons during those moments in the office when we have no pressing matters at hand.  (I get these lessons a lot lately).  Today my lunch consists of one bowl of rice, a bowl of tofu and fungus, a small cup of yoghurt, and a bowl of Chinese porridge to drink.  It costs me 8 RMB.

12:35pm:  I take my nunchakus^W and go to the third floor where there is a little outdoor open courtyard.  There is a small group of office workers playing badminton together.  I’m not sure where they work.  There are so many offices in this building.  The courtyard is surrounded on four sides by the four office towers–A, B, C, and D.  I work in office tower D.  I practice nunchakus for the next 25 minutes, managing not to hurt myself or others.

1:00pm:  Return to the office and fill up my glass of tea leaves with hot water.

1:15pm:  Another co-worker, Honey, tells me that she sometimes wishes she was born a boy.

1:45pm:  My tea glass is empty.  Time to fill it up.

2:05pm:  All quiet on the Western front.  There’s not a sound in the office.  Little Han is hard at work trying to deal with passports and visa issues for Chinese tourists traveling abroad.  I stand up to check on Sister Liu who sits at the desk behind me to my right, expecting to find her buried deep in some book concerning history or English grammer.  She is out like a light, her head resting on her left shoulder.

2:30pm:  I step out of the office to make a pit stop in the restroom.  Drinking too much tea.  As soon as I enter, I’m greeted by a cloud of smoke.  There’s almost always someone smoking in here, and I can be sure to find a friendly cigarette waiting to say “hello” from the bottom of the toilet.

2:37pm:  I re-enter the office only to find my tea glass empty.  Time to fill ‘er up.

3:10pm:  Zhao calls me over to his office and tells me to write an e-mail to Delux Rent-a-car, the company that tried to cheat us during our last trip to the U.S. and overcharge his card.  He sheds new light on this developing story by providing me with a copy of the receipt from Deluxe on which they forged his signature, as well a his wife’s!  I go back to my desk and begin to look at the best methods of making a formal complaint concerning forgery.  Finally with a tangible task at hand, my fingers work the keyboard like an Italian chef kneading pizza dough.  I decide to first make a complaint to the Federal Trade Commission.  I type the complaint, submit it, and send it off.  Whew!  A little bit exhausted, I decide I need to take a break.  But first thing’s first; need to fill up my glass of tea leaves again.

4:05pm:  This is the home stretch, the final hour.  After work I can go home and practice my accordian.  I decide to rest my eyes from looking too long at the computer screen and study Chinese for the next half an hour.

4:45pm:  Zhao Jing lights up a cigarette and puffs away.

4:55pm:  I take my tea glass to the restroom, washing out today’s tea leaves and throwing them into the waste basket.  Rinsing the glass as thoroughly as possible, I make sure to get every last bit of residue out so that my glass is ready for work the next day.  I’m already looking forward to filling up my glass in the morning.

5:07pm:  I gather up my things and head to the punch-in-clock next to the water cooler.  After grabbing my card, I clock out for the day and head for the staircase.  This time Little Han joins me, not wanting to wait for the elevator, either.  She walks behind me, and I hear her knee ligaments pop once, twice, as if signaling the end to another busy day in the office. 

I order a plate of potatoes and peppers and sit down at a table across from a guy who has a loudspeaker next to him.  I don’t know how to say the Chinese word for loudspeaker so I make a joke about it.

“Is that a Chinese gun?”  I ask.  I know it’s not a gun.  I’m just too proud to say the words, “I don’t know what that is in Chinese.  Could you please tell me?”  He tells me, and we talk for a few minutes.  He comes from Hebei^W Province, not far from Beijing.  As we talk, I notice that some of the other customers behind him are staring at me during our conversation.  Sometimes, I have to be very aware of my senses in China, and I can usually tell when someone is whispering comments about me at the same time I am engaged in a conversation with another person.  It’s easy for me to tell that the four workers in the back of the room are talking about me.  They probably wonder where I’m from, what I’m doing in China, and why I can speak Chinese.  They guy with the loudspeaker finishes his lunch, pays his bill, and moves on.

I’m not alone at my table for long.  As soon as Mr. Loudspeaker leaves, the four workers in the back of the room approach my table to engage me in conversation.  At first, they don’t say anything; instead, staring at me like some sort of zoo animal.  Then they begin…

“Where are you from?” one of them asks.

