a little coffee

This is the…eight hundreth time the Chinese have done this to me: gotten me drunk by 2 in the afternoon.  

As were most of the times before, this was a school function.  Me, Chris and Robert were taken to a middle school in a neighboring city because our university is “building a relationship with” this middle school.  There was a dull round of speeches by their leaders and then us foreigners talked for a minute- a brief introduction of ourselves- in front of the whole school, who sat on their stools silent and attentive until they were allowed to come up to us to ask questions.  We were mobbed- mobbed!  Chris got lucky, he stayed seated on the stage and got a semblance of an orderly line, but me and Robert were brought to the masses and instantly I knew what Britney Spears feels like.  They pushed and shoved against two teachers who stood around me with their arms out like body guards.  They flung questions at us: “Where are you from?” “Do you like China?” “What places of interest have you been to?”  Have you seen Red Flag Canal?”  ”Do you like Kobe Byrant?” “What do you do in you spare time?”

After several long minutes we returned to the stage (and the students to their seats) to do a few last questions.  I couldn’t believe the enthusiasm, the eagerness.  No way would a middle school in the U.S. be like that for anyone.  Five minutes into an assembly, they’d be talking to their friends, throwing things, fiddling on their cell phones.  But this was genuine interest.

So it was with a light heart that we went to lunch.  Us three, a dean from the university, the headmaster of the middle school , a teacher and three other men, two of which I have no idea what they did or why there were there.  The last man was the Big Guy.  The Head Honcho, an official with the town government (I think) who used to be a teacher.  He got the important seat at the head of the table.  He began the all-important round of toasts.  He is the one that inflicted bai jiu on all of us and despite my protests, ranging from, “it burns!” to “I am but a woman!” he made me drink.  

At these meals, these huge sprawling lunches with more dishes than 15 people could eat, let alone eight, it’s tradition to toast, begining with the Big Guy.  He said nice things, welcoming us and thanking us for our time, and then we were told to down the two-shots worth of the clear, burning battery acid.  I tried to get away with drinking wine (it didn’t burn!) but they wouldn’t let me.  At the previous lunches and dinners, I was told that because I’m a girl, I needn’t drink as much as the men- and I could drink wine.  But these dudes weren’t having it.

By the third toast, Chris (who had about a slice of bread for breakfast) is loudly annoucning, “I am drunk!”  I giggled- my head getting a little foggy, and Robert… probably said something snarkey.  Soon they were arguing about communism and socialism, Chris started pestering everyone about what exactly was the weird dishes that were before us.  (The chicken head and fish were obvious but not so much the cold stomach).  I have no idea what I was doing besides happily sampling the food and trying not to shudder too much when I swallowed the battery acid until suddenly everyone stood up and we were leaving.

We shook hands, said our thank yous and good-byes.  We piled in the van for the 30-40 minute drive back to Anyang- then I noticed the clock- 1:51.  They did it do us again.  What are you supposed to do with your day (how can they go back to work!) when you’re exhausted from not only a huge, delicious meal, but bottomless shots of $50 bai jiu?

Nap and watch movies.