Chinese Confession - Life Under the Sea!

Here I am in Shanghai. I hope this blog posts alright because everything on this site is in Chinese, so I'm relying on my computer intuition to know which button to push and where. If anything, however, it's a good way to learn Chinese!

I am quite sure that the day I spent traveling here was the longest day of my life. I mean this, of course, both the literally and metaphorically. The day technically began at 3:30am when I got up to go to the airport. The flight to Chicago was only a bit over 2 hours long. The flight from Chicago to Shanghai, however, was 15 hours long and landed us 14 hours ahead from Colorado time. The flight took us straight north from Chicago, up over Canada, the Hudson Bay, and even over the North pole! We then came down through Siberia, Mongolia, into China where we flew around Beijing, then finally landed in Shanghai a bit after 2pm on Wednesday. Had I had a window seat I would have taken some of those sweet pictures from up at 10,000 meters, but I didn’t. Oh, and my Cannon camera is a piece of junk anyway, so they would not have turned out well.

My first impression of Shanghai was a complete slap in the face. I had no idea this place is actually under water. Okay, it’s not actually underwater, but it might as well be. The humidity here is insane. I half expect to see goldfish floating in the air. They certainly have enough live, consumable aquatic creatures at the market. Perhaps that counts. Suddenly Colorado seems so dry. I don’t think you are ever really dry here. The instant we stepped out of the plane the humidity made all of our clothes about 10 times heavier. And the temperature right now ranges from the low 90s and dips down into the 70s at night. I am quite surprised, however, at how not unpleasant it is. I don’t mind it one bit. I sleep quite well at night when it’s hot and humid, unlike everyone else who came with me who has their air conditioning running at full blast and set to -3 degrees. I truly am a warm climate person, and that is definitely a good thing here.

As for the city itself…wow. I find myself at a loss for words. I now know why my friend Nathan said the best word to describe this place is “nuts!” I think I’m going to have to rely primarily on photos to describe this place. Even then, photos don’t do the city justice in certain aspects. First of all, this place is enormous. The population is estimated to be around 20 million and growing – fast. There are high rises everywhere. When I walk around the neighborhood of the school, it’s hard to get a true feeling of just how big the place is. But the city has a highly developed elevated transit system, and when you are driving on that, you see just how big the city is. You are about 6 stories up on these roads and as you drive along, you see and endless sea of skyscrapers. During the day, the haze grays everything out, so it’s simply a bunch of neutral colored buildings. But at night, everything changes. The lights flash, blink, dazzle, and inundate your mind. It’s kind of like Las Vegas, just multiplied by about 20 times.

At the street level, this place is replete with photo opportunities. It’s incredibly picturesque, but not in a romanticized, idealized, or mother nature-y kind of way. When you look around, you see things as they really are. You see people as they really are. A short woman in her 50s pushes an elder woman in a wheel chair, while another person sitting on the sidewalk asks if you want to buy some fish or crayfish – all piled up but still alive and squirming within a pail of water. A man rides a rusty, three-wheeled bike down the tight and crowded street ringing a bell. He is collecting cardboard. His clothes are dirty, his hair messy and unkempt. On his feet he wears old sneakers, dirty and abused – reflecting the nature of the work he does to provide for himself and his family. Two women wait as a man negotiates a price on a dish scrubber. This all is taking place within about a 5 foot radius. Oh, and don’t forget the other 8 people, 3 bicyclists, and 2 scooters who are merely passing through. Meanwhile, I am waiting for a woman in her late 40s making what I can only describe as a “Chinese crêpe” about 3 feet in diameter atop a giant barrel filled with what I assume to be boiling water. She spreads it so that it ends up paper thin as her husband spreads an egg, some seasonings, and a peculiar but tasty brown paste on top. They then put on something crunchy and rectangular, then fold the crêpe-like thing all around it, but not before I ask for them to put on a spicy sauce. This will be my breakfast. The cost: two Yuan, which is about 30 cents. Not bad. It certainly beats a $0.99 Egg McMuffin at McDonalds, or a $4 cappuccino at Starbucks. A cool bottle of orange juice or a cup of fresh soy milk will help it go down nicely.

You see how the people here live, what they do, what they sell, and how they get around. They, in return, look right back at you with a look of complete, unabashed curiosity. They may stop and just watch you for about 5 or 10 seconds before they move on. Perhaps they will just watch you for a moment as they go about their daily routine. Or they may stop and start talking with you. You never really know. It’s quite an adventure. And this all happens within about 5 minutes in the morning as I seek out some breakfast. You can imagine what the rest of the day would be like.

If I had to pick one word to describe the Chinese people, I would pick “curious.” Although Shanghai is much, much more exposed to foreigners than most cities in China, everyone I come across or talk to is very kind, hospitable, and incredibly curious. Having also lived in France, I can readily compare both cultures. The contrast between the two is quite sharp. In France, people were largely apathetic. Maybe they would talk with you, maybe they would sneer at you and go on, or maybe they would be quite nice. But overall, they are quite apathetic. They are rather closed until you get to know them really well. At that point, they will remain your friends forever. Here, however, the people are incredibly friendly. They are so eager to talk with you, see what you do, find out what interests you, and just watch you. They ask you where you are from, not because they would judge you on your nationality, but rather as a representation of their curiosity of the world outside of China. Whether you are American, Canadian, Brazilian, or even Azerbaijani (we can pretend that’s the right word), they would treat you the same. You are a foreigner, and they want to know more about you.

We were at a supermarket getting some drinks and one of my colleagues said hello to a lady in front of the store on the narrow street. She instantly began asking him questions. His Chinese vocabulary consists of about 5 words at this point, but she had no hesitation or frustration as she kept asking him questions, even though he couldn’t understand a thing. She had seen his cross he wore around his neck and asked him if he was “Hallelujah”, which meant she was asking if he was Christian. As we emerged from the store to catch up with him, more Chinese people walking and biking down the street stopped and just watched. A crowd began forming, and as it grew, more and more people stopped. They didn’t watch from a distance. They would walk right up in the middle of the circle where we were conversing and look right up in to our faces. It’s simply amazing how eager they are to learn about people from outside China. They aren’t rude or anything. They are quite the opposite, in fact. You may feel like they are stepping into your space on a perpetual basis, but that is the norm here. It’s hard to have 1.3 billion people in a country without people getting a little cozy.

Whenever we go around as a group of 30-some American students, we draw a lot of attention. Today we all went into a gallery that was selling some incredibly amazing Chinese art. The ironic thing here was that the people who were working in the gallery busted out a camera and we taking pictures of us! I took a few pictures too, including a giant stitched panoramic picture of the Shanghai skyline. I hope it turned out well, because it was jaw-dropping amazing. They even had a dozen chairs set in front of it for people to sit down and just look at it. It looked more like a painting than something stitched, and that’s saying quite a lot.

We were also at a bus stop waiting for a bus to come to pick us up, and I looked up and saw someone opening a window in an upper-floor restaurant across the street. They pulled out a tripod and a camera, setting them up on the window sill, and took a picture of us. Of course, I couldn’t resist documenting this moment by taking a picture of someone going to that much effort to get a picture of us. As I said, this place is nuts!

Person Taking Photo of Us

The Shanghai University of Finance and Economics, which I shall hereafter refer to as SUFE, is pretty nice. This school actually has three campuses in Shanghai, but we are on the smallest one. This is where the graduate, international, and highly gifted students go, and all of our classes will be here. We will have an economics class taught by one of the most important economists in China, which is pretty impressive. Apparently he often travels all over the world to speak. I will also have a finance class and a management class. This will all be in English. We also will be doing a relatively extensive research project on a topic of our choice that will require us to go out and meet with people in the city, interview them, and write a final report. We even have a budget for this project! This will certainly be no equivalent to a spring break in Cancun or in Macau, and I’m quite happy about it. The opportunity to learn here is limited only by my own motivation, energy, focus, passion, and curiosity.

