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Total entries in this category: 24
Published On: Mar 07, 2006 03:02 PM
Total entries in this category: 24
Published On: Mar 07, 2006 03:02 PM
Being Chinese Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry
The standard Chinese apology is "dui bu qi," which
literally means "I cannot rise in your presence."
I have to admit that this statement packs a
stronger punch than "I'm sorry," and consequently people rarely use it for
occasions milder than adultery and grand felonies. What people say when they
arrive late, fail to honor promises, or knock something off the store shelves is
"Bu hao yisi," meaning "I'm so embarrassed." And what do they say when they bump
into you, no matter how hard?
Nothing. Not one word.
Witness: in a crowded market where no sensible person would even try pedaling a bicycle, a man rode right over my foot. I can tell you that riding over a foot is something the bike rider can definitely feel, and in that market, it would have been logical to assume that the obstacle was a foot. To clear any doubts he may have had, I yelped loudly in no particular language. He ignored me and kept right on riding.
Another time, I saw a young woman biking at an unusually reckless speed on the main road leading downtown. She wove in and out, dodging other cyclists and pedestrians, but when she cut one swerve too sharply, she locked her pedal with that of a young man's. For a second or two, the bikes were snared together, wobbling precariously. Then the woman pulled back her leg and gave the man's bike a ferocious kick, freeing her bike, but knocking him over. It was a spectacular fall backwards: his arms spread like useless wings before his back and head crashed onto his fallen bike. The woman must have seen the beginning of his fall, but continued going so fast that she never saw--never mind apologized for--the result of her kick.
I wish I could say that these were rare incidents, but they're not, and it's hard to repeatedly tell yourself that no, the Chinese are not really rude, it's just a cultural difference. Sometimes you just lose it, which brings us to Act III.
Our American friends, Nancy and Barry, were having noodle soup at their usual lunch place, a half-indoor, half-outdoor family-run hole in the wall that's jammed with small tables. For no apparent reason, and certainly not an emergency chase, a policeman on motorcycle rode through the absurdly narrow space between their table and a freezer case. No surprise, he bumped their table, hard enough to knock Nancy's bowl of hot soup all over her. He did not apologize and continued right on...
Until Barry stood up and grabbed his shoulder. Barry is a big guy-- the Chinese always exclaim that he is as tall as Mao--and when he grabs your shoulder, you stop. Barry shouted the Chinese equivalent of "You don't say you're sorry?" then picked up his own bowl of soup and flung it on the cop.
The family who run the restaurant burst into spontaneous applause. The elderly grandmother broke into a toothless grin. The cop finally did say "Du bu qi" three times, rather than "You're under arrest." We like to think he learned a lesson. Too bad it took a bowl of noodles dripping down his shirt to teach what I would consider common courtesy.
Nothing. Not one word.
Witness: in a crowded market where no sensible person would even try pedaling a bicycle, a man rode right over my foot. I can tell you that riding over a foot is something the bike rider can definitely feel, and in that market, it would have been logical to assume that the obstacle was a foot. To clear any doubts he may have had, I yelped loudly in no particular language. He ignored me and kept right on riding.
Another time, I saw a young woman biking at an unusually reckless speed on the main road leading downtown. She wove in and out, dodging other cyclists and pedestrians, but when she cut one swerve too sharply, she locked her pedal with that of a young man's. For a second or two, the bikes were snared together, wobbling precariously. Then the woman pulled back her leg and gave the man's bike a ferocious kick, freeing her bike, but knocking him over. It was a spectacular fall backwards: his arms spread like useless wings before his back and head crashed onto his fallen bike. The woman must have seen the beginning of his fall, but continued going so fast that she never saw--never mind apologized for--the result of her kick.
I wish I could say that these were rare incidents, but they're not, and it's hard to repeatedly tell yourself that no, the Chinese are not really rude, it's just a cultural difference. Sometimes you just lose it, which brings us to Act III.
Our American friends, Nancy and Barry, were having noodle soup at their usual lunch place, a half-indoor, half-outdoor family-run hole in the wall that's jammed with small tables. For no apparent reason, and certainly not an emergency chase, a policeman on motorcycle rode through the absurdly narrow space between their table and a freezer case. No surprise, he bumped their table, hard enough to knock Nancy's bowl of hot soup all over her. He did not apologize and continued right on...
Until Barry stood up and grabbed his shoulder. Barry is a big guy-- the Chinese always exclaim that he is as tall as Mao--and when he grabs your shoulder, you stop. Barry shouted the Chinese equivalent of "You don't say you're sorry?" then picked up his own bowl of soup and flung it on the cop.
The family who run the restaurant burst into spontaneous applause. The elderly grandmother broke into a toothless grin. The cop finally did say "Du bu qi" three times, rather than "You're under arrest." We like to think he learned a lesson. Too bad it took a bowl of noodles dripping down his shirt to teach what I would consider common courtesy.
Posted: Fri - March 12, 2004 at 11:48 PM