“USA.  What about you guys?” I ask.

“We’re all from Hengshui^W in Hebei Province.” he responds.

I tell them I have heard of Hengshui, mostly because it’s famous for being the home of a particularly potend brand of baijiu^W.  I make a joke and say that I’ve heard when people from Hengshui are cut with a knife, they bleed baijiu.  They all laugh.  We chat for a few minutes about my job, their jobs, how long they’ve been in Beijing for, etc.  They seem like relatively friendly guys.  After a few minutes, they pay their bill and head on out the door back to work.  One of them lingers behind.  He wears a ruffled navy blue worker’s suit, and has huge brown eyes.

I am immediately suspicious of Blue Suit.  Maybe it’s the look in his vacuous brown eyes, but I can tell that something is up with this guy.

“Can we can be friends?” he says.

This guy definitely wants something from me.  I know immediately from the question, and the way he asks it.  Earlier when I was chatting with the four guys from Hengshui, I noticed that Blue Suit was the only one who remained silent.  From time to time he rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger, as if sizing me up for a work project, just staring and calculating.  He rubs his chin again, looking at me with an expectant smirk on his face.

I’m never sure how to answer the questions, “can we be friends?” when I hear it in China.  We just don’t ask that question in the West, and if we do, it’s not after the first minute of meeting someone for the first time.  Maybe in kindergarten we asked this question, but I left Mrs. Cash’s classroom about 23 years ago.  Usually when I hear this question in China, the person asking it has some ulterior motive.  It’s a difficult question to answer.  How can I say “no” to this question and still sound polite?

Method 1:  I’m sorry sir, my friend quota is already full.  Please wait until the next one drops dead, and I’ll let you know when there is an available space for you.

Method 2:  No.  I don’t believe in friends.

Method 3:  Ok.  But first let me get out my “New Friends” sign-up sheet (I reach into my briefcase).  Fill out this pink form–that’s a liability insurance waiver.  Then this blue form–that’s a two year contract.  Please write down all of your personal contact information on this card and give me a 250 dollar deposit which will be returned to you at the time your contract expires.  Should you decide to not be my friend before the 2 years are up, the deposit money stays with me, as you have broken the contract you are now signing.

I turn these options over in my head and decide that none of them sound like words I would say, so I simply say, “sure.”  We exchange telephone numbers (I don’t know why I do this), and I get the bill for my meal.  Less than a dollar.

As I walk out of the restaurant, Blue Suit follows me for a few steps, putting his arm over my shoulder.  I think to myself, here it comes, he’s going to ask me for something now. 

He leans over towards my ear, gently pulling my head downward towards him (I’m taller than him by at least a neck).

“You think you could help me buy something that’s pretty easy to buy in America?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.  You have to be more specific.”

He points his finger at me, cocking his thumb up in the air in the shape of a pistol.

“You know what I mean.  A gun.  I want to buy a gun.  I can give you some money for it, too.”

“This conversation is over,” I say.

He continues to follow me, trying to persuade me to help him buy a gun, as if I happen to be carrying a gun with me for sale at the moment.

“Come on.  I know it’s easy for Americans to buy guns.  Just help me out.  I’ll pay you.”  He doesn’t stop.

“Forget it,” I say.  I turn around and head to my home.  He shrugs his shoulders and walks the other way.  It seems our short “friendship” has ended before it even started.  It’s a good thing he didn’t sign the two year contract. 

  For the record I’ve never owned a gun in my life (besides ones that shoot water), and I probably never will own a gun anytime in the future.  Still, this gun-toting view of Americans is one shared by many all over China, maybe even all over the world.  I wonder to myself, why does that guy need a gun?  Could he be so desperate?  I start to feel sorry for Blue Suit.  He really must have fallen far and be in a pretty low state financially and mentally to start thinking about buying a handgun from a complete stranger from another country.  Chinese cannot buy guns, and I’m not going to continue to remain in contact with someone who wants to buy an illegal gun from me in the street, even if they are from Hengshui, home of the finest baijiu across China.

The next morning after taking my shower, I look at my phone and see that their is an SMS from someone.  Blue Suit has sent me a message.  Don’t be a coward.  At least we can be friends?  With a silent apology to Blue Suit, I erase the message, neglecting to send a reply.