Top Six Things that Annoy Me in China (Part One)

As the New Year is a time of reflection of the twelve months past, I thought I’d offer a couple lists of things that have annoyed and delighted me here in China. I’ll start with annoyances, just to get the negativity out of the way. I’ll post it in two parts because I got a little carried away.

#6 Restaurant Staff

The silverest lining of China and perhaps all of Asia is the food. (Yeah, I eat a lot, nice to meet you too.) China boats an array of consumable options, and as a large part of them are quite cheap, I eat out about four days a week. I frequent the same twenty or so joints in Qingdao, and never once have I complained about the taste of the food. The staff, however, are the worst I’ve ever seen.

Now, I’ve worked in the food industry for five years and I know bad service. I was the one who fingered your child’s chicken fingers after they made the mess on the floor, and probably the culprit behind your ill-tasting martini you repeatedly blamed the bartender for. But China’s servers operate on another kind of maltreatment, an apathy you can see everywhere you look.

People in Asia don’t tip. It simply isn’t expected. Thus, customer satisfaction doesn’t affect server wages. Moreover, Chinese eateries as well as many other industries suffer from over-hiring because of annoyance #2. The first thing one notices upon entering a restaurant, before the exotic food and décor, is the superfluous number of servers, almost all of whom are doing nothing at all. Personalized service isn’t offered either, so no one greets you at the table or comes to see if everything tastes ok, which would be fine except it falls on the customer to hail a server, a real pain. They seem not to hear you, giggling to each other at the foreigner that stepped in. When they do waddle over, they begin advertising the most expensive dishes, becoming adamant to your agreement and sometimes later bringing dishes you refused. Food arrives promptly but the bill can take ten minutes or longer. When it does come, you may find mysterious charges, like for napkins, for instance.

And the waitresses don’t shave their pubescent-like moustaches. At least I did that.

#5 Teachuh, China dirty!

This annoyance is also a delight at times, since you know I have a penchant for bathroom humor. Whenever my students and I discuss life here, this is always the first complaint: China is one filthy country. It’s not simply about the coal-burning industries that dot the landscape and other wholesale forms of pollution, whose effects are visible; it’s about pollution on a very personal level.

To begin with, like Koreans, Chinese punctuate their conversations by spitting, and spitting vociferously. The hawking and violent excretion of mucous can be heard from great distances, and from every walk of life, from toddlers to sexy femininas to (and especially) old men.

China suffers from a few lacks: lack of public resources, lack of public opinion, and a serious lack of clean, public toilets. This forces many, mostly the peasantry, to take care of their business in the streets in plain view. Worse yet, it’s common if not celebrated for toddlers to excrete on the very sidewalk, as their parents nod in approval. The government has set up some pay-as-you-go latrines. To use one of these, you must pay an attendant a 25 cent fee and a bit more for toilet paper. The attendant’s job is only to take money as the squat toilets remain, like the rest of public loos, disgusting beyond description.

The Chinese do recycle though. Peasants push wheel-carts through apartment complexes, shouting out the particular recyclable they’re collecting. Small sums of money are paid for Styrofoam and the like. Also, for every trashcan there is a peasant to shuffle through it and consolidate recyclables. When these bins aren’t emptied, however, they overflow into huge piles of rubbish that spill into the street. As Qingdao is a fishing town, loads of rotting sea-flesh are thrown in.

Considering these observations and more, it hardly comes as a surprise that many locals smell like burnt bacon wrapped in a week-old, dirty diaper, or that I have an exhaustive supply of things to giggle at.

#4 Hull – Low!

China has only been open to outside civilization for around twenty years. In the same span, China has seen the largest migration in human history as hundreds of millions of peasants have migrated to the larger cities—cities where foreigners like myself congregate to seek awful teaching jobs. Thus, we have a curious meeting of very simple folk and simple folk with laptops.

Many Chinese, regardless of background, have had minimal or no contact with foreigners. The sight of us seems to titillate them, not unlike the way black folk in Detroit look at me as I tread past them in goth makeup. That is to say, for every one Chinese that reacts to a foreigner with wholesome intentions, you have thirty others that treat foreigners with either apathy, mockery, or trickery.

The first ‘y’ is apparent when you need help. There isn’t a single reliable map in China, so asking directions is paramount. I studied Mandarin for a few months so I can ask for basic stuff and understand basic replies. Oddly, language often isn’t the problem. Busdrivers, pedestrians, even information clerks, have a certain absence of mind that prevents them from talking to you past a “mayo” (don’t have) or “boo jer dow” (don’t know) or “boo yow” (don’t care). My favorite is when they shake their heads and flap their wrists like you asked them to give you their pants. I can recall when I arrived in the city of Changsha, only I wasn’t sure it was Changsha from the terrible map I had until I asked the twelfth person.

Chinese think it’s hilarious when honkeys say “hello.” I’m not sure why. I guess when we say it they whisper to each other “Oh! Just like in the movies!” Anyway, Chinese prod foreigners to speak when there are few to be found. Go to a remote village and you’ll bombarded with cat-calls. Greet them in their language and you’ll find your mockers momentarily impressed; they’ll compliment you, and proceed to ask you ten questions in rapid-fire Chinese. This happens nearly anytime a foreigner attempts to speak the native tongue. Like Americans, Chinese expect everyone in their country to speak their language fluently. Mind you, a major difference between the English and Chinese languages is there actually is no such thing as Chinese. ‘Mandarin’ Chinese as it’s called is actually a hundred distinct dialects united by a common, absurdly difficult written language. Hence, even if a foreigner understands Mandarin, it may be difficult to understand a native if their dialect meshes with their Mandarin. If the foreigner seems confused then, Chinese snicker and remark “Low-why ting boo dong!” (the foreigner doesn’t understand). This is aggravating since even when I occasionally understand what’s being barked at me, they assume I don’t because of my whiteness. Yes, never has a race been as disparaged as we are in these situations.

White is also the color of money for people on this side of the world. And no matter who it is, a mere shopkeeper, an art salesman or a driver who sees you are stranded with no alternative, they will ream you for your last mao (the cent, not the chairman). Shopping can be taxing as Chinese don’t hide the fact that they offer their native patrons lower rates, and negotiation can be impossible. “Chinese people never tell you ‘no’” as comedian Russell Peters put it, “They give you the longest no you’ve ever heard in your life. Like ‘noooooo.’” To boot, seemingly helpful folk at times give false directions. This rang true in Beijing when Olympics help staff would give contradictory advice. I’m not sure what that has to do with honkiness but I can only speculate that it’s jealousy for my neck hair.

More tomorrow!