The Chinese students start classes a week after us, so the campus is pretty much dead right now, aside from a few faculty members, us, and the local wildlife. At CSU, the local wildlife consisted primarily of squirrels. We don’t have squirrels here though. What we have, instead, are kittens! Yes, I am completely serious. If you go out in the afternoon, you will see kittens lounging under bushes or sprawled on the curb of the gardens relishing in the heat. Occasionally one will get into a building, at which point you see someone scoop it up and carry it out in their hands, its disproportionately large head popping out from their two hands holding it. They let go of it outside, where it scurries off. I haven’t seen any fully grown cats yet. Sometimes a person will have some food and set it down for them. They see it and all come running, even from across the plaza and devour the meal. They are all very skinny and, up close, a bit mangy. They certainly don’t lead a spoiled life. But they do provide some great entertainment.

Speaking of food, Chinese food is also quite nuts. Well, sometimes it’s literally nuts, as peanuts are a popular dish. But it is certainly not much like Chinese food in the US. That doesn’t mean it’s bad though. At first glance, some of this food would look a bit unpleasant to someone who eats nothing but typical American cuisine. There certainly are some things that I don’t like, but it’s pretty good for the most part. At the more formal meals, they have a giant Lazy Suzanne in the middle of the table and the servers just bring out dish after dish of food. You just serve yourself with chopsticks or a soup spoon. I quickly gave up on cross-contamination of food, as it’s impossible to clean your chopsticks. Just make sure that if you try to pick something up, you get it on your plate instead of dropping it and loosing it back in the dish. That’s about the best you can do. And if you only want a tiny bit of something, you can just use your chopsticks and grab one bite from the dish and eat it without having to dish it up on your plate. I could definitely get used to this. We eat a lot and there is a big variety of things. My favorite dish so far is definitely Squirrel Fish. I’m pretty sure it’s fish, though I have no idea what kind it is. It may be a different kind each time. I’m not sure. Either way, it’s a culinary work of art, sometimes served with a small flame burning from the mouth. On the tastiness scale of 1 to 10, it easily gets a 9.5. There is no fishy taste at all. It’s incredible.

Yesterday we went out to get cell phones. Wow. You would not believe the cell phone stores here. We went to one digital store and it was probably as big as Best Buy, but literally at least half the floor was devoted entirely to cell phones. Compared to the USA, where you pick your carrier, then get slim pickings as far as phones go, here you pick your phone, then you buy a SIM card to pick your phone service. And as far as phones go, you easily have hundreds you can pick from. It’s insane. Oddly enough, however, I didn’t see any desktop computers in the store. They only had laptops, and even then there weren’t nearly as many as there were cell phones. Overall, though, I would say the prices in the world of high-tech are about the same here as in the US, if not even higher. So, there will definitely be no flat panel TV in my dorm room, not that I plan on watching TV anyway. We have one, but I haven’t even turned it on to see if it works.

The dorm rooms are relatively nice, I think. I mean, they are slightly more ghetto than in the US, but we have our own balconies in each one and our own bathroom. Mine has an awesome view of the huge Shanghai World Financial Center skyscraper in downtown that they are constructing in the financial district. This thing is MASSIVE. When competed, it will have 101 stories and will be the second tallest building in the world from floor to roof. I have followed its construction for the past year because I’m an architecture buff. Most days I can see it from our room, but it’s very hazy. For some reason, our rooms have two beds, two desks, but three closets. Oh, we also have three bookshelves on the wall. I don’t have too much stuff, so I don’t take up much of this space. The bathroom is an adjustment. We do have a normal toilet, compared to the common hole in the ground. But the shower simply hangs from a bracket attached to the wall. There is no shower stall or anything, just a drain in the floor in the middle of the room. There is also a large basic affixed to the wall with one facet that provides cold water only. It’s a deep sink, but there is no counter or anything, so I’m working on getting used to it. The hot water heater has to be turned on an hour before showering so that it can heat the water. We do have air conditioning though, and that is nice. When it’s in the mid 90s outside with 100% humidity, a small room featuring cooler air can make for a nice retreat.

My Room

My Bathroom

View from Balcony

View from My Balcony

The bed could probably be more comfortable. It’s quite hard, as is the pillow. But I sleep well enough, especially after being out in the heat all day. And in the end, I think we have it pretty well here. I certainly have no cause for complaints. And the cockroach I found in my luggage as I unpacked is the only one I’ve seen in here and the only one I expect to see in this room. As long as that remains the case, I will be quite at peace.

More Pics:

Confessions of One Too Nerdy for His Own Good

Here it is. I leave for China in less than 7 hours. If I were to go to bed right now, I would get 3.5 hours of sleep at best. That’s assuming I could even fall asleep. That doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest right now. I’m not tired. I’m savoring the feeling of anticipation and tying up loose ends. I installed Skype on my laptop so that I can talk with people for free (assuming I can get the microphone to work – yet another thing I shall have to test before I go to bed). The past several days have been absolutely perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing. I got to go out with a bang at a farewell/stuff yourself stupid party at Cinzzetti’s. I would much rather have an additional reason to celebrate besides my leaving. That would just seem too, well, “putting me at the center.” So it also had this second theme to it. There’s nothing quite like going out American style and just stuffing oneself stupid. If your IQ doesn’t drop by at least 10 points from being so full, then you have failed. Failed! And of course, I must not fail to mention that I was given the gift of a Hotwheels taxicab with which to take random pictures in China. The cabbie confessions will live on!

Saturday I spent virtually the entire day packing, moving things up to where they will be stored in Loveland, and driving way too much. I watched a movie with Jearime and Jessica, The Painted Veil, which was an interesting film about a British couple who moved to China and worked in a remote village stricken by Cholera. Aside from that, the highlight of my day occurred, ironically, at 3:00am when I arrived at my brother, Jake’s, condo where I would crash for the night. He wasn’t there. I called his phone. No answer. Lovely. It’s 3 am and I had little choice but to proceed to call people until I finally found someone who would be willing to let me sleep in a spare bed or sofa. Fortunately my Mom was willing to answer the phone, which quickly resolved that issue.

Sunday was another busy, run-around day. Between saying “see ya” to Zach, gaining temporary custody of his “The :::insert vulgar word here that begins with F and ends with K and modify it to serve as an adjective::: Dollar” (I much prefer this title, but apparently I’m weird), unloading yet more things, and enjoying a China-centered common interest gathering at Chiu laoshi’s house (CSU’s infamous Chinese teacher who, students would unanimously agree should they be asked, is truly “the shizzle” (in the superlative of “good” way, of course)), it was another great day. And I think I just set a new personal record for an overly complex and multi-layered run-on sentence that simultaneously demonstrates my unabashed nerdiness. Go me!

But seriously, the party was awesome. We ate an abundant amount of Chinese food, played ping pong, talked with Nathan in China via Skype, and had a great time overall.

Apparently I am such a nerd that I am actually willing and eager to go to school and attend classes even when I am not even enrolled in them, let alone expected to attend. Yes, it’s true. I am that much of a nerd. I went to three Chinese classes, all back-to-back. I got to see some familiar faces, meet some new ones, and make a vain attempt to quench my unquenchable thirst to learn as much Chinese as possible. I went to class from 11am to 2pm, and it was awesome. The whole time, aside from enjoying the fact that I could actually manage to convey a semi-moderately slaughtered attempt at responding to the unexpected questions that were being thrown my way, I was counting down the hours that remained before my departure. I also still had a list of things I needed to get or accomplish before I left. If anyone is in a similar position of anxiously awaiting an upcoming event, I highly recommend making lists. Make many lists. It offers a good distraction that also happens to be quite productive and makes you look even more organized, responsible, and prepared than you probably are in real life. Way to boost the intangibles!

