GREG WENZEL, Photography major, writes: Liz Foley and I had a weird and morbid fascination to see how the Chinese do Wal-Mart. So Saturday, after our overly decadent lunch at the second-floor caf� in the Shangri-La, we eventually worked our way via cab to the Wal-Mart of Shanghai (a.k.a. the United States Embassy). (The caf� in the Shangri-La, by the way, consisted of chocolate and vanilla syrup fountains, gourmet meats of all kinds, and a small army of gourmet chefs manning each of the seven or so buffet tables of food from all across the world, and we only paid about $30!)
The two-storied Wal-Mart was located in an uneasy and smoggy part-residential, part-industrial neighborhood on the edge of the relatively new Pudong District. There was something unexplainable and uneasy in the air. When the Chinese taxi driver finally figured out where we were going based on our hazy directions we gave him, he let off a cheap chuckle not too soon before we swooped out of his cab.
There was some kind of raffle/concert/corporate event taking place out front on a miniature stage, which we promptly scooted by in a hurry. The building was decorated with banners advertising the upcoming Chinese New Year, which featured the Wal-Mart smiley-face logo made to look like a pig (there are so many cheap and easy metaphors to make there I wont even try).
After ignoring the greeters and making our way through a confusing entrance, we came upon a sight no person should have to handle: a crappy and disheveled western-styled Wal-Mart packed with locals egger to snap up cheap crap like a pack of piranhas descending on a orangutan carcass. There were many typical western-styled racks and piles of merchandise like blue jeans, cheap electronics, and drinks made by the Coca-Cola Company. However, what was really interesting was the locally flavored merchandise. This included racks of smoked and unpackaged chickens complete with the head, piles of pig legs, cheap Chinese New Year decorations, and tanks of live fish. It was like the old-styled dive shops that line the streets in old Shanghai, but channeled through a Wal-Mart in rural Iowa. Similar crap, jobs, and habits.
After walking through this ninth level of hell on two floors (which was connected by a transportation device that is somewhere between a tunnel, an escalator, and a treadmill, also packed with crap and cheap advertisements), we had to escape. However, we got lost in maze of people, cheap merchandise racks, and a flank of cash registers that numbered into the seventies. After circling the main floor in a frenzy like a dog trying chase his tail, we finally just gave up and walked out the entrance with strange stares from Chinese eyes.
We promptly hailed a cab and made it back in one piece to the uneasy safety of Motel 168, where I cried for Chinese culture.
