I went to China for a bottle of powdered pangolin horn, because I had been feeling lopsided of late and it was affecting my business. I refurbish fountain pens.
So I landed in Shanghai and took a green bus way out into the country, per directions, and found an old man in a hovel surrounded by a pig sty. He was grinding away with a mortar and pestle, and whatever he was smooshing up did not have a reassuring aroma; it reeked of nettles fried in rancid tallow. I gave him the slip of paper with Chinese characters on it that my contact in Shanghai had given me, and five thousand American dollars. He smiled and bowed, then went into the back of his hovel and returned with a small blue bottle. He indicated, using pantomime, that I should mix a spoonful of the powder in a glass of water each day and drink it down in one gulp. Then he bowed again and ushered me out past the rooting pigs to the road, where I only had to wait ten minutes for a bus to pick me up and take me back into Shanghai, right to the door of my hotel. It was very convenient. I took a dose of the powder and went to bed, feeling more level already.
The next morning I went down to the business office they have reserved for tourists and went online. Out of some perverse curiosity I looked up pangolins and discovered they do not have horns -- only scales. I was livid at such deceit practiced on me, and at the loss of five thousand yankee dollars, too! I went to the hotel manager to ask where to go to complain about this scam.
He seemed genuinely concerned about my predicament and directed me to go across the street to a building that had some English on it reading Ministry of Conflict Resolution.
I didn't have to cool my heels at all -- the minute I walked into the place a polite young woman led me into a nicely furnished office where a distinguished gentleman behind a mahogany desk arose at my entrance, came around the desk to shake my hand enthusiastically, and invited me to sit in a red leather chair that somehow fit the contours of my back perfectly. He offered me a Tic Tac wrapped in gold leaf, which I politely declined, and then told him my story.
He became very indignant as I talked, and by the end of my tale he was weeping with rage and embarrassment.
"To think that such an outrage should be committed upon one of our dear comrades from the United States!" he wailed, pulling out thatches of his thick black hair. "I will have it attended to at once!"
Saying which, he catapulted out of the room and was back in a minute with a bundle of American greenbacks.
"Please accept this small token of our sincere regret at your tragedy" he said, handing me the money. It was over ten thousand dollars, but when I protested that it was way too much he held up his hand to silence me and said I must take it to redeem the honor of the People's Republic of China. I wasn't going to argue with ten thousand dollars, so I pocketed it, shook his hand with enthusiasm, and went back to my hotel. I ordered two dozen different kinds of dumplings from room service and made a pig of myself.
The next day I went down to the hotel gift shop to find something for my receptionist back at the fountain pen refurbishing shop. I was feeling much better, walking as straight as a razor. I looked at jade-ribbed fans, a box of chocolate-covered locusts, and a mechanical box with a key in it -- when you wound up the key and set the box down it did absolutely nothing. I thought that was pretty funny, so I bought it for Margie back home. She'd get a kick out of it.
I decided to have a broiled steak wrapped in tea leaves for lunch, but before I could order the man from the Conflict Resolution Ministry shimmered up to my table, gave a deep bow, and asked if I would like to meet Xi Jinping, who was landing by helicopter on top of the hotel right then and there. I said sure, so we took the elevator up to the roof just in time to watch the copter set down. Mr. Jinping bounced out of it, jabbered with my Ministry friend in Chinese for a moment, and then enthusiastically shook my hand.
"Please tell the American people, when you get home, that we think very highly of their Bingo religion and Ms. Betty Crocker" he said with a big smile. I thanked him for his kind sentiments and said that the American people would like to see China take glorious flight like a big red dragon. Hey, what was I supposed to say? I'm no diplomat.
He bowed low to me, so I bowed low to him. He got back in the copter and took off.
"Where's he going now?" I asked my Ministry friend.
"Oh, he just flies all over the country like that all the time, just to shake hands and say good things to good people" he replied. Then he bowed low to me, so I bowed low to him, and he escorted me back to my room. I was now too excited to eat a broiled steak wrapped in tea leaves. So I ordered dumplings again from room service.
The next day I boarded my flight back home without incident, but when I got to the shop I was in for a terrific shock. Margie had quit in my absence and gone to work as a Bic ball point pen distributor.
I just couldn't understand her treachery. It made me wish I could go back to live in China, where everybody is so nice and kind.
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