Business Class Bitch

Something happened to me on a flight several weeks ago that has really stuck with me. I was flying back to Hong Kong from Shanghai -- in coach. I actually don't mind flying coach, although this particular flight was a little rough. In the row of seats behind me, I could count at least three small children who were, well, acting like children. I realize it's not their fault, so I usually just crank up the Ipod and try to shut them out.

I was near the front of the coach section (thankfully), and kept noticing this strange lady walking back and forth between my section and business class. This is usually a 'no no,' and I know when I fly business class, I pretend like I've never set foot in anything less. I pressed pause on my music so I could eavesdrop.

Lady: "Who cried? I can hear crying -- which one of you was it?"

Kids: *assorted whimpering and blubbering*

Lady: "You need to sit down and behave!"

While I agreed with her in principal, I couldn't figure out what kind of person had the guts to come yell at someone else's kids who were sitting in an entirely different section of the plane. Then I figured it out; it was their own mother. I peeked through the seats to see that she had two "helpers" (I can usually tell because they are Filipino) attending to her children on her behalf. All of them crammed in coach while she sipped champagne in b-class. I guess there may be some legit reason why she would do this (maybe she was offered a free upgrade -- who could refuse?!), but I had already decided: she was simply a bitch.

She only confirmed my suspicion after we landed. The stewardesses conveniently stand between business class and coach to allow the higher-paying passengers a chance to get off before all of us cattle start stampeding. The Bitch stuck her head over the top of the crowd, pushing the stewardess to the side, and had the guts to ask us to get out of the way as her family -- who were several rows deep -- could get off with her. I actually laughed out loud. She then appealed her case directly to her kids, as if we all could no longer hear what she was saying.

Bitch: "Kids ... can you just push your way through?"

Kids: *look up at me, getting a death glare returned*

Bitch: "Just duck under all the people kids and come to the front!"

Although I was in no hurry to deplane, I slid myself squarely in the aisle so her 5 year old could stare directly at my backside. I guess she was only worried about the kids getting off. The "helpers" can wait in the chow line with the rest of us, probably arriving at the gate just in time to lug her over-packed Louis Vuitton luggage to her waiting towncar. She's probably make them ride in the trunk too. Or walk home.

And this is why I can never get a helper. I could so be this lady. After spending a entire childhood bossing around my brother (and mother to the best of my ability), not to mention AC taking his unfortunate share of dictator-style direction -- I know better. Having someone, who is actually paid to take shit from me, and who gets deported if I decide to fire them? Oh no ... too much power for this guy.

I wonder if AC will have dinner ready by the time I get home? Just to be safe, I'd better call ahead and demand it. :)

The Arrival

As expected, hurricane Adam blew back in to Hong Kong a week ago and has caused a major disruption in my schedule. Was single life all that bad? I am adjusting back to couple-dom as well as can be expected.

I now have share the computer, and he quickly took up all my regularly-scheduled Skype time, resulting in a "you don't love me anymore" guilt-trip from my Mom by way of my brother. After a long day of work, I now come home to the equivalent of an excitable puppy who wants to be walked. While I am totally dragging, we've been to a few new restaurants and bars that have been very fun. It's nice to have a well-cooked meal every night also.

I also apparently forgot how to 'spoon', so I spend each night scooting away from this strange body in my bed. It's not exactly restful, but we're working on it.

Bond - James Bond

After a whirlwind day at the Shanghai office, I finished my meetings by phone-screening a candidate who, looking back, I think may have actually been retarded. Her son kept interrupting the call and I think she spanked him with me on the line. Let's just say she's not going to get the job.

Everyone at the office was raging about the "Bond" area of Shanghai. I actually thought they were saying 'bun' so I figured it was some type of dim-sum place. It ended up being a neat waterfront area with shops and restaurants. It was already so late when we got there that we rushed to the first dinner place we saw. The meal was very ... international I guess. I was in no mood for more Chinese food to be honest. My coworker wanted to try something new so she ordered a huge foie gras appetizer. She had never tried it before, so I knew a disaster was in the making. She poked at it repeatedly, and pushed it around so much the waiter finally asked if everything was okay. I opted for the tuna dish, which was prepared on a fresh bed of ... foam. Yes, my dish was full of bubbles. They were salty. The main course for my coworker was pigeon risotto. Sounds gross, but it actually looked good. I don't know if "pigeon" is actually pigeon or if something is lost in translation somehow. Not worth the risk for me.

So I'm back to Hong Kong this afternoon ready to celebrate my last bachelor weekend. AC makes his grand entrance on Wednesday!

Ni Hau

Beijing was such a blur I feel like I was hardly there. What I mostly remember is that the Olympic rings are recreated, well, everywhere. There is a huge countdown clock on display as you leave the airport showing the exact number of second until the opening ceremony. While I didn't see the "birds nest" stadium, I hold high hopes that I'll get a better chance to explore another time (if we get lucky, the actual Olympics!). I stayed about one block away from Tienanmen Square and didn't get to see it. Such a bummer.

