May 2, 2012

• 7 going on 17

  I was at the Chinese supermarket the other day and ran into the same clerk (the one who seems to only speaks Mandarin).  See here for my previous encounter:  http://elusivewords.xanga.com/748874894/a-minority-within-a-minority/.  In my broken Cantonese, I asked for 7 chicken legs.  He looked puzzled.  I said “7″ in English and then Mandarin and held up 7 fingers.  He nodded and went to fill the plastic bag.  I took a quick look at the meat section to see what else I needed.  When I turned back he was still filling the plastic bag.  I thought that was odd and when he lifted the plastic bag onto the scale, it was jammed pack with chicken legs.  I didn’t know what to do when he handed it to me.  I just took it and placed it in the cart.  I figured I would not be able to make myself understood. When I got home, I counted 17 chicken legs.  I put some in my stockpot and the rest in the freezer.

  While my fragmented Cantonese and almost non existent Mandarin is a minor inconvenience at grocery stores here, I’m sure it will get me into trouble if I was in China.  I can just imagine myself at a gay bar, surrounded by curious Chinese gays who aren’t sure what to make of me.

  I’m sure at some point in the night, fueled by hormones and alcohol, someone will ask me “So how big is your thing?”

  I proudly declare in Mandarin “It’s 7 inches.”  (please note – this part of the entry is completely fictitious). 

  “Ai ya!  17 inches?” 

  I smile and nod politely because I won’t have a clue what he said.

  I’m sure the rest of the evening will just be a disaster.  When I leave the gay bar, I’ll run into the clerk from the supermarket and he’ll be laughing at me. 

  • 7:24 PM
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