However, this last event has changed the way I look at promises made by Chinese people forever. While searching for a new apartment, I stumbled upon a little 50sqm gem right between ???? Dongsishitiao and ??? Dongzhimen. I asked the agent whether there was a couch and other furniture included, and he replied, “Yes, of course.” The next day I went in to sign the contract, and asked the landlady when she could move a couch in.

She responded, aghast, “I never said there would be a couch!”
“But the agent told me that you would provide one? Where am I going to sit?”
The bickering continues for several minutes. To which the agent interjects and says, “I will buy you a couch, okay?”

My situation was complicated. I was originally leaving China, but received a job offer that would keep me here for a little longer. By the time I realised I should find a new place before I went home, the pressure was on to find a new place and move everything in in less than 72 hours (yes, it’s possible). Thus, I signed the contract, moved in, took his word, and left for two weeks—in theory giving the agent ample time to secure the right couch.

I return to China and call him after settling in. ”Oh, hi,“ he begins, “I will work on it, it’s been busy here, I’ll get back to you later this week.”
He did not.
I called him on Friday, and asked, “So…how’s the couch search coming along?” He said he needed some extra time. Fine.
No word from him all weekend. Then I call six times on Monday and he does not pick up. I call him ten times on Tuesday, then switch phones and call. He picks up immediately. I say, “Why are you ignoring my calls? Do you not have any respect?” To which he responds, “Hello? HELLO?! Hello?” And hangs up on me. I proceed to frantically call him back-to-back-to-back until he finally turns his phone off.

Consider this lesson learned.

Karma will get him back, and I may expedite that process through one or more of the following:

• Post his number on personal ads as a beautiful single Chinese woman wanting to marry a rich, white male;
• Advertise “special services” with his phone number;
• Make stickers advertising the purchasing of your unwanted pharmaceutical drugs and post them everywhere ;
• Or find out where he works and punch him in the face

Yes, I am working with limited resources here (his phone number, his name), but if the ???? human flesh search engine has shown me anything, the power of Google can never be underestimated.

One day in November, when only 2 elevators in my 40-storeyed apartment worked (which is often the case), I decided again that descending 11 flights of stairs is not a strain. However, when I reached the dark stairwell around floor 2, I almost stomped into a  huge pile of shit.

Seriously? You’re almost home. I understand the urgency associated with having to wait for the elevator, but–excuse my description–if it was still a recognizable mass, it really couldn’t have been that bad, could it? And let’s not mention the time in Harbin when I saw a grown woman crouching at a bus stop during rush hour doing you-know-what. Oops, I just did.

Public urination and defecation should really be censured and discouraged. If not by the government, then at least by passersby who I am sure find it just as uncomfortable to watch as I do. This applies to other nasty habits that Chinese people exhibit, from public spitting to cutting in line to smoking inside the elevator. It’s not Western cultural imperialism, it’s basic respect for other people.

Though on the positive side, their knowing no limits means they can replicate sections the Great Wall in chocolate and likely pull it off in a kitsch-tastic manner , and like my coworker demonstrated earlier this week, they can come into work immediately after the last final exam of their undergrad career. They can erect buildings with cunning speed, they can they persist and maintain positivity through tumultuous times, all while remaining relatively modest about their achievements.

Two days ago I bought my one-way return flight back to China. In the past week or so, I got offered a job that promises professional development and is challenging. So I accepted. Looks like I’m in for another year.

56minus1 speculates this may have to do with Ai Weiwei joining Twitter. Lostlaowai says it has to do with that special 20th anniversary on Thursday.

Whatever the reason, this isn’t making my “I hate China” week any better.

Edit: an exhaustive list of all the websites “down for maintenance” has been compiled. Check it out here.

She screamed at me, and later told me that her legs were shaking for me, because she knows that something like that could actually happen. Last year, I did something similar, when I told her that I joined the Army and would be deployed to Iraq after I graduate. I know, it’s cruel. I’ll think of something less nerve racking next year, even though she told me she wouldn’t fall for anything next year. We’ll see.

But my mom made a good point the following day: that things like this are possible. It was a stark reminder to indeed watch out for what I say and write.

Hotel staff (Chinese): May I have your ??? (shen1fen4zheng4, identity card)?
I hand over my passport.
Hotel staff: What is this? Where is the number?
Me: I don’t have a national identity card; that’s my passport. I’m an American citizen.
Hotel staff (to a co-worker): What do we do? Where’s the number? Where’s her name? What should we put?
Me: Can’t you just input my English name and passport number?
Hotel staff: You’re sure you’re not Chinese? Do you have any other form of identification? What’s your Chinese name?
I go on to show them my school ID from last semester, as well as my work ID, neither of which are acceptable. I have no idea what they ended up doing, but I have never seen anyone so confused to see an Asian wielding a foreign passport before.

Another woman was waiting to grab some toilet paper. She looked at me with astonishment and said, “What is she doing with all that toilet paper? Is she going to eat it?”

Well, it was funny to me at the time…

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