The Interview

Several times since walking on the hallowed earth of the middle kingdom, I have been told by lovely Chinese ladies that I strike a remarkable resemblance to one Sir David Beckham.

I know what you're thinking, and I agree, I'm more Brad Pitt than Sir David, but what can I say, you know what its like, Chinese people think all us foreigners look the same.

Given this constant praise (?) it came as no surprise when my boss mentioned to me today that a newspaper crew were waiting in the foyer to interview me, and could I spare a few moments to have a chat with them and get a few photos taken.

Never one to turn his back on his fans. I reluctantly agreed.

The interview took about 10 minutes, the photo shoot about 4 seconds, and then I was back into the comfort of the teachers lounge, pretending to work and deflecting the jealous glares of my colleagues.

Have you ever had the sense, that even though you are the centre of attention in a situation, you are in fact, just a prop?

The interview was like something out of a Monty Python skit. The news reporter asked a question that lasted for about 3 minutes (impressive lung capacity because she didn't stop for a breath) and then my boss-slash-interpreter turns to me and says:

"how is the winter course helpful to language learners?"

I answer, with, "its great because the students are immersed in English for 3 hours everyday for 15 days. And..."

My boss-slash-interpreter-slash-puppet master, then says, "hold on, i need to translate"

she then speaks for about 3 minutes, gesticulating and obviously showing a passionate response to the question, that has bugger all to do with what I said.

This happened twice more, then, the reporter says cheerie bye bye and she's away.

Shocked, I asked my boss what that was all about, and she says, "Oh, she just needed to be able to say she spoke to a Foreign expert, I've already given her all the facts and information she needs to write the story"

Ahh the wonders of modern media... I felt like the muppet you see on Ponds ads wearing a white coat and claiming to be a doctor.

The jig is up...

In order to tell this story properly you must cast your mind back to 23 December 2008 (imagine the image going wavy as we drift back in time). It was a cold night, and Skye and I were heading home from dinner. We entered our building stairwell, and were confronted, yet again, by a horrendous Plant Rights violation. Two beautiful, innocent pot plants (Skye could tell you there names, but I don't speak Plant, and even if I did i wouldn't be able to pronounce it!) stuck in a pitch black corner; dumped. Left to rot and die; cold and alone. It was an outrage.

Skye had been watering the plants for the last three months to ensure they had some sustenance, but now, after months in the dark, things were looking dire. Wiping tears from our eyes, we decided then, on the spot, to rescue the plants and put them in our sun room.

Now, without going into detail (and having my site blocked) we all know the rumours about our fine host and their ability to know everything about everyone, and to use that information to send you to the big house forever.

So, with this in mind, you have to understand that our decision to liberate the plants was a major risk, however, after years of watching CSI, I thought I could match it with the best.

We snaffled the plants that night, after waiting patiently in the dark to see if anyone was stirring; informers; spy's. Once the coast was clear, we nicked them.

I tell you what, for starving plants, they had some weight... well they weren't so much heavy as awkward (that's for you dad!).

Now, as I said, i like to think of myself as a bit of an expert on all things CSI, after all the TV show is an educational guide for would be criminals isn't it? So, I knew that just getting the plants up the stairs and behind closed doors wouldn't be enough, we needed to dispose of all evidence and if possible lead a trail away from us.

We spent the next 30 minutes picking the hundreds of leaves that the plants dropped on the way up the stairs. Then we left a seemingly random spattering of the leaves, out of the stairwell and into the courtyard. Leaving the impression that the assailants were outsiders who had snaffled the plants and whisked them away to another building.

The jig was complete. The plants safe, and our tracks covered. Or so we thought...

Two weeks pasted without incident. No cops, no unusual notices in the stairwells, no pictures of the plants with a reward posted.

We were golden... (insert reverse waviness and bring yourself back to the present day)

Early this morning, I ducked out to pay the telephone bill. On my way out I left our recycling next to the bins and then went to the bank (the place where we pay our telephone bill!). We intentionally leave out our recycling because in Beijing you can get money back for your recycling. We don't need the cash, so we leave it out for the struggling oldies in our complex who need the extra Kuai (See, I'm casually building a picture for the jury that we are good people who look after our community... I should be a lawyer).

On my return 45 minutes later, a 700 year old dude is going through our recycling, crushing cans and folding paper, softly tisking away at the wasteful foreigners, when he spy's me. He's on me like a flash; old yes, slow no.

He's into me about something, but I've no idea what he's saying. He's not angry but insistent. I'm giving it my best shot to understand, but he's speaking quickly and I've got nothing.

"Wo ting bu dong" says I. (I can hear you but don't understand)

He responds by saying the same thing again but really slow and loud, like I'm a retard.

"Wo putonghua shuode bu hao" I try. (My Chinese is bad)

"blah, blah, Hui Jia, blah blah" he says, even slower than last time.

OK, hui jia I know, it means 'go home'. Ha! the old bloke is giving me a serve, telling me to go home... outrageous

"Ting bu dong" I say, and start walking away.

He grabs, me, and drags me towards my stairwell. I'm a little freaked now, cause the guy is still talking and trying to act out something, but he seems happy... this can be a good or bad sign in China. The Chinese will smile non-stop so no-one loses face, even when they are threatening to kill you.

He drags me inside, and points directly to the dark, pot-plantless corner.

Shit!, he knows. how?

"Hiu Jia, blah blah blah"

I still don't know what he's saying, but I'm guessing now its, "get home, and give me back my plants you thieving foreigner!"

I kid on I don't know what he's talking about. We're still golden if only I can break free of his vice like grip and get upstairs.

Then, after another three rounds of his very slow speaking, I crack the Da Vinci code, and when I say, "wo mingbai" (I understand) grandpa cracks the biggest warmest smile you've ever seen.

I could only understand some of the words he was saying, but the re-construction was,

"When you go home (leave china) please can you give me the pot plants that were dumped in the corner"

Grandpa didn't own the plants, he had intended to snaffle them himself, but he didn't have the strength to lift the heavy (sorry, awkward) things up the stairs.

"Mingbai, Mingbai" I say reassuringly and I duck up the stairs and into the safety of the flat.

We were still golden after all, but the question remains how did he know?

The only person who has entered our flat since 'the liberation' was our water delivery man. So obviously, it was him. However, what I want, nay need, to know is; how did it come up in conversation between the water guy and grandpa?

I mean did gramps just stand in the stairwell and ask everyone that walked past if they had seen the plants? or is the water guy in some way part of a bigger machine that is watching us? and so, gramps put the word out that he is looking for the plants, and then, a few weeks later, the information comes back that it was us.

I'll never know, but I have to say that its a timely wake up call... big brother is watching my friends.