Not a Single Fuck was Given That Day:

我求求你，赶快去洗澡，你身上的味儿比她妈的狗屎还臭！

“I'm begging you, please take a shower, you stink worse than goddamned dog shit!”

I was walking down the street when some kid swerved closely in front of me on his bicycle so that he could make it down the driveway into an office complex. There was no reason for him to cut it so close. He had plenty of room to get by comfortably without zooming two inches from my toes. The shape of his pointy skull coupled with his wanton lack of courtesy prompted me to yell, “Dickhead!” But he seemed inured by my curse. Actually, being a dickhead seems to be pretty ordinary in China, so the offended cries that follow are probably ordinary also.

Still, I shouldn't yell insults at people in public, even if most of them don't seem understand what I'm saying, let alone have time to take issue with it. I know that it's going to probably catch up with me sooner or later. It can just be a challenge to maintain my composure at times. I become disgruntled after Chinese males mindlessly bump into me because they can't be bothered to respect my personal space. I grow weary of the omnipresent symphony of clearing throats that seems to follow wherever I go. Everyone smokes, so the constant hocking of phlegm is like a national sport.

As it is, I think I've come to understand why the people in this country behave in the inconsiderate ways they do. In the States, we are raised to believe that individuality is valuable: that good things can occasionally come about from the enterprising efforts of a solitary soul. This idea of inspiration and initiative being rewarded has a tendency (in some cases) of breeding more gratitude. But here, it seems that people are raised to believe that the outside world has absolutely no obligation to respect your life, on the most basic level. The governing authority, the system of justice, it would just as soon crush you under its heel as look at you. And this contempt just seems to breed more contempt.

“Collectivist” culture, eh? They don't seem to care even a little about each other. They seem to perceive each other only as obstacles, things to be shoved aside or moved around, lest all the resources will be depleted. This is what keeps people behaving as though they are in the thick of scarcity and desperation when they are up to their ears in abundance.

Toilet Paper Privation

Most everyone in China can afford toilet paper, and at any corner store it is available. But you will not find a single square of it anywhere in Chinese public restrooms. Once I asked a Chinese friend why, and she told me it was because people would simply steal it. Who knows why they hell they would do that. I sure there are protective measures that could be put in place to dissuade people from manically heisting every last bit of it, but that's the way this culture is.

They can't trust each other enough to allow open access to toilet paper. Who knows how much money might be lost were public restrooms were to do so? Thieves from all over the Middle Kingdom would arrive to zealously plunder all of the loose amenities like swashbuckling pirates high on meth amphetamines.

Which brings us to the next order of business: Toilet privation. To the Chinese eye, toilets are luxuries developed for the ill and elderly. They think to themselves, “Why would someone need an something to sit on while taking a shit when it's so much more fun to sit on your ankles and squat over a hole?” So this is what we have in the place of toilets in China. The use of these kind of toilets is so embedded in the culture that sometimes, when Chinese folks encounter porcelain thrones for the first time, they may put their feet up on the toilet seat to get the dynamic 'squat effect.' So if you ever find dirty footprints on a toilet seat in China, you'll know why.

Overnight Celebrity

There are certain advantages at times to being a foreigner among a generally homogeneous population. Because some Chinese girls aren't used to having too many options, anything opposed to the norm becomes a breath of fresh air. It doesn't matter. You can be a moderately good-looking white male and still invoke awe among women when you're seen out in public, as though you're a Greek god. That's a pretty good feeling, and I highly recommend it.

I was seated a restaurant when I was approached by a family that wanted to take of a photo of me and their youngest son. The first time strangers ask if they can take pictures of themselves with you can be off-putting. There are times when I've felt like Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. But over time, as you begin to embrace your unofficial celebrity status, you can begin to derive some real satisfaction from being in this foreign land.

Sometimes, when I'm working, there have been female students that have come into my classroom to ask if they can get their picture taken with me. I don't know what the point is. What are they going to say when explaining the image to their friends? Other times I've caught my female students taking photos of me with their phones while I'm trying to teach. Maybe if they told me first I would have at least given them a few good poses. The lighting in the classroom is far from flattering.

It's not to say celebrity doesn't come with a share of weirdness. There was a time a couple of girls started to follow me as I made my rounds around campus. They were too shy to approach me, so instead they lingered five feet behind, giggling behind their hands as they watched me. I suppose I should have been flattered, but it was kind of eerie in a way when they didn't say anything. I imagined them having a creepy discussion about how my flesh would taste after sauteed in garlic sauce. Shivered.

Another night, my colleagues and I were invited to formal event with a high-ranking government official of the province. We were the stock white people present, to give the appearance that foreigners were indeed working in the area, and reinforcing the local economic development. It was a publicized event, with various video cameras and flashes going off around the room. The government official stopped by our table along with his entourage. He wanted the press to get some photos of him proposing a toast to the “foreign experts.” We took a moment to sip some wine with King of Shit Mountain before he went off to mingle with the rest of the commoners. Good times.

Where's the Beef?

Being in China I've had exposure to far more different kinds foreigners than ever before. Every region in the world seems to have representation on the campus on which I live. I remember one day all of the teachers and foreign students that live in my building on campus were invited by the faculty to something of a Chinese New Year celebration. Around that time of year I was feeling pretty agitated as it seemed that the vacation would never end, and things would never return to normalcy. All the local stores and restaurants were closed, making life something of a challenge.

I was seated in this dining hall with a couple other colleagues, and because there were no other available seats, my table ended up getting filled with East Indian kids. They were all medical students, and young, around twenty to twenty-one. Some of them were trying to dress cool to disastrous effect, and some of their hairstyles made me snicker. But they were friendly, and as the waitress started bringing dish after dish of obscure Chinese food to our table, we shared in the grotesque items politely. And then the table wine started to get in the mix.

Some Chinese lady wanted to get up on the center stage and use a mic to deliver a pointless speech over a sorry power amplifier. Her language was muddled and clumsy, and we just wanted her to sit back down. Was she trying to be inspirational or something? Because we were tipsy on table wine, my colleagues and I started shouts of exaggerated enthusiasm for every last sentence she attempted. After the woman finished antagonizing everyone and relinquished the mic, more odd cultural expressions followed. The Jordanian boys wanted to share in the holiday spirit, so they got up and started playing some warped ethnic music over the amplifier via a mp3 player of some kind. Then they all huddled together and started doing some kind of ritualistic circle-jerk dance, where they held hands in a ring and kicked their legs out.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I didn't think I was drunk enough for that shit. I watched the Jordanian boys dance together with some degree of fascination. I imagined they were experiencing some kind of exclusive enjoyment that can only be afforded by coming from a homogeneous population. Because I'm an American, I will never know what that's like. I share my nation with fuckheads from all over the globe.

After the waitress brought out a dish, some of the Indian kids asked with concern, “Is it beef?” They exchanged glances, looking down at the meal with distrust. My colleague pointed out, “Oh right, because some of you are reverent toward cows, you don't approve of consuming beef.”

I said to them, “Well, for what it's worth, I think your god is delicious.”

I don't imagine I'll be invited as the key speaker for a cultural sensitivity course anytime in the near future.