Lunch today was Beijing duck. "Peking duck?" I asked. "NO!" it was quickly clarified. I guess this is a somewhat sensitive issue. I'm told the duck is specially roasted with special wood smoke, although they were unsure what kind of wood exactly. The restaurant was hugely popular -- we ended up on the fourth floor, everyone eating the same damn duck. They give you a little card so you know what number of duck you ate. I ate 1,150,252,875 (they have been serving proudly since 1864 you know). There are many ways you can eat the duck (skin slices like chips, the meat with the skin on wrapped in a flour tortilla, a soup made from the juices, and the head cut in half). Let's just say I tried 50% of the options, and I'll let you guess which.

Our ride to the Beijing airport was somewhat eventful. My coworker was accused of trying to pass of a counterfeit bill to the driver, so we blocked three major lanes of traffic while the argued about it. The driver behind us actually got out of her car and screamed at me. A year ago I would have died of embarrassment. Today, I shrugged and waved. Funny thing, the exact same thing happened when we got to Shanghai. Apparently, her money is actually fake. I can't tell the difference, but these cab drivers have an eagle eye!

The only other item of note is the funny rating system they have in China's immigration system. You can rate your immigration officer using buttons that range from an extremely happy face to an extremely mad face. Call me crazy, but I'm really not that interested in giving a sour rating to the person who's deciding if they're going to let me into a Communist country. Not my idea of a good time.

I'm in Shanghai for the rest of the week, so I hope I'll get a little more time to explore.

The N Word

I just had one of the most frustrating experiences in my life -- also known as my first private tutoring session with my Japanese language instructor.

After talking to my brother on Skype (he was mostly drunk, too boot) and listening to him roll off all kinds of crazy Japanese, I developed the incorrect impression of how easy or hard this was going to be. It was amazingly hard. Maybe if he would have just let me off the hook when it came to pronunciation, it might have been easier:

Tutor: Now, say this one (pointing to the sheet) -- a shi
Me: Ahh shee
Tutor: Try not to say the 'h' so much. Say A shi.
Me: Ahh sssheeee
Tutor: No, no. From the throat.
Me: Ahh Ssssherrrr
Tutor: Close, but pull your lips downward. Now, speak from the chin.
Me (making the ugliest face known to man): Awwwwwseerrrhb

And that was one damn syllable. I am supposed to memorize 70 words by next Monday. I can already tell I'm not going to have the time or patience to do this the right way.

I think later in the session, he could tell I was over it and tried to spice things up for me:

Tutor: So you always end a sentence with "ka" - that's how you know it is a question. Kind of like a question mark.
Me (yawning): Okay.
Tutor: You have probably heard people here in Hong Kong call Japanese people "deska deska deska" right?
Me (lying): Oh yeah, all the time.
Tutor: Well you really shouldn't use that term. It's kind of like saying n-i-g-e-r-o.
Me (now paying attention): Saying what?!
Tutor: You know, African American. N-i-g-e-r-o.

Maybe after this guy teaches me how to talk out of my chin, I can give him a few lessons on the correct spelling of curse words.

Typhoon Lagoon

The weather in Hong Kong has been a little scary this week. I vaguely remember my cultural trainer telling me about what to do when the weather gets bad. I had only experienced the really intense rain (they call it red and black level I think?) Red was the most torrential rain I'd ever seen, so I can't imagine what black is like. But the thing I should have paid more attention to was what to do in a typhoon. Typhoon is Chinese for hurricane. Earthquakes -- no problem. Snow -- been there. Hurricanes are new for me. What was I supposed to do again? Get under a table? Stop, drop and roll? I really should have paid more attention. Now I will likely step outside for some coffee and fly away like Mary Poppins.

When I got to work the other morning, a coworker was talking about a "level eight typhoon." They reminded me that the levels were 1,3, and 8. Level 10 means you're dead, basically. I'm not sure why they skip so many numbers in between but I knew I was supposed to be scared of level 8 for sure. In general, it's been pretty anti-climatic really. Just lots of rain and some major lightning storms that wake me up at night (those huge windows can be such a pain). Those are cool more than anything else really.

But the creepy thing is that it gets ... foggy ... (can't think of a better word to describe it) at the drop of a hat. Kind of like that dumb movie about the killer fog. It was 5:00 pm and my office suddenly felt very dark. I glanced out the window and it was pitch black -- I couldn't see a single thing. Thirty minutes later, the sun was shining again. Creepy.

Other than the weather, I'm headed to the mainland next week so that should be fun. That and I was making a fruit salad the other day and accidentally slipped on the banana peel that had missed the garbage can. Yes, my life is a cartoon. Maybe that Mary Poppin's thing isn't too far of a stretch ...

UPDATE - 30 minutes after I wrote this, we are now evacuating the office for a level 8 typhoon. Aaaahhhh! People at the office certainly don't seem scared, but I called AC who freaked out to a satisfying degree. :)