Finally, after unloading the last remaining things from my car, two of my siblings, Annelise and Ben, brought me back down to Denver where my roommate, Dave, has agreed to take me to the airport at 4am.

Yes, you read that right. Someone has actually agreed to get up by 4am. I am still shocked by this. I even know this person personally! I really need to get his autograph.

If you have managed to stomach my seemingly unfocused ramblings thus far, I congratulate you. The next time you read another post by me will probably be after I have arrived in China! I now have just 6 hours and ten minutes left! And I think I’m even less tired now than before. I guess I shall direct my productivity elsewhere. Until my next post, which will hopefully include pictures!

ZOMG, I Refuse

A survey was conducted recently, according to CNBC and the Wall Street Journal, that indicated that the biggest fear of 52% of Americans is not a recession, a certain individual becoming president, world war III, or anything like that. This fear, instead, is one thing: China.

I'm confused.

Or perhaps America is confused. Actually, I think this is quite possibly the case. I won't put money on it, but I wouldn't be surprised if half of these people couldn't even locate the country on a map. *sigh* I suppose not everyone enjoys such a nerdy appreciation for geography as I do.

I don't mean to be all political, but knowing what I know about China (as limited as that is) actually makes me far less afraid of the country. Of course, I will be over there in Shanghai for the next 4 months, which I incessantly repeat whenever the topic arises. But am I worried? No. Am I afraid? Certainly not.

My fear, instead, lies in something completely different. You may scratch your head at first, but it is with good reason that I announce that my biggest fear right now is of the local law enforcement and/or judicial system.

You are probably confused. Let me demonstrate. Imagine my scenario. I'm fascinated by big cities. I've always wanted to live in a big city and see the fast-paced life, people so busy going from place to place that they have no time to notice you. People watching is terribly fun. I also love architecture - especially dense urban architecture. Shanghai is probably one of the top five fastest developing cities in the world. It is absolutely incredible. If you don't believe me, check out this video:





I also love learning foreign languages, and Chinese is by far my favorite that I've studied. It would take me far too much space here to explain why I like it so much, so you'll have to take my word for it. Basically, it's the shizzle.

I also like what I study. International business and finance is fascinating to me. It just so happens that in the realm of both of these areas of study, there is probably no place more happening than Shanghai.

My fear is that something is going to arise that will keep me from being able to go. I am doing everything in my power , while trusting that everything else will work out, in order to be able to go. I have my passport, visa, luggage, schedule, plane tickets, stuff, list of stuff that I don't have, and even money. I'm set.

Almost.

More specifically, my fear is that I am going to be cited for some seemingly minor traffic violation that, as petty as it may be, would require that I make a personal appearance in a courtroom at some point between August 29th and December 22nd, thus rendering me unable to go to China.

Is this fear irrational? I think so. But given my track record, I'm trying to play it as safe as possible. I have been pulled over for quite random reasons. Fortunately, I have not received a ticket for any of these times. I'm a safe driver and I think the police understand that I am quite willing to comply to their requests.

Some of the recent reasons I have been pulled over include:

A crooked license plate
Burned-out license plate bulbs
A burned out headlight

Just today I discovered that the rear license plate on my car is MIA (missing in action). I don't know exactly when I lost it, but I have a sneaky suspicion that it was Monday. If that is true, then I have been driving around in a car without a license plate on it for the past week.

I haven't gotten a ticket yet, but I'm pretty sure that there is no way I could talk my way out of this if I got pulled over. This is why I am so relieved that I happened to be up in Loveland this weekend, where I would have to go to get a new license plate. I also just happen to have the necessary documentation to get a license plate (according to the county clerk's website, at least). I also happen to have tomorrow off from work in order to attend a big energy and oil conference in downtown Denver. But alas, I will have to get new plates instead.

Phew! I think I may be able to narrowly avoid getting slapped with a traffic violation that may require a court appearance and foil my China trip.

Maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe I'm just excited beyond words to be able to go. It's probably both. But I can assure you that I am going to do everything in my power to make sure that nothing keeps me from going. And when I do arrive, rest assured that many, many photos will be posted. So keep your eyes peeled!

Chinese Confession I – The Countdown and a Salty Situation

Does anyone remember what it was like to be a little kid on Christmas Eve? All of the excitement and anticipation for the following day – and the prospect of all of those presents, food, and fun – made it completely impossible to sleep? For hours you would just lay there in bed, knowing that the limited efforts to go to sleep were completely in vain. You couldn’t possibly sleep if you wanted to, or even if you had to. If you do, then you might have an idea of what I’m going through right now, though to a relatively minor extent – a state that is getting progressively more agonizing with each passing day.

I finally updated my myspace profile. I added a countdown. I don’t really like this particular one because it merely counts down to 12:01am on August 28^th. My plane doesn’t take off until around 6:30am. That a difference of 6 ½ hours. That’s an eternity in my book.

I updated my facebook profile. I added a countdown there. I like this one. It counts down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds until 6:30am on August 28^th. Such an acute attention to a detail even as slight as the seconds on a timer should indicate how ridiculously anxious I am to leave. If you click on it, it runs in real time. I also added a map of the earth with all of the places I’ve lived (red), visited (blue), and want to visit (green). My red zones feature Colorado, France and (I practically blocked this one from my memory) Utah. Right now China is a big green mass in the middle of Asia. I can’t wait until I can turn it red.

The fact that I’m going to China in just over a month is still just a bit past the horizon. I’m already wondering what kind of ridiculous, cultural, linguistic, or even cooking mistakes I’m going to make. Will it be like when I was in France? I have several memories that I can now look back upon and laugh, especially the very first meal I ate in my very first apartment there.

When I arrived in France, everything was new, despite the fact that things were actually decades or even centuries old. Manosque, a tiny town nestled in the Alps just northwest of the Riviera, was the first place I would live. I felt like such a foreigner. The language was different, the city was different, the surroundings were different, the weather was different, even the air smelled different. But I kept my chin up; I was excited. For so long I had been dreaming of going to a far away land, some place beyond the known and even understood.

And I was hungry. Very, very hungry. I arrived at my apartment and met my colleague, Seth, with whom I would spend the next 2 ½ months – the person who would have the biggest impact on my entire two years in France as he helped me cope and adjust. He was nice enough to offer to make dinner for me, which was rather fortunate because I was only capable of making ramen and peanut butter sandwiches – two items that, incidentally, are virtually impossible to make in a country without ramen or peanut butter. Oh yeah, I also was quite good at making Jello, but that literally is impossible to find in France. Since I was incapable of making anything, he volunteered to whip up some spaghetti for me. I sat there, still in awe and slight culture shock at the prospect of twenty two more months in such a foreign place. We chatted casually as he boiled the noodles and mixed up some sauce.

Once the spaghetti was ready, I dished up and began to eat. Of course, a good plate of spaghetti is hardly complete without any parmesan cheese. Fortunately for me, there was a familiar, cylindrical container sitting there in the middle of table, which I recognized instantaneously as being parmesan cheese. I twisted the cap and pour it all over my spaghetti. I really do love parmesan cheese, so I made sure I got plenty of it. Finally satisfied, I set it down and began to eat.

I took a bite, and chewed it without paying much attention. My mind was racing with all of the things I was being exposed to. I took another bite, my mind still racing. I took a third bite, and something seemed to awake me from my state of mental surrealism.

“Wow, this spaghetti is salty!” I thought to myself. I forced myself to swallow the bite, and looked down at my plate.

“Should I take another bite? Should I say something? I just met this guy. How is he going to take it if I complain that his spaghetti is too salty?” I thought to myself. By no means do I want to get things off on a bad foot. What was I to do?

Finally, without much more thought, I casually said, “This spaghetti is a bit salty.”

As I looked up at him standing by the stove, he grinned somewhat awkwardly and responded saying, “Yeah, you put a lot of salt on that.”

