and you thought college food sucked...

The last couple of days have been entertaining at some points, boring as hell at other points.
Yesterday in particular was an interesting day. I decided to call my neighbor and see if he was interested in going into town to get some things taken care of.
The most important item on the agenda was trying to get this sim card issue resolved with t-mobile, my cell carrier in the United States. Before I left for China, I made sure to have a nice conversation with t-mobile to see what I needed to do to make sure that my phone worked in China. I gave them two scenarios- A) That I would like to recieve calls on my mobile phone from the US. No problem there--my phone works perfectly. If you call my old phone from the United States, it connects if I have that sim card inserted into the phone. B) I was going to purchase another sim card here in China to use for business, when I am lost, etc. Everyone has a cell here and it is cheap to run one in the country--most calls costing 1/8 of a penny. No voicemail.
We began the journey by stopping for lunch in the city--I suggested KFC because at that particular moment for no particular reason, I was tired of the Chinese food and wanted to see if the Colonial made his magic grease and sodium concoction in the same regard in Asia as it is in the U.S. I am happy to report that in fact it only bears a slight resemblance to what we know--if the 11 herbs and spices are there, the Chinese palette has added a few others to give it a more authentic Asian junk food flavor. The worst offender was the cheaper chicken sandwich, which, for the record, contained what appeared to be shredded carrots and peas--in the meat patty. Lovely. The original chicken sandwich looked much better except for the mayo, which was spread on like drywall. Big globs of mayo oozed out of the back of the bun as my friends lips were squirted with the paste. Mmm, scrumptious. The mashed potatoes and gravy were about the same, but the meat gravy was runny and made the potato turn into a dark soup upon mixing. By far the biggest disappointment was the realization that the key menu item of KFC, the cole slaw was not even on the menu. Tragic.
We finished rather quickly--our disappointment led to a hasty retreat.
As we departed, it was time to find out how to resolve the issue I was indeed having with the cell phone. The problem is that Tmobile and the other American carriers like to lock your phone so that only one sim works in that phone at any given time. As previously noted, I asked them about this and got the good ole--No problem, Mr. Hogg, your phone will be ready to work without any problems! I get here to China and what happens?
When in doubt, find a Chinese chop shop to take care of it. For 60rmb or about 8 bucks, they would hook it up to a machine and break the coding on the device to make the phone work again. To make this already long story short, we searched and searched for someone that would be able to make it happen, but no one knew what it was that we were trying to do. We went from shady shop to shady shop--the cell phone graveyards and junkyards of the orient, in search of someone who knew who to jump the phone to break the unlocking mystery of the TMOBILE.
We literally spent hours looking for the right people until finally the sun was setting and we decided to call it a day and catch the #22 bus back to the University, admitting defeat for all to witness. I decided to give it one more shot as we were waiting for the bus and went into another shop. We were met by a guy that spoke some English and he knew what we were attempting to do, but he couldn't make it happen-he directed us to another shop and told us he would take us there. We followed this kid through a mirage of shops, going upstairs and then back down, all looking for what would later come to be the "guy". We finally found him--a kid of no more than 17, cross eyed in American polo shirt. He looked at me and smiled and said the Chinese word for American. I nodded and he smiled and immediately took us into the back where a team of young kids were all working on cell phones--they were appretinces. We found the Trump of the organization--a small Asian man with a boyish like face who looked to be in his late 30's. The dialogue began to go back and forth in the loud tone that the Chinese use when conducting business. Nodding and stomping surrounds us--the technician manages a smile toward me and takes the phone ands says in a polite tone, 60.
I nod, but not like a tourist--its cheap, but there is no need to let him know this.
The waiting begins.
He works like a surgeon preped for surgery, sans cigarette hanging from his mouth as he opens up his next patient. Moments later the phone is apart-a collage of various parts strewn across the table--he is on his third cigarette as he begins what will be a regular occurrence for the next hour--he shakes his head as he looks at the board, like it was not even created on this planet.
In end, one and a half hours later, he finally gives up and hands me back my 6rmb and shakes his hands much like an orangutan once did at the Buffalo Zoo when I was a child.
We leave, our heads hung in shame. We had such hope in this man, but it was all for none.
Upon arrival back at the flat, I discover that my flat has also flooded--in the bedroom a bit and tidewater in the bathroom. As we were walking up the stairs to the flat, one of my new students comes running out of the affairs office, asks me to sit down. Immediately I know that something is amiss. Although the Chinese are strong believers in rest, this was taking it too far to be a cordial thing.
"What is the problem?"
"What is the--problem?" she asks me right back again.
"The problem--what is wrong?"
"What is--Oh! What is wrong! Your flat Mr. Tim, your flat is flooded! Look!"
She takes me into the backroom, into the spot where their bathroom is and shows me an almost constant leaking coming from their ceiling. I gasp. Thoughts of the revenge of Katrina surf through my mind. My own little tsumani might be upstairs. I start thinking about what I have left on the floor. My feet begin traveling faster than my head-- I sprint up the stairs, unlock the door, waiting for the rush of water to engulf us.
It doesn't.
There is, however, the sound of running water somewhere in the flat and it is rushing briskly. The little Chinese girl, very cute, begins to freak out at the sound.
"Mr. Tim, that is the running water. Where is it?"
Suddenly, I feel like Indiana Jones on a quest. We tiptoe in order to not disturb the leaky pipe. The levee seems to have held as we arrive at the bathroom and discover an inch of water, about ready to leak all over the carpet. Had we stopped for dinner, my things would have been lost (or washed).
When we discover the accident, my friend shrieks at the water level and jumps into the water to try to shut if off. She looks back at me when she realizes that the leak is there, but the source is somewhere else.
"Mr. Tim, look in your western style bathroom! There is a --how do you say? knob in there!"
I am stuck on the knob comment. What kind of knob? She sees my philosophical look at runs into the bathroom and turns the VALVE (or knob) off and lets out a little sigh.
We call my employer, Mr. Bob, who comes right over and has the same reaction that the girl did--like they are amazed that something like this could have happened. I nod and smile. Sometimes people seem to forget-- "This is China."