A REALLY CHEESY WAY TO RERUN AN OLD COLUMN

I came across a column I'd written about 5 years ago while I was in China. The thing that struck me had to do with my willingness to show my papers while in a foreign country. I don't think it's so wrong to ask that of aliens, except, of course, aliens from other planets who are superior life forms and who could easily shoot beams out of their eyes and kill us if we asked for papers. I think they should kind of be given a free pass.

Anyway, just to show that I'm not some sort of hypocrite, I'm rerunning that column below. I will say one more thing. When I first wrote this, I ticked some people off. I really didn't mind doing that. So, if you're ticked off now, please keep in mind that I don't care. Other than that, I'm a good guy, and no hypocrite.

HERE GOES:

To Live and (Almost) Die in China


It’s difficult to even type on my keyboard right now, as I reflect on my somewhat life-threatening ordeal I have just come through here in Communist China. My adventure began after passing through immigration and customs at the Guangzhou railway station. As we prepared to leave the station, my business partner and I were stopped by a man who asked us where we were going. The man wasn’t wearing any type of uniform, but being a little unsure of what to expect (I had heard the horror stories), we quickly gave him the name of our hotel. I’m ready to hand over my papers, but before I can do that, he then runs and grabs another guy and says he’s obtained a taxi for us.
He quoted a price, which seemed a little high, but, hey, we’re newcomers in town, so we agree that if the fare would be no more than the amount he’d quoted, that was fine. He and the other guy then grab our bags and head down the steps. We’re following closely behind as these two men, along with luggage careen through an area in a deserted part of the station that appears to be under construction, and into an adjoining restaurant. We’re right behind them, running through the restaurant, around the tables, past the booths; diners staring at the sight of two Americans chasing their luggage.
We leave the restaurant and enter a small parking lot. This doesn’t seem like it would be the place to catch a cab and I’m starting to get a little suspicious; but again, we’re in a whole new world. One of the guys starts packing our luggage into the trunk of a fairly modern Toyota. The car has no markings to indicate it is a cab, nor is there any driver’s I.D. posted in the car. I’m getting a little panicky, but figure by this point, if these guys weren’t on the up and up, it was just a matter of whether they’d kill us in the parking lot or in some predetermined out-of-the-way spot.

The first guy who approached us gets in the front passenger seat, and the other guy is sitting behind the wheel. The first guy says, “I’ll take my money now.” I go ahead and pay him, hoping that he’ll just make this quick and painless.

He takes our money and hops out of the car. The cab driver starts the engine and immediately becomes a raving maniac. He’s weaving between cars, trucks, bikes, motorcyclists, pedestrians, honking his horn, gunning the engine and slamming on brakes…somewhat simultaneously.

My traveling companion, Rob, observes that it doesn’t appear the driver has the foresight to realize that if he changes lanes, he’s only going to have to almost immediately change again because of traffic blocking the lane he’s just changed to. I think the guy just doesn’t care. It’s like playing a video game. The driver takes one obstacle at a time and moves on to the next.

But my mind is on more important matters. I’m sitting there wondering how I can prevent our murder. I’m pretty positive that we’re about to meet with foul play. We pass a policeman in his cruiser. I think maybe I can use some sort of international symbol for, “Hey, I think I’m about to be murdered.” Being unable to recall that particular hand gesture, I contemplate taking my shoelaces out of my shoes and strangling the driver. I’m sitting right behind him and, from reading a good many mystery novels, I think I know how to pull it off. The only problem is that I’m wearing loafers.

So, I begin to determine if I could quickly grab him by his hair and slam his face into the steering wheel. Now keep in mind, I wouldn’t do that until he, the driver, made the first move. But, as soon as it looked like he was ready to kill us, I was ready to spring into action.
I was halfway daydreaming and worrying at the same time…daydreaming about crushing the driver’s skull and worrying that I might not grab his head just right and end up only irritating him. I was also wondering just what that first move on the driver’s part would be and would I recognize it in time. After all, when it comes to killing a cab driver/kidnapper, timing is everything.

All of a sudden he starts shouting and slams on the brakes. This is it, I’m thinking. He’s making his move. I came that close to grabbing his head and slamming it, when I realize he’s shouting at a school kid who has come running out in front of the cab. I was so unnerved that I decided that should anything happen the driver could go ahead and kill me. I just wasn’t up to any head-slammings.

Within a few minutes we pull up to the hotel. The driver gets our luggage out of the trunk and drives away. I have to admit I’m relieved, but slightly disappointed. I’ve always wanted to be on CNN and this was probably my best chance.

Later in the day, when I confess to Rob that I was on the verge of killing our cab driver, he admits that he was trying to figure out what he had on him that he could use to defend us. “I figured he (the cab driver) didn’t have a gun,” Rob said, “but, he might have a knife. I was trying to decide what I had in my pocket that would be a good match for a knife.”

Fortunately, neither of us had to kill anyone…on this particular day. And, for that I’m very grateful. I’m also grateful that I lived to tell the story, but, just barely. Besides, did I mention that there were no seatbelts in the cab?