The girl next door

Right beside the gates to my dormitory is a small shack from where I buy my out-of-date Suntory when my beer stocks runs low, and the kids buy their lollipops, popping candy and pigs ears after a long arduous day of schooling. The girl who, along with her father, runs this operation, is one of the most eminently sweet creatures I have ever beholden. Always well dressed like some kind of Swedish indie-elf, she'll shyly serve me my three or four bottles of pijiu. I would often wonder what she did with her spare time - does she go to school? college? have a family of her own?. The only time I ever saw her outside of the stall was when she strayed out of it to buy some spunk-apples from a passing confectioner.

It was for my good friend Jon to, as he often does in all seemingly innocuous situations, spot the true horror of the girl's condition.

We used to tease Jon with the moniker 'slightly racist Jon', not really because he's a racist (though he may be a closet racist - you never can tell!), but, looking back, because of his cutting observations. That these observations were invariably about this strange new land is probably what lead to the nickname, and merciless teasing. Though I suspect that a good deal of Jon's cynicism was built upon this kind of treatment during his childhood, conditioning him into his current cynical ways and that he revels in it.

But the point is, I'm thinking his new tightly should be 'fairly observant Jon'. On the same trip, it was Jon who pointed out that my favourite pet shop "Happy Spirit Pets" was actually called "Happy Spirts Pets", thereby trumping my funny observation with an even more humorous one, and also casting doubt on my previous career which consisted in a large part of preofessional proof reading.

That's the multi-faceted kick-in-the-nuts you can expect when you're out-observationed by fairly observational Jon!

And, while being served by the girl's father at the tiny little store, it was fairly observant Jon who noticed that within the heap of rugs, blankets and rags beneath the side counter was the sleeping form of the girl. Could she have been so tired that she'd decided to crawl under there for a quick doze, before returning to her four bedroom, two-garage house in whatever the Shanghai equivalent of the Hamptons is?

No, much future observation by mine own eyes confirmed the truth: that the 7'x5' flimsy uninsulated tin shack serves as the permanent dwelling place of the girl. As to her father, I am unsure, but it would make sense, I suppose.

She has a TV, and there's a small area behind the back wall (I'm guessing, from further observation) which can't be much wider than a svelt man where they can probably brew tea and things. But how does she manage to stay looking so good. And being so humbly cheerful and smiley all the time!?

Anyway, I have made it my life's mission that, if I ever find myself in a position to be able to do so, I will return to this little shack decades from now, stepping from the doors of my private helicopter, monacle to my eye, coat-tails flapping in the breeze, stride up to the shack, tap on the window with my faux-ivory cane, and present the young girl with a fully-paid scholarship to an ivy league university of her choice.

That she'll be around 45 by then, wizened and mentally deficient after years spent imprisoned in a rickety shack and lack any of the mental, social or linguistic skills to ever hope to make anything of such a wonderful opportunity is by-the-by. Because for me to ever be able to offer anyone such a gift would require hard work, perseverance and ambition on my part. And that isn't going to happen.

Maybe I should just ask her for tips on successful shack-operating.

I think I'm turning Japanese
or
I dated a racist

It had been a pleasant afternoon in the coffee shop off Huai Hai road. Decent, relatively inexpensive coffees had been drunk, and this protagonist had just enjoyed his first pesto and pepperoni ciabatta in a long while. He had waxed wittily with his attractive date, they had ironed out the chinglish in her company reports, the talk had turned coquettish; he had already been promised dinner at her expense, after an hour or so shooting pool in his favourite pub.


The pool played, your protagonist vanquished, but seemingly nothing could spoil this pleasant Sunday of billiards. He had even splashed out on a couple of bottles of Abbots Ale for himself. Conversation revealed she was rich as well as attractive, if references to her maid and personal driver were to be believed. Tally ho! Conversation went swimmingly, until the following emanated uninvitedly from betwixt her lips:

"Y'know, I hate the Japanese. I mean, really hate them."

