Culture Clash 2005, Julie Steimle [free novels TXT] 📗

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Lisa went silent. I knew she wasn’t happy with my choice, but she was used to foreigners and our independent way of doing things. It wouldn’t really affect our relationship.

The waitress brought our orders. The quesidilla looked delicious.

We parted after lunch; Lisa going one way, me going another. I waited at the bus stop on the corner, trying to ignore the heaps of trash that really ought to have been hauled away rather than packing down with wet and flies. Everyone stared at me, the spectacle known as lao wai. I had learned to ignore all the staring eyes. It was a waste of time to tell them that staring was rude anyway.

When the bus came, I climbed on and found a seat next to the window, looking out once more. Thinking one more of everything and nothing at all, my mind floated back to Lisa’s and my conversation about cheating. It wasn’t just a problem in school. Chinese people did not value originality in the same way as the country I had grown up in. Passing all the copy-cat advertisements on the street, the poorly edited spelling on billboards and that ridiculous one that had Abraham Lincoln juxtaposed next to the phrase The Declaration of Independence, I often wondered if they even paid attention to what they were copying. I had stationary with poorly written English poetry on them, bought as a joke to send home.

And as my trip back to the university campus was coming to its end my mind went back to the words my Aussie co-worker said when I mentioned the troubles I had with the photocopied assignment in class. He had said, “I had one former student, now graduated, relate something similar to me and then said, ‘Plagiarism is an elegant offense.’”

An elegant offense, huh?

I wryly smirked to myself. Had I cheated at all in college I would have been expelled. Often I wondered what it would be like if the threat of expulsion were real for my students when they cheated. I knew that if I made a complaint to my department head about my student’s cheating they would do nothing. I was the outsider. This was their system.

But he had expounded on it. “Just think of all the four kuai DVDs on sale and the mock name brand shoes everyone wears. Everyone is plagiarizing in China.”
I didn’t want to think about it actually. I was sick of seeing brand name things spelled wrong and having all the DVDs I bought turn out to be pirated pieces of junk. I couldn’t even buy a DVD in a department store without finding that the special features didn’t work and the subtitles were written in screwy English. I even saw a fake Harry Potter book on sale on the street, cheap paper and a completely fraudulent story. I found nothing elegant at finding second-rate copies everywhere. This was beyond cheating.

I wondered to myself if that would ever change. Tradition had a way of creeping out in ugly ways when exposed to modern culture. American culture was the same. Our boldness and do-it-yourself attitudes passed down the generations from our pioneering ancestors had turned into the cocky imperialistic business attitudes the rest of the world hates so much. The Chinese respect for the masters had turned into rampant plagiarism and lack of originality. Personally, I think our people are both shameless.
The bus turned into the station. It was the end of the line.

I got off, looked around and drew in a breath as I scanned the road. Four lanes, dusty and dirty, construction was still going on to prepare for the Olympics. I would be happy when it was all done. I picked a spot to cross the street, a place where others were slipping between the cars that would not stop for us but honk their horns as they rumbled by. At least with others I would not get hit.

On the other side of the road, I walked towards our campus gate, nodded to the guard then crossed the front campus quad where the new buildings stood. They were recently 3 years old, the insides already cracking and the plaster coming off from such quick, cheap and hasty construction. Passing by them I entered the old campus, glancing at where they were digging up the lawn to build a fishpond that would become a mosquito incubator in summer. I would rather have the lawn. Passing the umbrella trees, the large carved stone bust monument in the small park between buildings, I at last came to the foreign expert’s accommodation. My Aussie co-worker was eating lunch in our small cafeteria. Half the food spread out on the table would be cold by now, the rice already exposed to the air and the celery and cashew dish I liked so much was now getting soggy from that sauce they poured on it. Stuffed anyway, I was glad I didn’t have to eat shrimp for once. Passing by with a small wave, I went up the stairs to our floor.

On the second floor I turned to nod at the door guard who was shelling nuts for supper and chatting with another of the housing staff. I went down the hall, took out my keys, and opened my door. Going inside, I put my keys on the coat hook then walked to my bed where I lay down. I had no classes that afternoon. Happily I had weekends off.

Another day done.

I closed my eyes, deciding to take part in the Chinese custom of taking a two o’clock nap. Not all culture differences were unpleasant. Actually, I’m glad for them. After all, I do believe in the expansive world where we collect all the good from every culture…I just keep wishing we could also throw away the bad.

Oh, well, maybe later. Imprint

Publication Date: 11-12-2009

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