For the past few weeks, I’ve been in a weird state of flux. Technically right now, I sort of have two jobs but nothing that can be claimed to be remotely regular, which has freed up most of my mornings immeasurably (afternoons are still reserved exclusively for Nico and his superhero sidekick, Gaudi). To make the most of it, with some welcome encouragement from a friend also lacking employment, I’ve been making a point of getting my behind to the gym regularly (which has mysteriously caused me to gain yet another kilo, but that’s a different story entirely). Christian usually acts as my ride to the gym as he’s displayed a reserved willingness to drop me off half a kilometer away so long as I’m not too late getting Nico’s morning eats together. However, on this one particular day, Christian was out of town on a 36-hour business trip, leaving me to the puzzle of figuring out my own tranportation.
Generally, when left to my own devices, I go out to the main road and hail a cab and this is precisely what I was doing when a big silver car pulled up next to me and rolled down the passenger-side window.
Inside, the driver, a relatively young guy tried to say something to me which I didn’t quite hear over all the construction going on in the area (they’re building still more luxury apartments across the street from us), so I opened up the door and climbed on in. Then I proceeded to tell him where I wanted to go as he listened with a puzzled expression.
In my defense, illegal taxis (regular cars driven by regular people trying to profit off having a regular car) are fairly common around here–not as common as in Mongolia, perhaps, where any car is a potential illegal taxi, but common enough–and the man didn’t exactly try to stop me from getting into his car. In fact, after I’d repeated my request a couple of times, he finally said, “Ah! I understand,” in very adequate English and drove off with me.
Over the course of the ten minute ride to the gym (right up to the front door, no less!), the driver made the usual English small talk along with all too familiar lamentations of his lack of foreign friends, and the gravity of the situation slowly dawned on me: I had inadvertently abducted some poor guy who’d been on his way home after pulling a night shift.
Our ride ended pleasantly enough. We exchanged phone numbers and I tried to pay him which he bashfully refused. He did offer me the potential of future rides to more exotic locales (i.e. downtown), which I professed some interest in mainly because I hate disappointing strangers.
I would like to say, I learned something from the experience, like not all people who want to practice their English are evil or that I’m some expat diva who’s so enraptured by her own little world she can’t see that not everyone in China exists to serve her, but really I got nohing more than the ten yuan I saved (only to spend that morning on a Starbucks coffee).