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Last Word: People To Avoid In China, Sifting through the weird and woeful
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People To Avoid In China

Sifting through the weird and woeful


China doesn’t necessarily have more people to avoid than any other country, as a percentage of its total; but as a country with a huge population, there are always going to be a few odd-balls and psychos. It’s the same with the ex-pat population: there could be many reasons for someone to pack up and leave their homeland, and not all of them are the usual job interview responses like “I wanted an adventure” or “I wanted to see the world”. Let us therefore delve into China’s wretched hive of scum and villainy and see how to avoid them.


The bar lunatic


WBT201509_0053_Last_Word_-_bar-209148China has a strange effect of making me more social and outgoing than I usually am in my native land. It is always great to meet Chinese people because you can learn so much from them, and it’s always good to meet other ex-pats because you can share and compare your experiences.


This doesn’t always work out for the best. One night I was out with some friends in Ali Baba’s, just talking over a few drinks. I was facing the bar, and saw a guy standing there looking anxiously around. He kept checking his watch, suggesting he’d been stood up. He was about 40, perhaps Australian, with long dark hair. I caught his eye several times, and, taking pity and feeling like I was doing something noble, invited him to join us. This proved to be a big mistake, as he started ranting about how much he hated China, Chinese culture, and Chinese people. Which made us retort, “So what are you doing here then?” To which he replied, “I’m here to learn from Chinese people.” At which I stood up and invited him to leave.


Lesson: random strangers in a bar are often random and strange for a reason. Tread carefully.


The hostess


WBT201509_0055_Last_Word_-_no-68481Sometimes, especially when I’m exploring a new place, I’ll go for a beer on my own. Yeah, all on my own. I take a bag with a book to read so I’m quite comfortable. So, please, bar hostess, I don’t need your company to help me enjoy the bar.


Lesson: Just. Say. No.


The leasing agent


There is a special level of hell reserved for Chinese property agents, with their scooters and commission. Their goal is not to help you find a place to stay within your stated fields (location, price, rooms, etc). They know that they are the gatekeeper to your knowledge of the market. Thus, they insert themselves between you and the landlords, keeping each side blind, the better to get the best deal for themselves. “You want a three bedroom apartment, near Xia Wa Fang? Okay,” he says, taking you to view a two bed apartment near Huayuan.


Lesson: Use local property websites like 5i5j.com to seek out apartments and market data points. Take over a lease from a friend. But never, ever, simply rely on leasing agents.

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The dealer


“Hey man, you want some stuff?”


Sure, I really want to risk jail or deportation to buy stuff from a dealer openly operating in the middle of Beijing’s busiest shopping areas. That makes sense. You’ll be certain of a good deal, too. Sure.


Dealers are, for some reason, always African males, and somehow able to ply their trade in Beijing’s Sanlitun area without attracting the attention of the authorities. I have to assume that they have some success (otherwise they wouldn’t be there), but anyone stupid enough to buy from them deserves whatever they get.


Lesson: I don’t need to explain this one, do I?


The schmo


There are many noble reasons for living abroad – adventure, travel, career opportunities, personal development. But The Schmo goes abroad because he has burned out his network back home and needs a new set of circumstances in which he can continue to be a Schmo. In China he (it’s always he) is suddenly foreign and exotic, and earning more than the national average – fun times! You would hope that in such a situation, The Schmo might grow and develop. But that, of course, is precisely what’s lacking in him in the first place.


I’ve met a couple of Schmo’s. One was teaching English at a university in a Tier 3 city, where the students were mostly children of peasant farmers. He earned substantially more than their parents did, yet he tried to get his students to club together to buy him a cell phone, and would stand at the canteen entrance hoping to meet a student because he had somehow left his dining card behind and needed someone to pay for him. Another Schmo I met was the most socially inept person I’ve ever encountered. He meant well, but he would tell crude jokes at any time or location, crashed into conversations like a blundering rhinoceros, and ignored or was oblivious to social signals that a toddler could notice. His blissful lack of social embarrassment, funnily enough, made him quite the hit with his employer, who used him like a dancing bear to attract business.


Lesson: make friends carefully. You might be stuck with them for a long time.


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