“Salt?” I replied, turning to the container of parmesan cheese set before me. I turned it slightly and saw, for the first time, the image of a blue whale that would be all too familiar in the future, with the titled “Baleine” and “sel” on it.

My French was terrible. I had no idea what “Baleine” was, nor did I have any idea what “Sel” was. For all I knew, it was a brand of parmesan cheese. How wrong I was.

“Ohhhh.” I said. “I thought that was parmesan cheese!” So there I sat, in a moment of awkward silence, staring at my beyond-excessively salty spaghetti.

“You don’t have to finish eating it if you don’t want to. I don’t want you getting sick.” he said.

Fortunately, we promptly laughed about the whole strange situation. As I am a terribly unobservant person, I didn’t notice the very strange look that was on his face as he watched me dump gobs and gobs of salt all over my spaghetti. He didn’t want to say anything for fear that I might freak out and scream, “Okay! So I like salt! Is that such a big deal?!”

I can’t even remember what I ate after that. Maybe it was a bowl of cereal; maybe it was just some M& Ms. I don’t think it really matters. What does matter was that we were able to have a sense of humor about things. I learned that lesson several times, and it’s one that I am definitely going to remember when I go to China. There are things that I’m not going to understand. There will be situations where I will have absolutely no idea how to act or what to do. There will be stores out there filled with products labeled in strange characters that I will be at even more of a loss to identify than I was with “Sel.” There will be stressful moments. I will need time to adjust. It may only take a week, or it may take 3 months. But having a sense of humor, being able to laugh at myself, and not taking things too seriously will definitely make a difference. So, I am quite sure I will have plenty of Cabbage Confessions of the Chinese variety to go for a while.

Chinese Confessions

Shanghai
(soon I will be able to post my own pictures, but for the time being, I'll just have to "borrow" some from other people)

For any of you who follow along with my cabbage confessions, you are probably well aware by now that I will be in Shanghai (and occasionally elsewhere) on August 28th through December 22nd. I've pretty much given up on any hope I may have superficially had at containing my enthusiasm about going. I've enjoyed writing my cabbage confessions so much that I am going to continue them while I am experiencing China. I'll try to keep them entertaining! However, rather than adopting yet another blogspot address for them, I will go ahead and post them here. I am justifying this, of course, by the fact that have cabbage in Chinese food, so that will be enough to keep the address for this blog relevant.

In the meantime, I have been thinking a lot about what am amazing opportunity this is going to be. I actually sat down and tried to put it into words, and I am going to include those here.

A strange feeling has come over me today. I feel more excited about future than I ever have. Last Friday night I had dinner at my Chinese teacher’s house with a bunch of her other Chinese students. While I was there, she gave me a photocopy of a couple chapters from a book about a westerner’s trip in China along a 3,100 mile long highway. These specific chapters were talking about his experience in Shanghai. I read some of it during my lunch break today. It was amazing! His descriptions were so vivid, and having studied Chinese history for the past semester and the language/culture for the past year, I could follow it very well. It’s simply breathtaking. If ever there was a perfect moment to go see Shanghai, this is that moment. It’s like seeing all of the following take place, in the same place, at the same time: the industrial revolution, New York city massive skyscraper development boom in the roaring 1920s and the massive influx of immigrants (with the only missing element being a statue of liberty), the silicon valley during the dot com boom of the 1990s, some of the most amazing architecture in the world being built right before your eyes right next to historical buildings, businesses from all over the world coming to one city to set up their operations in one of the most important cities of this century, and the vibrant, modern, cutting-edge, and ever-changing cosmopolitan life of the city. All of this is happening right now in Shanghai – home to 18 million people from all over the globe. Needless to say, if I didn’t have 55 – 60 hour work weeks and the last Harry Potter book to look forward to in 19 days, I would be going absolutely insane right now. This upcoming semester is going to be a truly amazing experience. The thought of having to wait is agonizing!

On another, but equally exciting note, I came across a fascinating article in the Bloomberg magazine today talking about careers for people in my position and age, those getting ready to graduate from college and enter the work force in the world of finance. I’ve spent the past 4 years in college trying to make all of the right moves, learn all of the most critical things for my future, and seize every worthy opportunity that presented itself – all this while working and paying for school by myself, doing art, and trying to maintain a social life. I won’t lie – I’m really satisfied and proud of what I have been able to accomplish up to this point. I have a well-developed (and constantly developing) knowledge about finance, investing, economics, and international business, along with knowledge of four languages. I have an unabashed passion for art, hard work, creativity in general, and math, and fairly impressive work experience to accompany it. I have worked like mad to get to this point, and I have had a lot of support from friends, family, and professors – and I have to give a large amount of credit to them for their encouragement and help. My main concern was about post-college life and trying to find a satisfying, rewarding, and intellectually stimulating career. In the Bloomberg article, entitled “The Graduates,” it said, “Wall Street and Silicon Valley are courting… graduates – kids with top grades, finance and math skills and a couple of languages – more heavily than any students since the days of the ‘90s dot-com explosion.”

When I read that sentence, everything clicked. Before, I had the feeling and the hope that I was doing all of the right things to have a good future. But now that I’ve read the news articles and actually seen what the Street is seeking most earnestly, I feel a profound satisfaction that my hopes are not in vain. And yes, even the amazing experience of studying in Shanghai for a semester is going to make that future that much brighter. Needless to say, I am thoroughly ecstatic and optimistic that the future will be bright. Not only will I get to do the things that I enjoy so much, but there is a major need for people who have that very ability.

I hope I don’t sound as if I am bragging or boasting. I just wanted to share my excitement about something that has me so excited.

Confession 15 - Irony

Irony is not without a sense of humor. If I haven't alluded to it yet in the context of any of my cabbage confessions, I have been looking for a full time job for the summer. This job may or may not replace my employment as a cabbie – I haven't decided yet. But since this confession is somewhat related to that, I will go ahead and post it. If any of you are disillusioned because this confession is not actual cabbie-ing, I apologize. I just had to share it. And I want to continue to tell my crazy employment-related stories.

I had a job interview last week in downtown Denver. I had been working hard at being well prepared for this interview, and I wanted to make sure that I had all of my bases covered. I had extra copies of my resumé, a full tank of gas, good tires for my car, functional car, made prearrangements for all of my classes that I would be missing, and even left early enough to allow extra time for getting stuck in rush hour traffic.

Once I got into the downtown area, I was starting to really focus on how I would handle the interview. Being only a mile away from my interview destination, I figured I was on the home stretch and had nothing to worry about.

My car didn’t agree. It decided, instead, to lose functionality in the gas pedal. If you’ve never had this experience, I will explain. A gas pedal works by pushing on it. Genius, I know. But somehow this mechanical marvel does a whole bunch of complicated mechanics and propels the car forward. In my case, I assume that it hooks up to spark plugs which are then used to shock the hamster under the hood, which then runs in a wheel that propels my car. I’m not sure how it survives. I think it lives off of the gas that I put in the tank. Whatever the case, this little hamster gets about 40mpg on the highway.

The problem arose when my gas pedal quite suddenly became rather flaccid. It had about as much motivation as most of the seniors on campus at CSU. It pushed on it and it collapsed to the floor. It gave no resistance, and exerted no effort. To make matters worse, this was in the middle of Speer Boulevard, which happens to comprise 8 lanes of insane traffic. So, I was trying to coast as far as possible in the vain hope of finding a good place to pull over. The red light ahead of me seemed to have a different idea.

In my attempt to keep my momentum, I decided that I should turn right at the stop light and pull over in an area with less traffic. I succeeded in doing so at the cost of running a red light. I could only hope that there were no police around. My car finally stopped in the middle of the single lane entrance into a downtown park-n-ride. Preparing for the worst, I popped the hood and took a look.

