I Know This Conversation

Talking to my cabby. He’s a talker.  “I want to go to the States . .  China’s no good . . . The Party’s second generation is stealing from everyone.  America.  Now that’s the place!”  I say what I have always said, “Well, we have good and bad.  There are many problems in the U.S.”  I say this as if someone sneezed and I said “Bless you.”  “Problems?  What problems?  You guys have a stable society.   This place . . . so much corruption.  Deep corruption.  Everyone with any money takes off and heads to your country.  Ha.” 

I’d like to be in the moment.  I’d like to veer from the predictable into a heartfelt exploration of comparative culture, knowing a full engagement would no doubt teach me something new, even if it were only a new word or two.  But I know this conversation so well, and it is enervating. 

I pull out my phone and gesture to it.  The person I dial is on the line.  I try his other phone.  It’s off.  I dial another person down in Hong Kong.  Let’s keep this quick.  He doesn’t answer.  There are other things you can do with a smart phone.  I answer a we-chat message.  Check the Skype message I’ve already seen.  It suddenly seems a good idea to dial the first person again.  I do so, nervously.  He’s still on the line.

There’s nothing to do but pull the laptop back out and concede the resumption of our chat.  We continue talking.  “So you rent a house or did you buy one?” “Rent.  Who can buy here. This city?  The only thing worse than Beijing is Hong Kong.”  “Is your wife from the U.S.?”  “She’s from Shandong.”  “Oh, how old is she?” He asks with a knowing wink.  “Same age as me.”  “ And you sir, where are you from?”  “Ba Da Ling?”  “Ahh.”  This is a fault line among Beijing cabbies.  “Old Beijing” means someone raised within the walls of the old city, what is now our sturdy second ring road. Everyone else, like our man here, is from the country.