Donald Gallinger: “Memoirs of China”
|“There was no poetry”
[JOURNAL ENTRY, DECEMBER 2004:]
On the street in front of my apartment building the other night, I was approached by a young Chinese woman. She spoke to me—in Chinese, of course—and, being the polite guy that I am, I said, “Ni hui bu hui shuo ying yu?” (“Do you speak English?”) She spoke again. Eager to try out my pathetic few words of Mandarin, I said, “Wo shi mei guo ren,” or “I am an American,” to which the young woman promptly put her hand on my crotch and said, “massage?” Of course, I jumped about a mile in the air, not used to strange women fondling my genitals in the street. I said, “Oh, no, no,” shaking my head and probably acting like an embarrassed Wally Cleaver. A moment later she was accosting another Western gent. Apparently, there was no poetry involved in our brief encounter.
He has made a lot of observations about China. What are your thoughts? Agree? Disagree?
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