It wasn’t as bad as I expected. Apparently the cable that connected the throttle to the gas pedal had come loose and lost its tension. This was much better than the alternative of it completely breaking off (which had incidentally happened to me about 2 years ago while delivering pizza). So I popped it back in place, ecstatic that I actually managed to avoid opening the hood and staring in complete confusion while I anxiously decided what to do next.

I lowered the hood and then looked up to see a local police officer stopped behind my car. As everyone knows, I am a completely honest person, so I did what any honest person would do: I waved to him, jumped in my car, and drove into the parking lot to look for an exit. As I meandered my way through to the gated entrance, the police officer stopped next to me and asked me if I was aware that I ran the red light back there.

“Oh, sorry. My car wasn’t working.” I replied. I then…well… just drove off. In hind sight that probably wasn’t such a good idea. But for some reason, he didn’t follow me. So once again I managed to avoid getting a ticket.

I even managed to arrive at the interview on time. I even managed to get the job. And, as of the time of me writing this, I have not received any ticket in the mail. Irony truly is not without its sense of humor, but the ironic thing is that the ironic situation had an even more ironic outcome. Don’t you think?

Confession 14 – A Throbbing Finger and a Filthy Dollar

The Infamous Dollar

A while back I posted the count of flirtations and such that I had received. As much fun as that was, I’ve actually lost track. It’s tragic, I know. There was so much grey area that it was getting difficult to determine what would count as a flirtation. Some of them were just funny, others were a bit awkward. That’s just part of the fun of being a cabbie.

Last night I got a call to take part of a big group of people to the Hunt club. Yes, I know – the Hunt club. I always dread those because the people are generally jerks. But I figured I’d keep an open mind about it. Maybe I would get some cool people.

I pulled up at a big house party. There were people everywhere, but they weren’t the usual clientele that would be going to the Hunt club. They were all CSU students or at least that age. I guess they told the dispatch that they needed to go to the Hunt club. When I talked to them, they were apparently going to the roller skating rink.

These people had obviously been drinking and were obviously having quite a lot of fun. One guy in particular must have been having a blast because he was wearing women’s lingerie. It it was quite… well… words can’t describe it. He was a little bit hairy and was running all over the place. I just had to laugh.

After we got everyone piled into the car, we headed over to the roller skating rink. They were talking like they were going to go to the Hunt club after skating. I couldn’t quite figure it out though. The group was actually very co-ed. There were at least as many girls as guys, and all of the girls seemed like the pretty, popular types. But I figured that they just wanted to have a good time and, if they were going to drink more, the Hunt Club was right next door and was one of the few bars in the area.

I just have to point out the irony though. Believe it or not, you can actually get a ticket for biking or even rollerblading drunk, just like you can for driving a car. If you don’t believe me, just ask around. I’m pretty sure that someone within the first or second degree of your social circle has had that unpleasant realization. And here I was, taking a big group of people to the roller rink where they would attempt to skate around while tipsy.

If anyone actually attempts this, let me know how it goes. I’m now curious as to whether it makes it more fun or you just end up crashing more.

As people were climbing out of the van after we arrived at the final destination, I ran around the car to the other side to lift the middle-back seat to let the people in the very back climb out. While fidgeting with the lever, one of the girls pulled out some money and asked if she could put it down my pants.

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, partly because that’s the first time one of my passengers has asked me that question, and also partly because my finger had gotten stuck it in the joint mechanism of the seat and was hurting quite badly. If I moved the seat forward, it pinched it even more. If I moved it backward, it pinched it even more. I’m always amazed by the little things that happen that make an ordinarily bizarre or, in hind sight, humorous situation even more random and crazy.

Another result of getting my finger caught in the seat, aside from the sheer pain of it, was that I managed to dodge the question. I actually have very good reason for not wanting her to put money down my pants. It’s the same reason that I tell people who handle a lot of cash for their job that they should wash their hands before they use the restroom. Money is dirty stuff! Who knows where that bill had been before? I could see it, as she was stretching her arm out to me, held lightly in her finger tips. Sure, her pretty smile and puppy dog eyes would have made it a very tempting offer for virtually every guy on the planet. But I knew better. That bill was obviously old and worn, wrinkled from passing hands countless times, brown, greasy, and dirty around the edges and creases. But on a more microscopic level, it was a bacteria and STD smörgåsbord of unsightliness. And the last thing I wanted to do was get an STD from some random person putting money down my pants. No thank you. Not to mention that I’m not that kind of guy :)

And so, after I finally got my throbbing finger free from the seemingly perilous trap of that was the hinge of the seat, I stepped back and let her out. She gave me the money as a tip, and smiled as she and her friends walked off to go roller skating. I wished her a good night, my finger continuing to throb, and wondered to myself if that counted as another flirtation?

Confession 13 - Conspiracy Theory

Being a student at Colorado State University, I am constantly exposed to individuals and ideas that can be surprisingly irrational. Whether it is manifest through random comments made in class, the clothes people wear, or what the CSU administration insists that I do for registration, some things just naturally bring out completely screwed up look to my face and, if I were a comic, the letters WTF would be written in a size 128 font above my head.

In driving a cab job, on the other hand, I generally expect for the people I meet to be a bit crazy. After all, enough alcohol can make just about anything happen. But last night I think I met one of the craziest of all of them. She was especially crazy because she was so confident that she was not crazy but that the world was crazy. The craziness was based on “Conspiracy Theory,” which, until last night, I thought was just a fabrication used on TV for our amusement. How wrong I was.

I picked her and another guy up to take them to Tailgate Tommy’s, the bar at Drake and College. As we pulled away from their house, she started telling me that she knew the future and that anyone who knew the future was going to get f***ing killed. They always kill the people that know the future. For this specific reason, she would not tell me her name.

“How is it that ‘they’ know that you know the future?” I asked her, humoring her slightly.

“They just do!” she replied. She then asked me, “Do you know anything about the truth behind 9-11 and the New World Order?”

“Uh… I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know a whole lot about it.” I replied cautiously and dumbfoundedly with the invisible letters WTF flashing above my head.

“Well, I’ll go ahead and tell you about it in a nutshell.” She replied.

Oh great! What a way to start out a fun filled evening of cabbying.

“Do you remember Hitler?” she asked me. I tried to contain my inner laughter because I immediately recognized that as a genuinely stupid question.

“No I don’t remember Hitler because I wasn’t alive back then, but I do know about him.” I replied.

“You should read more history then.” she told me, completely oblivious to the fact that I, very subtly, was jabbing at her ridiculous question by taking it literally – the same subtle jab that I am now making again with the letters LOL flashing invisibly above my head.

She then proceeded to inform me about the “New World Order” and what that entailed. I will do my best to summarize her summary of this massive conspiracy that is going to shake the world.

She started out by saying that very soon there is going to be only one country and one religion in the world that will govern all. She didn’t specify which country this would be, but did mention that before it happened, the US, Canada, and Mexico would all join together as one country. Apparently Condoleezza Rice had just gone up to Canada to meet and discuss this very topic. As proof, or to validate her argument, the lady claimed that she had footage of the meeting.

Then she started talking about Hitler and how George W. Bush’s grandfather or great grandfather had provided him with the funding for WWII. At this point, it was getting rather difficult to contain my mocking laughter. I still didn’t know what this had to do with the point that she was trying to make, but I decided I would just humor her and be entertained for a while.

She then talked about some massive highway that was being build leading from Mexico through the middle of the US and up to Canada. I think she missed a conjunction because she never mentioned how this was supposed to weaken the US and allow us to be taken over by invading Russian forces that would poison our water supply and use submarines to destroy our country. I think it had something to do with nukes as well, but I’m not certain. Oh yeah, she also insisted that 9-11 was a fabrication of the government, though she never said why they did it.

