RACHEL CORSINI (fiction writing major) writes:
The Glamour Bar on The Bund is one of the more chi-chi places in Shanghai, where cocktails cost just as much as in the States. Through the windows is the perfect view of Pudong, with the pearl tower’s flashing lights glittering through the snow.
I sat quite comfortably on a plush couch and sipped slowly from my martini glass, looking at the rose-colored haze above the bar. The group of us had been there for quite some time and we decided to take our business elsewhere, more specifically to a cheaper spot. I had no problem with that, but Hannah, my redheaded bubbly roommate, had no clue how to get to The Captain’s Bar on Fuzhou Road and either did anybody else. I was elected by the crew to ask for directions from the myriad of ex-pats who were tucked away on the couches and corners of the bar.
So off I went into the world of the Shanghai ex-pats, more specifically the two guys sitting next to us.
“Excuse me, do you speak English?” I asked politely. Don’t laugh, I was very polite which is highly unusual for me and takes quite some thought.
“I would think so.” He spoke in his arrogant French way, setting his beer down on the table in front of him, reclining back onto the couch. Great. Leave it to me to get an arrogant Frenchman. He already hated me from the second I opened my stupid American mouth.
“Right.” I halfway rolled my eyes, “Do you know where Fuzhou Road is?”
“What road?”
This exchange continued on like this, “Fuzhou Road?” “What road?” “Fuzhou Road?” Again and again, until finally he decided to tell me the proper pronunciation which I still can’t say.
“No, I don’t.” Wonderful. I turned my head over my shoulder to see where the rest of the group had gone, only to discover I was left to my own devices. I just prayed they hadn’t gotten in the elevator and left me to the wolves.
“Okay.” Immediately I turned to flee the scene and reconnect with people who didn’t actually hate me, but was stopped.
“Where are you from?” I wanted him to be smoking a cigarette and wearing a beret but he wasn’t, which still disappoints me even now.
“America.”
“Obviously.” Alright I had to give him that one, it was a stupid answer. “Where?”
“New York.” I answered with my thick borough accent and a smirk on my lips.
“Where in New York?”
“Queens.” I had no idea why this guy was asking me this. There was no way he was going to know Queens, let alone where I live. No one knows Queens unless you live there and never decide to leave like every single one of my friends, but that’s a different story.
“Where in Queens?” Okay now this was getting a little old.
“Maspeth.”
“I do not know where that is, but I know Astoria and Forest Hills.”
“Really? I live like ten minutes from there.” I actually smiled at him. “Me and my girls hang out in Astoria all the time.” He nodded a curt nod.
“I lived in New York for five years. Great city.” His tone was genuine. Evidently since I’m a New Yorker it was OK that I existed in the world. It might have even been OK that I was American just because I’m a New Yorker. Who knows, but he stopped being rude. We chatted a bit more; I gave a final thank you and with no directions to Fuzhou Road returned to my friends with a bigger ego then before I left them. I had the seal of approval from an arrogant Frenchman because I’m a New Yorker.
Rachel Corsini is a junior in the fiction writing department.
I LOVE YOU RAE RAE..AND YES U ARE A NEW YORKER...NOW COME BACK TO NEW YORK WHERE U BELONG WIT ME...LOVE YOU...
AWESOME BLOG RAE!!!! WE MISS YOU BABY!! TELL THAT FRENCHMAN HE'S DAMN RIGHT, NEW YORK ROCKS!
And yeah, I'm the friend who will never leave Queens!!!!
Come home.
Posted by: Penny at January 22, 2008 3:14 PM
