Pangu I Assumed

I tried to be understanding.  I tried to listen carefully, but the guy had a very thick accent and was yelling into the phone.  Impatient, distorted, I quickly formed a bad impression of the guy.  My Uber concierge was approaching from the other side of the fourth ring road.  I should cancel this?   Outside the building was row of empty cabs. It would be so easy to just tell the guy “I’m bailing.   Sorry.  See ya.” 

He called again and yelled assertively, unintelligibly.  “Sir, I’ve been here for twenty years, but I still can’t understand you.  Speak slowly.”  “I’m right along side the Bank of China at the Pangu Tower.” How can that be?  I’m right in front of the bank and I don’t see you.  “I’m in front of the bank.”  “I’m in front the bank!”

Pangu I assumed was the early godlike figure of Chinese mythology.  If I’d seen the name one week earlier I wouldn’t have associated it with anything.  However when we visited Taishan, in Shandong, it was said that the great peak was actually Pangu’s head.  Heng Shan down south was the feet and so on. 

Here he is.  Flashing his lights, waiving his phone.  And, as often happens, once I’m engaging with a real person, rather than an exasperated, faceless crackle, once we have a smile and an accommodating turn of the shoulders it’s OK and I’m content that I had the patience to wait and not just cut and run.