Then she made the biggest mistake of all – she tried to enter into the topic of economics and the market. She said that the major drop of the US market that occurred “4 weeks ago” (which I happen to know actually occurred 6 weeks ago on February 27^th, 2007) was because Russia, which held all of the US’s debt decided to sell them. Apparently this was an attempt to undermine the American economy. I asked her how that related to the Shanghai Composite dropping nearly 9% on that day, but she didn’t really have a good answer to that question. She just said that that was because of Russia as well.

Then she moved back to the whole “New World Order” idea that between the nukes, the poisoned water supply (I still have no idea how Russia could possibly poison all of the US’ water supply because, well, that’s a whole lot of streams and lakes and wells and treatment facilities to deal with), and the submarines, America would be destroyed. The only way to survive, she explained, was to accept Christianity.

At about this point, we arrived at Tailgate Tommy’s, where she paid for the fare with a credit card, thus completely disclosing her identity (though I’m sure she overlooked that). Before she got out, she decided to give me a DVD that I should watch that talked about all of this. I gladly accepted the DVD, with the letters LOL and CYA flashing invisibly above my head.

I still have this DVD and if anybody wants to watch it and join me in bringing up valid and irrefutable arguments that completely undermine every single point that is made, just let me know! I’m sure it would be much more fun to have someone to join me.

Confession 12 - Just Because

No description required.

Confession 11 - Crazy Little Thing Called "Life"

As the title denotes, life is not lacking a sense of humor. Just take my job for example. You’ve read the confessions. I see some really crazy stuff. Granted, it’s not nearly as crazy as the stuff New York cabbies probably see, but it is for FoCo.

I also seem to have a genuine knack for picking the cabs that have “issues”. I’ve gotten used to this, actually, so I try to have a sense of humor about it. I’m sure, however, that the office personnel just roll their eyes when I come in and tell them what’s wrong with my cab this time. That thought actually makes me laugh. I’m not trying to find reasons to not have to work; I just genuinely find problems with these cars.

Anyway, enough rambling there. It’s confession time!

Last night was looking like it would be a rather dismal night. The car I picked, which was incidentally one of the only two left, was having issues. Actually, this thing had been through quite a lot. It had over 580,000 miles for starters. When I got in, the meter wasn’t working, so I figured I would just have to calculate the fares with my calculator. When I put the car in drive, it took absolutely forever to even start to accelerate. When I would punch the gas pedal, the RPMs would rev up and then slowly come back down as the car ever…. so….. slowly….. began….. to….. consider….. the….. idea…. of….. accelerating………………. maybe. But it actually did run and I really didn’t feel like missing yet another night of work, so I decided to go with it. I would just have to be careful when pulling out into traffic.

Just to give a better illustration of how much “character” this car had, after driving about 3 miles, the meter actually popped off of the dashboard and rolled onto the floor beside me. The hood had some strange bumps and awkward angles in it – a good indication of the considerable repairs that it has gone through. If this car could tell stories, I’m quite sure its confessions would blow anything I could possibly write out of the water.

Oh yeah, the car also shook quite violently if I tried to accelerate after completing a turn. I laughed and told my customers that it was the “built in massage feature.” They usually laughed and thought nothing else of it.

Well, the night was going rather uneventfully. I talked with some cool people, but I also had the misfortune of meeting a jerk from the Hunt Club. I have actually noticed that, almost without exception, the people that I drive from the Hunt Club are the most unpleasant individuals I meet as a cabbie. And this is not just a casual observation after a couple of experiences. They genuinely are completely unpleasant people. I don’t know exactly why. Maybe it’s because I’m not a hot chick and so they hate me. Maybe it’s because they realized that they just wasted hundreds of dollars and have nothing to show for it. Or maybe they have come to the realization that the only way they can get remotely close to girls without receiving a restraining order is by going to a strip club. Whatever the case, I think it’s pathetic and a waste.

The only exception to this was one guy who was there just because his girlfriend works there. He seemed like an okay guy.

As for the jerk, Mark (There, I divulged his name! Vengance is mine! Mwahahahahaha), I was supposed to pick up at the Hunt Club last night, fortunately for me, he decided that he didn’t actually need a ride. That was a good thing because I’m pretty sure he would have thrown up in my back seat. That’s something I avoid at all costs.

I got a call about an hour later from someone who incidentally happened to be at the Hunt Club, and he asked me if I want to pick a guy named Mark and his friend. I laughed lightly and said, “No. I was supposed to drive that guy earlier tonight and he was not a very nice person. So no, I won’t drive him.” It felt so good to be able to say that!

About half an hour later, I was cruising around through old town looking for someone who needed a ride home. It was about 1:45am. (Side note: isn’t it odd that the vast majority of my confessions occur around 2:00am?) I saw a guy flagging me down and he seemed okay from a distance, so I pulled around.

Closer up, he was really grubby-looking and dirty, perhaps 40 years old. His skin was thick and prematurely worn and stressed from over exposure to bitter conditions. His clothes were very dirty and he carried a tightly packed backpack. A second guy was tall and very skinny. His clothing was in about the same condition. As they were approaching the cab, I wanted nothing more than to just drive away. I probably should have, if only for my own personal safety. These guys looked extremely dodgy. The second guy’s motor skills were terrible. He struggled just to climb into the back seat of the car. I would say it was comparable to seeing a giant graham cracker try to bend and fit in. Somehow he managed to get settled in. His hair was grey and wiry, though he couldn’t possibly have been as old as he appeared. I can usually smell it when people have been drinking a lot. But from this guy I caught no odors of alcohol. His brain must have been completely fried by drugs. It was a really sad sight.

When they both were settled in, trying to warm up from the cold outside, I asked them where they needed to go. They said they needed to go toward the Charcoal Broiler. This happens to be right next to what is probably the most ghetto and dodgy trailer park in the city.

I am generally not a very judgmental person, but I was started to be extremely cautious. Everything just seemed wrong. So I asked them plenty of questions, trying to figure out what they were up to that night, where they were from. Whenever possible I would dart a glance toward them and try to pick out some identifying features that I could easily remember.

Just as I was hoping that I wouldn’t get robbed by these two guys, something crazy happened. I actually wasn’t a bit surprised by this either. My transmission went out! I tried downshifting and hitting the gas pedal but all that would happen was the RPMs would rev up. I was heading East on Mulberry, a high traffic road, and was losing speed fast. I did what I had to do – I pulled over and explained to them what was happening. I ended up parked next to Carls Jr. where the cab finally came to a stop. I apologetically told them that I couldn’t go any further because the transmission went out and then called dispatch. After several minutes of talking on the phone, they found someone who could come get me and these two guys.

As we were waiting for the other cab to arrive, they whipped out some rolling papers and something to fill it. You’ll have to excuse my ignorance because I have no idea what pot is like, never having smoked it. I’m guessing that’s probably what these guys had, but maybe it was just tobacco. I don’t know. But I told them they’d have to get out of the cab if they wanted to smoke, so they did. The other cab finally arrived and I got my things and loaded them up, as did the other two guys. We took them to their extremely dodgy trailer. I was glad I didn’t have to go there on my own, especially after the other cabbie said, as we were driving away, that it was probably the biggest crack house in Fort Collins.

And after that, I got dropped off at base and went home. I didn’t make much of any money, so in that sense it was pretty much a waste of a night. But I am glad that things worked out the way that they did. I didn’t get robbed, I officially concluded that the Hunt Club sucks, and I managed to kill a cab without being at fault. I’m pretty sure that you would probably agree that life truly is not without a sense of humor.

Confession 10 - The Night Off

Today's confession picks up where we last left off. As you may or may not recall, I had just decided that it was a bad night for cars and I really am death averse. So, that being the case, I decided to opt out of working for the night.

Upon my arrival home, I began pondering what I should do. After all, it's not every night that you actually get out of work and can actually do something fun. On a purely sporadic and whimsical... umm.... whim... I decided to take a previously humourous activity to the next level.