Him: "Um, weren't we just talking about whether China has sprouts?"

"Yeah, but I really hate them. They're all against China. They're all scheming against us."

Taken aback by the suddent vehemence of his interlocutor: "Um, what - all of them? Are you S-E-R-I-O-U-S?"

Alack and alas, despite her 18 months in an English university and, up to this point, unfaltable conversational skills, she persisted in her unprovoked attack on an entire race of people.

"They all want China to fail. I hate them so much. Once I was on holiday in Thailand, and these two guys introduced themselves to me and my friend. I could tell from their accent that they were Japanese, so I just blanked them."

"Er - you seriously hate an entire race of people?? On what basis?"

"Didn't you see? They like to eat sushi....sushi from naked women's bodies."

I did recall the (probably propagandarised) story of some Japanese businessmen eating sushi from the bare bodies of whores in China as part of a business deal.

"Yes, but that was just a few businessmen. There are nasty, rich people in all countries and cultures. You don't seriously believe that everyone in Japan, including the impoverished underclass, regularly dine from the naked flesh of Chinese courtesans?"

"Um, no...but..."

"And you say they're threatening China? How!?! What about North Korea?? They have the nuke! And China still supports the crooked regime over there. Surely that's more of a threat to security???"

"But the Japanese have nuclear weapons too!"

"Are you sure? For most of the last century they have been, militarily at least, little more than a vassal state of the US"

"They do it in secret!!!"

"But it's in America's interest to not allow them to have nuclear weapons, so I think you can be sure that Japan doesn't have them. Besides, nuclear powers such as the UK and France wouldn't allow it"

"So you're saying Japan, America, the UK and France are ganging up on China!?!?!?!?!?"

"No, no, no, just that your sweeping hatred of an entire nation based upon a few 'facts' fed to you by news agencies isn't really that well founded"

"Well....um....I hate them!"

Cue much objection, judging by her expression mostly lost, about racism and the wrongness of judging an entire group of people purely based on their biological/cultural/geographical origins etc.

What took me by surprise, apart from this altercation coming completely out of the clear blue, was her sudden switch from seemingly rational young woman to vehement, foaming-at-the-mouth hate monger. As in my sticky situation with class 10, I could barely believe she was serious. But she was. Despite the demonstrably unsound state of her "argument".

In a much-needed toilet break, I texted for advice.

"Tell her the Nazis were worse. Ha ha!" offered Dave.

"Either ignore her or tell her to stop being a nob." advised Matt.

Ironically enough, we offed to a hotpot restaurant on her advice, the cuisine of which by her own admission originated from Japan. Somehow we got onto the topic of Welsh/English animosity and I, not learning my lesson from previous encounters, decided to employ irony and sarcasm to illustrate my earlier point (vis a vis that she was very wrong for being a racist).

"So I hear English people don't like Welsh people very much?" says she.

"Oh.....oh no. Of course not!" (I) "They're evil! They're all against us and they're evil. They have nuclear weapons!"

"No, your lying!"

"Yes, yes they do! In secret! Just like the Scotch (sic) have Trident. They have nukes. In secret. AGAINST US!!!! AND WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT ALL THE SHEEP!!!???"

"What do you mean?"

"They're amassing on the border. To invade. TO INVADE"

etc etc

The rest of the evening played out okay.Rather than tell her to fuck off home, I relied upon my usual crutch of alcohol to get me through the evening, and managed not to become too aggressive about her stupid opinions, that had destroyed whatever vestiges of belief in cultural relativism may have remained in my mind. There's really no excuse for that kind of thinking.

After parting ( we did not kiss, though to my shame I will probably see her again) I took the tube. As I stood and swayed, the guy sat next to me played on his PSP. Another guy in white socks, scuffed black shoes and a cordurouy collar hoiked one out onto the carriage floor. I listened to the Clash's "Spanish Bombs" and Martha and the Muffins 'Echo Beach' on my mp3 player, and felt pretty okay.