Avoiding An Intersection

My man has waited four hours.  That’s a long time. “I just waited four hours to pick you up and now we’re heading to the next neighborhood over . . . do you believe that?”  Is what my man said.  Indeed, I expected he would say something like that.  And with nearly robotic precision, I reply, “hey, the service is good, I’ll definitely tip ya’.”  And then it’s hard to tell just what the response will be.  Some guys keep quiet.  Some guys go on grumbling.  This gent decided to broadcast the news to all his chums, still waiting in line.  “I have a foreign friend, who is only going to the New Convention Center.  But he says he will tip me, so I am very happy.”  If only it was always this easy to flip the switch from sour to sweet.

It’s five thirty in the morning so who knows how indicative either of us are of anything.  I check my wallet which is still full of yen, to make sure I have enough renminbi to follow through on my generous offer.  I do.  I broke off from a dinner to head to the Haneda airport at midnight last night.  Like Lennon my mind was on the blink, but I managed to hear the broadcast with my name suggesting it was last call.  I don’t usually fly Hainan Airlines but these certainly weren’t four hours I was going to savour.  I dutifully opened my book and woke up as we landed. 

Riding along now down the airport service road.  We landed at Terminal Two which means we’ll be taking a different way home than usual.  Off to my right are the warehouses of logistics companies like SF Express, who must have inherited that building from someone else, whom Schumpeter hasn’t been so kind to.  Has EMS had a hard time of late?  They were always a major player, right?  Their building over there looks shuttered.  Perhaps they’ve moved.

“Well turn right here and avoid the intersection.”  “Fine with me.” I confirm.  But even in Chinese that phrase makes me think of my maternal grandma.  We were driving along Route 9 one time and went right through the Ulster Savings Bank to avoid the intersection where the light was red and the traffic was backed up.  A cop pulled my own sweet grandmother over and gave her a ticket for “avoiding an intersection.”  She was furious, all the more so, I suppose, as I was standing there wide-eyed.  I suppose we should be glad he didn’t cuff her and throw her up against the car.  The cops may send tickets in the mail here for violations, but I’m certain that unless we collide with someone or ghost-ride-the-whip in Tiananmen, no one in a Beijing cruiser is going to stop this guy for anything.

It’s too early for the Auto Show traffic that cost me dearly on my way out.  I and everyone else that lives in this neighborhood dearly wishes the circus would move on from our town.

Saturday 4/28/18