The concept was simple, and originated with my good friend Regina. We had previously taken paper bags, drawn on faces, and used them as masks for taking rather hilarious and random pictures. For an example, the following picture was probably the best scenario we have come up with so far:



As I was saying before, on a rather spontaneous basis, I decided to take the mask fun to a higher level: a music video! Apparently I have a reputation as being a dancer. I cannot attest to this because I haven't actually really seen myself dance. But apparently I was at least entertaining enough to win $100 doing it several years back in a talent show.

So with that, I give you the very short "Masked Dancer" music video.

But before watching, please remember that upon clicking "play", you hereby waive any use of this video for the purposes of blackmail.

And with no further ado, here it is!

Confession i - A Mid Winter Night's Foreshadow

Yes you read that right. It’s not a typo. This is confession i – as in the imaginary number; the square root of negative one. Given the strange nature of this particular confession, I figured that such a numeration was only appropriate.

I’ve never really been one to believe in luck, fate, astrology, curses, or even manbearpig. Life is what you make of it. I stand by that. But at the same time, I’m also not stupid. I do recognize that sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes there are indicators or warnings, sometimes there aren’t. I’m sure we all can think of times where we should have done or not done something, and we ended up regretting it bitterly. Last night, I am convinced, could easily have been such a night.

When I arrived at work, I was ecstatic that there was actually a nice selection of cabs that I could drive. Usually there are only a couple of vehicles left by the time I check in, and I end up driving the big beastly Ford Aerostar that gets approximately 2 gallons per mile. You read that right. Gallons per mile. Don’t you just love American cars?

I picked one of our Honda minivans because they carry more people and are pretty comfortable. When I was checking the vehicle out, I noticed one of the headlights was out. I honestly don’t have much trouble driving with one headlight; I’ve done it before. In fact, I had been doing it Wednesday night, completely unaware of course, when a kind police officer pulled me over and burst my blissful bubble of ignorance. So, knowing that the Fort Collins police exercise no reserve in pulling over someone with only one headlight, I decided to pass on that cab.

Next, I opted for a Camry. We have a bunch of those cars and I like how they drive as well, particularly since they are virtually identical to my Corolla. So, as I was checking out this vehicle, I opened up the hood and immediately noticed a sweet smelling steam rising steadily from the radiator.

“No way. No way am I driving this one.” I thought to myself. I also had learned just one week ago the travails of driving a car that leaks engine coolant. That particular reality check hit me down in Denver in Cherry Hills. An overheated cab in Fort Collins on a Friday night, probably at 2:00am just like the rest of my confessions, is not my idea of a good time. So, I passed on this car.

I tried a third car. It started up fine and everything checked out alright. Well, all but the horn. Technically we aren’t supposed to drive without a working horn. But I figured I would just conveniently forget that little detail. I checked out and hit the roads of FoCo.

I got about 3 miles up the road when I started to notice that the car just happened to be teetering on the edge of losing control. Whenever I would get above 30 mph, the car would start to swerve back and forth, rhythmically. It wasn’t just a casual swaying. This was the kind where your hands leave imprints in the steering wheel because it’s impossible to maintain control. I have never experienced anything like it. All the traffic was flying past me at normal speed and I couldn’t even keep the vehicle going straight at 30. I was lucky there were no cops around because they probably would have pulled me over thinking I was drunk.

So, I called dispatch and explained my predicament. They said I could bring the car back and get another one. Whoever said “third time’s a charm” must have only tried twice. There’s another thing I don’t believe in: stupid cliché expressions like that one. So, I carefully drove back to the base. They gave me yet another car. I was sincerely apologetic. I didn’t want to be a pain, and I’m really not that picky. Apparently it just wasn’t my night for cars. Actually, I was surprised the each vehicle kept getting worse and worse. Finally, I was walking out to the fourth cab of the night, when I noticed it was totally covered in snow. Apparently it hadn’t been driven in a while.

“That’s odd.” I thought to myself. As I started wiping it off, I noticed that the driver side of the vehicle was dented. Okay, it was actually totally bashed in. In fact, neither of the two doors were able to open.

“Yeah, that one had a slight fender bender, but it should still be drivable.” they told me.

Okay, go ahead and put yourself in my shoes at this point. The first cab I picked had a burned out headlight. I probably would have gotten pulled over. The second vehicle had a leak in the radiator, so it probably would have overheated and left me stranded. The third vehicle couldn’t even drive straight when it got about 30 mph (I’m still puzzled about that one), and I would have almost been guaranteed to get in a wreck if I drove it. The fourth vehicle had actually been in a wreck and only the two passenger side doors could be opened.

As I said, I don’t really believe in luck, fate, or anything like that. But I do have common sense. And common sense was telling me that it was not going to be a good night. I would be lucky to get out of it without getting killed.

So I did what any person with common sense would do. I went home. I would rather have a lack of a confession than see how things could have gotten worse. And thus explains why this is confession i. It’s the confession that doesn’t exist, because hopefully I managed to avoid something I would have bitterly regretted.

Confession 9 - The Cling On

We all know one. Or have known one. Or, as much as we may not want to admit, have actually been one. I am referring, of course, to the infamous cling on – and no, not the Star Trek variety. Well, perhaps the cling on may have been a die hard trekky, which may have contributed somewhat to a limited development of social skills. Or maybe the person is as unobservant as I am. Either way, the cling ons are out there, enjoying the bliss of ignorance because they probably don’t recognize that they actually are cling ons.

You may be wondering why I am going on about cling ons. Well, I happened to have a run-in with one while doing some cabbage a few weeks back. But before I go into the actual story, I must at least try to pre-“save face” by saying that I really do think that I am a nice person. I try to be respectful of people and, for the most part, treat them as I would want to be treated. With that being said, and with no further ado, confession time!

It was an unusually warm night for mid December. The bars had just closed and it was a bit past 2:00am. I found myself up in old town looking to pick some people up near Old Town Square. I pulled up to the corner, in my giant, boxy, ghettolicious Ford Windstar cab/van that I was cursed… I mean “blessed” to be able to drive for the evening. The group I was picking up came to the van and piled in the middle seat. A fourth guy, in his late 20s and fairly chubby (okay, I admit, he was fat) climbed in the front seat. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plain blue jeans that were anything but flattering. Sorry ladies, if you are swooning for him already, I can’t help you out. I don’t have his name or number.

Before I even had the chance to pull out, this guy next to me in a drunken haze exclaimed, “You should drive this thing like it’s stolen!”

“Ooooookay… you’re weird/annoying. I will just politely chuckle and pretend you are a fungus so I don’t have to say anything back” I thought to myself. And that’s what I did. Well, minus the whole “pretending he’s a fungus part”. Well, who knows? He may have had some fungus growing on him somewhere, but I’d rather not know. So, I asked the group how their night was going.

“Good” was the overall reply. And of course, the guy next to me again said, “You should drive this thing like it’s stolen!”

We made it no further than 2 blocks before a girl sitting in the middle of the middle seat behind me leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Could you pull over so we can let this guy out?”

Usually I would say “what?” just to make sure I understood her correctly, but there was communication taking place that didn’t need words. This guy must have been driving them crazy and I could tell. So, I immediately whispered back “Where?”

She sat back and then said out loud, in a not-very-convincing-unless-you-are-so-drunk-that-you-can’t-tell-the-difference-between-cornstarch-and-a-car kind of way, “You can just drop us off at the light up there. That’s our stop.” The guy, who was quite drunk (in case you haven’t figured out yet) said “But that’s not Shields [street]…”

“Oh, you’re right. It’s the next light.” she said in reply. I confirmed that and before we even got to the next stop light the guy said in a rather anxious tone of voice, “Hey man, can you pull over?” He was making sounds that I dreaded more than any: those of one about to vomit.

