I've mentioned repeatedly that I ride around in San Lun Che, motorized pedicabs with three wheels which are sometimes, but not always, powered by electric batteries. The driver has the option of peddling with his feet as well, which comes in handy going up those steep hills. This form of transportation is plentiful and cheap, albeit dangerous. If something bad happens, the aluminum frame and cardboard floor is not really going to protect me, but given the maneuverability of the vehicle and the fact the driver doesn't really want to die either, I'm about as safe as one as I would be in a tank. (Or so I hope.)
I've also mentioned that I have hopped into one piloted by a hunchback midget with only one good eye. I'm not being patronising when I jump into his cart--sometimes quite simply he's the only one around, and I have to walk down the street to the newsstand he owns and ask for a ride. There's usually a long queue of drivers outside the place where I work, but in an off hour, say, 2:30, the queue is off having lunch and a snooze somewhere else. At peak traffic times, the queue is firmly in place and I take whichever driver is at the head of the line, murmur my request, and get in.
Last week, as I was headed out the door towards the queue, the one-eyed hunchback midget sailed down the street in his newly decked-out wheels and started honking and screaming at me from a distance of about half a block. I was startled, to say the least: I hate it when drivers honk and scream at me trying to get my attention. I wasn't sure he was yelling at ME, in particular, so I ignored him and started to walk towards the queue, towards the line of sweating tanned men waiting patiently for their turn to earn pennies. This evidently enraged the one-eyed hunchback midget, because he put on a burst of speed and salty language which included phrases screamed at top volume such as "Hurry up and get in my f#$ing cart!" and yes, he was screaming them at me. Apparently, if you engage him to "pull" you home twice in any given year this grants him the God-given right to your exclusive services for life. I was pissed, but I did ignore the waiting drivers and got into the cart, cursing myself for having done so. The driver continued his rant all the way home: why the HELL hadn't I moved faster? Why did I have to much heavy stuff? (I hoped he was referring to my bags of teaching materials and not my ass.) Then I thought, is this guy playing on my sympathy? Does he think he can be a bad-tempered bastard and get away with it? Well, true equality lies in treating everyone with kindness and consideration. Should I blast him back with a string of expletives, as I normally would, or should I be a superior person and kindly explain why it wasn't right to yell at me in that fashion? Somewhere along the road, my soul resonated with the answer, and yet, when I got out of the vehicle (which to my surprise came to a full stop--I half-expected him to slow down slightly and growl, "Get out, Bitch") my mouth made this compromise. As I handed him his fare I looked him dead in his eye and said in low even tones, "If you ever yell at me like that again I'll cut your balls off." He grunted in understanding and took off. I have seen him on the street since then and he does not look at me (not that I can tell--kind of difficult to know for sure) and he certainly does not try to flag me down. I've pondered what I said many a time in my heart, and while I am appalled at what I said--and more appalled that I knew how to say this in Chinese, it occurs to me that I treated him as the person he was, a jerk. A man who was a jerk, and not some cute Disney version of a disabled person--but a man, and a jerk. What's more egalitarian than that?
I've also mentioned that I have hopped into one piloted by a hunchback midget with only one good eye. I'm not being patronising when I jump into his cart--sometimes quite simply he's the only one around, and I have to walk down the street to the newsstand he owns and ask for a ride. There's usually a long queue of drivers outside the place where I work, but in an off hour, say, 2:30, the queue is off having lunch and a snooze somewhere else. At peak traffic times, the queue is firmly in place and I take whichever driver is at the head of the line, murmur my request, and get in.
Last week, as I was headed out the door towards the queue, the one-eyed hunchback midget sailed down the street in his newly decked-out wheels and started honking and screaming at me from a distance of about half a block. I was startled, to say the least: I hate it when drivers honk and scream at me trying to get my attention. I wasn't sure he was yelling at ME, in particular, so I ignored him and started to walk towards the queue, towards the line of sweating tanned men waiting patiently for their turn to earn pennies. This evidently enraged the one-eyed hunchback midget, because he put on a burst of speed and salty language which included phrases screamed at top volume such as "Hurry up and get in my f#$ing cart!" and yes, he was screaming them at me. Apparently, if you engage him to "pull" you home twice in any given year this grants him the God-given right to your exclusive services for life. I was pissed, but I did ignore the waiting drivers and got into the cart, cursing myself for having done so. The driver continued his rant all the way home: why the HELL hadn't I moved faster? Why did I have to much heavy stuff? (I hoped he was referring to my bags of teaching materials and not my ass.) Then I thought, is this guy playing on my sympathy? Does he think he can be a bad-tempered bastard and get away with it? Well, true equality lies in treating everyone with kindness and consideration. Should I blast him back with a string of expletives, as I normally would, or should I be a superior person and kindly explain why it wasn't right to yell at me in that fashion? Somewhere along the road, my soul resonated with the answer, and yet, when I got out of the vehicle (which to my surprise came to a full stop--I half-expected him to slow down slightly and growl, "Get out, Bitch") my mouth made this compromise. As I handed him his fare I looked him dead in his eye and said in low even tones, "If you ever yell at me like that again I'll cut your balls off." He grunted in understanding and took off. I have seen him on the street since then and he does not look at me (not that I can tell--kind of difficult to know for sure) and he certainly does not try to flag me down. I've pondered what I said many a time in my heart, and while I am appalled at what I said--and more appalled that I knew how to say this in Chinese, it occurs to me that I treated him as the person he was, a jerk. A man who was a jerk, and not some cute Disney version of a disabled person--but a man, and a jerk. What's more egalitarian than that?
Look, Quasi Zhou should be just as polite as everyone else around. Mind you, that's a rarity in your part of the world. If he wants regulars and wants you to choose him over all the other povvo (australian for poor) pedicab guys, then he has to give a bit of sugar. Basic commerce.
ReplyDeleteSo, don't feel bad about your testicular threat. At least he's not screaming at you to get in his pimped out sanluche anymore.
Guess what, Virg? He picked me up this morning and was POLITE, albeit silent. I guess threats work with some. I couldn't believe he was acting like such a jerk when I was as polite to him as I am to everybody...and how sad I am thinking that there are some people who toe the line only after being threatened with testicular violence. The Quaker in me sighs over this state of affairs.
ReplyDeletePower to Manners! I wonder if this movement would be swiftly clamped down on by the powers that be? What charges of sedition could they bring against those participants? Would we mysteriously disappear, only to be outed with tax evasion and sex with goats?
ReplyDelete