Chapter 20

This morning I listed to an episode of the Boyscast, and Ryan Long talked about “microaggressions”, some Asian girl he knows in New York got mad when an Uber driver asked her where she’s from. He said she probably wouldn’t have been offended if she didn’t get repeatedly told to be, and that’s the world we live in now. Here’s my take on this: as much as I agree that this shit is trivial and that intent should be considered, microaggressions do pile up and become very annoying. And I can say that from first-hand experience, as I get microaggressed on a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to pose as a victim here, life is pretty good and Chinese people are nice and friendly, but getting asked a barrage of inane questions, having people point at me for being different and assuming I’m a bumbling idiot who can’t learn their language or even eat with chopsticks feels heavy at times, with the accumulation.

I got to work and plopped in front of the computer, a bit groggy. I’ve been staying up past my bedtime recently, as I feel already on semi-vacation mode. I put on some music, staying in the punk rock lane I’ve been in since yesterday, first with The Vandals and then No Use For A Name. After that I felt like listening to something a tad faster and more frenetic, and Spazz fit the bill. They play a stripped down, ultra fast version of punk called powerviolence, with short blasting tracks filled with dark humor. The world would be a better place if everyone listened to Spazz.

At times, the irony of having a day job where I tuck in a button-down shirt in my pants, sit in a cubicle and have to be cordial with people I would never interact willingly with in real life, yet I’m listening to extremely esoteric, violent, anti-social music in my headphones isn’t lost on me. I then put on something even more deviant, a Czech band called Eardelete. The Czech Republic produces a lot of grindcore with a very recognizable sound, with a bass-heavy slowed down beat, gargling vocals, infectious groove, techno or synthwave (before it was called synthwave) samples, and themes that move away from the template of goregrind and pornogrind. For instance, most of Eardelete’s previous albums (under the name Negligent Collateral Collapse) were talking about physics, and this one is about Satan.

Earlier in the morning I got a message from a South African friend, she is organizing a dinner party on Friday and is inviting us. I ran the idea to the girlfriend, she agreed, so I accepted the invitation. Then I got a message from the principal, saying that there’s a school dinner... on Friday. I told her I can’t go, as I already made plans, and I suggested that if they made it a lunch instead (with, possibly, y’know, an early start to the weekend afterwards), everyone would attend. Those cringeworthy dinners feel like work anyway most of the time, so why not doing it on the clock?

My American coworker agreed with the sentiment, and added “Plus, Friday is the day after tomorrow. If they told us ahead, we wouldn’t make plans. That’s called professional courtesy.”

“Why have professional courtesy when you can have passive-aggressive coercion?”

I listened to some political analysis talking about Kamala Harris’s many shortcomings and instances of shocking hypocrisy, the video was from 2019 and the guy was rejoicing in the fact that she was now out of the race for the DNC candidacy. The biggest irony: the video was titled “That didn’t age well”, boy oh boy! He used the words “mass hysteria”, in the context of all those people who thought they would literally die under a Trump presidency because... hmmm... because what? Anyway it triggered something in my brain and made me want to listen to the French metal band with that name. On YouTube there was a 50-minute video of a live set at the Hellfest, perfect coincidence, because 50 minutes is what I have left before temporary freedom from my salaried servitude. Mass Hysteria’s got a pretty interesting signature sound, with lots of groove, a hardcore aesthetic, and very danceable parts that feel like rave music but with guitars. They feel both headbangingly awesome and corny, not because they sing exlusively in French, but due to the constant over-the-top positivity in their lyrics that reminds me of Mormon missionaries.

When I got home, I saw that the dog had chewed up the box in which our handheld thermometer came. He was quickly put in jail. I made some cheesy beef burritos, that I ate while watching MMA analysis videos and drinking a wheat beer from a Chinese microbrewery.

I had an admin leave to go to the bank and transfer money, which required me to go to the taxation bureau first to get some documentation of proof of payment of taxes. Those used to be delivered straight to the office every two months, but they stopped doing that. Why? Fuck if I know. Probably some guy got promoted to the position of Joyless Bureaucrat In Charge and justified his position by adding a bunch of red tape everywhere. I filled out a form requesting a form, sat around for ages, watching the numbers being called and inching slowly towards mine.

A display on a table in the middle of the waiting room attracted my attention, the winners of a drawing contest open to the second-graders in the city. The artwork was seriously pretty good, my favorite was two hands holding a planet Earth with the character 税 (tax) on it, flanked by a guy in prison labeled in Chinese as “tax frauder” and a policeman and a young boy on the other side, standing proudly and saluting. Another one had a big pipeline with the word TAX on it, in English, with a modern bullet train coming out of it and a utopian city being built behind, with a multiethnic group dancing in the forefront, all smiles (well, multiethnic as in minority groups of China with their folkloric clothes, no Caucasians or Africans there although that would have been way cooler).

My number was called, and the lady quickly printed my document. I asked her how to use the newly developed phone app, she patiently told me and even wrote a short list of instructions, that she printed and handed me out. Then I rode to the bank, and did my thing. In the past, transfering money out of China was the absolute bane of my wretched existence, I’d tell some stories about the crass incompetence and unbelievable kafkaesque obstacles set in front of my path, but I’m afraid I’ll get a PTSD attack. But thank God, Mao and Buddha, at the branch of Bank of Communications where my paycheck is deposited, they have staff who got their shit together and the process, while comprised of many steps and a bunch of paperwork (and I would in fact be worried if it was too simple, after all we’re talking about wiring tens of thousands of dollars across international borders) is a breeze, especially compared to the 12 Labours of Hercules that I had to put myself through when I lived in more third-worldy parts of China.

That ate my whole afternoon, then I got home, relaxed a bit, and played some GTA V while sipping red wine. Ramming pedestrians with my sports car, blowing up rows of parked cars with a grenade launcher and getting into firefights with the NPC cops was a good way to vent my frustrations of dealing with that bureaucratic shit today. I fell asleep, and got up a bit before 8 to go play soccer. We played 7 on 7 and the games were great, with a final score of 13-12 after two hours. Then I rode back home on deserted roads, and saw that the duck stand was still open but just about to close, the man was removing the meat from its various trays and putting it in plastic bags. I bought two spicy duck heads. When I got home, I was surprised that the girlfriend was still up, engrossed in the puzzle she just bought. I took a quick shower, then ate the duck heads and crackers with cream cheese while drinking a cold Weihenstephaner hefeweissen.