Everything happened so fast, and with such acute coordination that you would have thought I had been preparing for this moment for hours. I brought the van to a near immediate stop (barely having time to pull it over to the side of the road. In about 3 seconds I had put the van in park, undone my seat belt, undone his, and even leaned across him and opened the door to help him get out. The last thing I wanted was for a guy of this volume to let loose of all he had drunk that night in my front seat. Oddly enough, he was actually saying “thank you, thank you” as I my arms were flying every which way but with precision. Apparently he thought I was being polite and helping him. I suppose I was, but my motives were not quite as good-natured as he thought. I still laugh at that thought.

He stepped out of the van, which rides about as high as any big SUV. Because the edge of the road sloped down toward the curve, and more so because he was absolutely wasted, when he stepped onto the pavement, he lost his balance, tripped on the curve, and came tumbling down. It almost seemed to happen in slow motion, like it would in a movie or instant replay. He crashed down on his side and began to roll. He ended up lying flat on his back, arms and legs completely sprawled, looking straight up at the night sky, eyes and mouth wide open, about 10 feet away from the van in the middle of a parking lot. All of us in the car, of course, were staring at him in complete silence and utter shock (well, slight shock at least. In hindsight, such an outcome would be anything but surprising). After a couple of seconds of us just staring at him, in his wrecked and fallen state, the van door hanging open, I again leaned over and pulled the door shut.

And then we drove away. It took about 3 more seconds before everyone busted out in laughter. The three seated behind me explained that they didn’t even know who the guy was. He had just been following them around all night in Old Town and they had been trying time and time again to ditch him. And when the cab came, he just jumped in with them. They thanked me profusely for helping them finally get rid of him and even tipped me well!

And thus is the story of the cling on. It’s a tragic tale, but one that has nevertheless probably made you laugh, even if just a little.

Confession 8 - Static Drama

A very wise man, for whom I hold a great amount of respect, once told me, “only nice people go to heaven”. And at the time, I agreed with him entirely. And for the most part I still do, but I am starting to wonder if such is truly the case. Why? Because sometimes “nice” people can be “too nice” and let other people really annoy them, to the point where they consider doing not so “nice” things. I suppose it would be best to illustrate my point with a nice little story.

While engaged in my normal weekend cabbage, I got a call to go pick up a girl at Club Static. If none of you have ever been there, I understand completely. I haven’t either. Well, I did deliver pizza there several times and have picked up/dropped people off there, but that’s about the extent of it. But the people generally seem to be pretty nice, plus they tip okay, so I was glad to go.

When I got there, a girl jumped in the cab. Apparently she had been kicked out of the club because she was drunk but was only 19 years old. This, of course, was what she was recounting to me as we were backing out of the parking lot.

“I can’t believe they would just kick me out! I don’t look drunk to you, do I?” she asked. As I have stated before, I am painfully non-observant, but even I could tell she was a bit past “tipsy”.

“Well, I can tell that you have been drinking, (which was the truth) but I have met a lot of people a lot drunker than you. (which was also the truth)” I replied. Playing the diplomat is usually the best choice. But come on – I’m a cab driver! I deal with drunk people all the time! She seemed relatively appeased, thinking that I was on her side in the whole ordeal.

Now I will be completely honest. I didn’t like this girl very much. Actually, that’s kind of an understatement. For whatever reason, this girl was actually more annoying than anything. Perhaps it was because she asked my name 5 times in one mile and still couldn’t remember it. Or perhaps it was because during that same mile she kept going through the same story “I can’t believe they kicked me out! I don’t look drunk to you, do I? Why would they kick me out! I just can’t believe it!”

“Yes yes, you got kicked out of a club for being drunk. Cry me a river.” I kept thinking to myself. It’s one thing to complain about it once and then ponder it, but it’s quite another to literally keep repeating the same questions over and over and over and keep forgetting that you’ve already asked me. You want my opinion? I think they just kicked her out because she was so annoying.

Anyway, so the story continues. After that first mile, I offered to turn on the radio (mostly to just get her to forget about it and think about something else). That seemed to work, at least for the next mile, but then we had to start changing radio stations and that was equally annoying. So, I finally just turned it off.

“I mean, like, I can’t believe they just kicked me out of the club! Why would they do that! I’m like, barely drunk. I could drive right now! Why would they kick me out!”

It was not even physically possible for me to get this girl home soon enough. I’m usually a nice person, and I kept up that face, but this girl was driving me crazy. Finally we got her home. She paid for her cab and went up to her apartment door. I should have pulled out and left, but for whatever reason I didn’t. I was writing down my numbers for this particular trip. Before I got to pull out, she came running back down and jumped in the cab.

“I can’t believe it. I forgot my purse at my friend’s house and it has my keys in it and my roommate is not home. Uhh… can I just ride along with you for a while? ”

Oh no. No way girlfriend. You are not staying in this cab if I can help it. “Would you like to try calling your roommate with my cell phone? Maybe she can help you out.” I asked, trying everything possible to get rid of her.

“Yeah, maybe that will work.” she replied. So, I asked her what her roommate’s number was, and she said she wasn’t sure, but she ratted off a number, so I dialed it and handed her the phone. It didn’t work. We tried another. It still didn’t work.

As much as I wanted to ditch this girl, I knew that I couldn’t live with myself if she froze to death out there. I hate being a nice person sometimes. She had a skirt and a sleeveless shirt on. She wouldn’t make it past an hour. So, reluctantly, I offered to let her ride along with me.

“Thank you! I promise this won’t take long… Hey, now we can have fun together!” she exclaimed. I think I may have rolled my eyes a few times, but I doubt she noticed. And with that, we went on to go pick up another fare.

We arrived at Match Ups, a relatively non-eventful bar where people generally play cards and shoot pool. When we got there, I decided to go in and find the person I was supposed to pick up, and she went in to use the restroom. While she was doing that, I found my fare and we went out to the car.

It took every ounce of moral strength I had to not just ditch this girl and leave her there. That “nice” part of me was quickly being drowned out by my desire to just get her out of my hair. She still hadn’t stopped complaining about getting kicked out of the bar, nor did she have any clue as to why that happened.

I explained to the man I was taking home that this girl was going to be riding along with me because she was locked out of her apartment and I didn’t want her to freeze to death. He was fine with it and didn’t seem to be very annoyed by her when she came back out.

As we were pulling out, she proceeded to recount to him her story of being kicked out of the club. I know she said “Club Static” but for some reason the man thought she had said “The Hunt Club”. Maybe he was looking at some part of her physique at the time, or maybe he just genuinely misinterpreted her. For those of you who may not know, The Hunt Club is Fort Collins’ premiere “Gentleman’s Club”, a strange way of saying that it’s a strip club. Yes, that was the same place where I spent an hour in my cab studying Chinese with the meter running while two middle aged gentleman did who knows what inside.

“Don’t you have to be 21 to get into that place?” the man asked. She didn’t really listen to him but instead kept on complaining about getting kicked out. I knew this must have been one jumbled miscommunication. I can only imagine what the guy was thinking: here’s this cab driver with a 19 year old girl wearing practically nothing on a freezing night that he picked up at a strip club. I’ll let you draw the conclusions.

Rather than try to sort the entire situation out, I decided to just laugh at the irony of it all and get the guy home as quickly as possible. After we finally dropped him off and he smiled brightly at the girl and wished her a good night, we left and she said I could drop her off at her house.

“My roommate should be home soon.” She said. So, with that, I decided enough time had transpired and it should be okay. So I took her home. When we got there, she jumped out and I drove off immediately and didn’t dare look back.

And this, my friends, is the story that brings into question whether nice people really go to heaven. Theoretically I would think that they do, but then again “nice” people put up with a lot of annoying people. Who knows? Maybe one day that nice person will snap and do something irrational, like post a truthful blog about the annoying people they deal with.