a little coffee

Three months Chris and I have been in Anyang and three months, no one has been blatantly mean to us.  Frustrating, incomprehensible, rude yes.  But not mean.  Until last night.

Bundled up in our scarves and down coats, we plodded ten minutes to the new stand where I get my China Daily newspapers. As it was after the dinner hour, the normal guy that recognizes me and always gives me my newspapers without a fuss wasn’t there, but an old man, bald with a ring of cropped white hair and huge classes that prevented me from looking him in the eye huddled in his thick black coat in the cramped newspaper kiosk. 

I approached with a “ni hao, China Daily?”  

He fumbled for a second, probably trying to figure out what I said. I pointed behind him to where the normal guy usually stashes the papers underneath a piece of cardboard.

He pulled out six China Dailies and set them in front of them in plain view, 3 weekend editions, 2 Friday editions and 1 Thursday edition.  He rifled through them, trying to figure out which were which, as the English always throws them for a loop.  My normal guy takes a sec to examine to pictures to verify which ones are mine and which go to Robert.

I pointed to the Friday and Weekend papers, the two I didn’t have and told him, in Chinese, “These two.  These two.”  I’ve been saying that phrase all over town so I was confident I pronounced those simple words correctly but he didn’t acknowledge that I tried to say anything.  Then the man pulled out a magnifying glass to check the date.  Sighing,  I tried again, “these two.” Again, nothing.

I stepped back from the window and looked at Chris, who stared intently at the man.  How else could I explain to him that I only needed two papers? 

The next several minutes devolved into an argument that left me without newspapers, but a couple tears and Chris desperately wanting to know “asshole” in Chinese (among many other curse words).

Impatiently, Chris and I both, again, repeatedly tried telling the old man that we only needed two papers.  These specific two.  He tried selling as all of them, then three of them.  We tried telling him that the other three papers were for a different teacher and I already had one, a Thursday edition.  Somewhere in there, I handed him 5 yuan (the two papers together cost 3) and got three papers but then we tried again no, two, two TWO TWO TWO TWO!  We only needed two!  This was the first time in three months that pointing exactly at what we needed didn’t work. At some point, he figured something out- he tucked the extra weekend edition in the window with the other papers.  He handed me 5 mao back (half a yuan, the change for 3 papers) but no,no, no!  I ONLY NEED TWO PAPERS!  I returned the 5 mao and manged to get the two papers I needed.  I had them in my hands, but the man continued spitting words at us.  That, with his raspy voiced left it impossible for us to understand what the hell he wanted.  I just wanted me change back.

By this time, a small crowd gathered. The old man was spitting sentences at us and waving his arm around.  Chris asked the crowd if anyone spoke English.  A girl in her late teens/early twenties spoke up.  We explained the situation and she conversed for a long minute, the man still flapping.  What we eventually found out, after I repeatedly explained to her slowly and in the most simple English I could think of- was the man thought we still had the 5 mao he had given me when he tried to sell me three papers and demanded it back.  

“NO.  We ALREADY gave it to him,” Chris barked, ready to strangle someone.  I triple checked my pockets, but no I.  I didn’t have it.  I interrupted Chris before he started yelling again and, again, explained the situation to the helpful lady.

Even if the man realized he made a mistake, he wouldn’t admit it now.  We decided that if this time the situation wasn’t cleared up, then we were leaving and that stubborn old man could just keep the 2 yuan he owed me.

The nice lady then said, “the man say he not want to sell you papers.”

What?  WHAT?

I looked at him.  Seriously?  Because you THINK we owe you 5 measly mao?  (He could have just given us 1.5 back if he thought that and we wouldn’t have made a fuss!  5 damn mao!)

I threw the papers at the old man and snatched my 5 yuan. I thanked the woman for trying to help and started to walk away when the lady put her hand on my arm, “oh, please don’t, don’t be-”.  I couldn’t let her finish because my chin had started to quiver.  Shit, now this old man is going to make me cry?  Wrenching my arm free, Chris and I walked away.