Poo-Poo Monkey

You know…the unfair thing about playing with kids is…well, it’s unfair. 

You enter into the game like any other – thinking it will be a level playing field (because that’s how games should be right?!) but you quickly find it will be anything but. Like today I was instructed I was a “Poo-Poo Monkey” that was running amuck in a nearby zoo, and needed to be eliminated for poop crimes. I have no idea where this story came from, or even what exactly poop crimes are…but one can assume they are not good, or at the very best – very messy. 

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But you know what? I didn’t fuss, or fight it – I decided to take on the role as best as I could…like an actor who is just starting out, hungry and desperate to impress; I thought maybe if I do a good believable rendition of the Poo-Poo Monkey perhaps later I would be able to demand better, more prestigious roles! What can I say?! Gotta be positive, we only get one life after all!

However on the strength of today’s scenes the possibility is looking less, and less likely. To my disappointment it was just fifteen minutes of pure poop-filled carnage; me running around, getting pulled to the ground by eight grasping weirdly strong hands, having my clothes stretched out of size, and subjected to a constant stream of foul putrid gas. Beyond unprofessional working conditions! 

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Oh, but no! The stench was always blamed on me…because I was the Poo-Poo Monkey! Totally unfair stereotype…just because of my name I was being tarred immediately with every negative connotation that can occasionally be attributed to folks of that sort. (If they weren’t fictional creations of course!) 

My main problem despite the blame-game was the odor itself…I mean…I just didn’t understand – what the hell are these kids eating?! It was like what I imagine old people’s homes smell like. If I had to give a rough recipe I would say…sardines? In vinegar. Burnt. Then rotten eggs swirled into the mixer for good measure. Oh yeah, and a dash of Nutella. 

You can see how frequent this must happen, seeing as though I practically have a cookbook in the works! What is my life? This wasn’t in the contract anywhere…

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Well now it is written – life isn’t fair, especially when it comes to games with the little’uns! SO yes…now for better or worse, you all know it. Go spread the word, and never agree to play the Poo-Poo Monkey…it’s just not worth it!

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Chinese Burn

What is a Chinese burn? Maybe you know, maybe you don’t…well, let me refresh your memory – a Chinese burn, is a childhood game/trick/prank thing, which is achieved by putting two hands on a victim’s forearm, and then twisting in opposing directions. It fucking hurts – and leaves a red mark…a “Chinese burn” as it is known.  

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After those early school years it features very little in your everyday life. It’s juvenile I suppose, and is probably at least a little bit politically incorrect, or even racist perhaps. Well, whatever it is – I had well and truly forgotten about it by the time I actually visited China many years later…

 Never in a million years, did I think this mythical childhood creature would actually be a reality.

Despite a long day at the Beijing summer school, and an early start the next day – a couple of us decided it would be a great idea to head further into the city, and out of the dusty suburbs…I can’t really remember much of what we did there, drink probably? Hmmm…not sure, all I really remember is the taxi ride back. Three of us fell into a car, and spent ages trying to get the pronunciation correct when we told him where we wanted to go…

“Shoonyee?” Nothing…blank stares – so someone else tagged in –

“Shun-ee?” Nothing again, possibly a shake of the head – someone else’s go –

“SHOONYEE, SHOONYEE?!” Nothing again.

“Come on…please…shoon-yee, SHOON-YEE!”

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(After many attempts) “Ahhhh! SHUNYEE!”

(Everyone on in chorus together) “SHUNYEE!! SHUNYEE!!”

“Yes, yes! I know! SHUNYEE!” he said with a smirk of accomplishment, as the population of his car began in a huge high-five-fest. And why wouldn’t we? At last we were off! That’s always a great feeling, especially when in a foreign land – that moment that you know you don’t have to worry anymore, as you will be brought to the door of wherever you want to be…you can say goodbye to any hassle (and hello to overpaying on the fare, but hey-ho!)

After a little while, it began to become clear that we were going a different way than the one we came…it was dark, so quite a challenge to see things, especially in our condition – but there certainly wasn’t a motorway on the way out, or was there? Maybe we hadn’t paid attention? Hmm…

We drove for a long time, we should have been back by now – but we were still not seeing anything that looked even vaguely familiar, we began to enunciate “SHUNYEE – SHUNYEE!” once more….“DWAY! DWAY! SHUNYEE!” He said he knew the way, but it was quite clear he didn’t – in a strange and non-nonsensical turn of events we began to give him directions…on what basis I don’t know. This served to only annoy the driver (not surprising) and get us even more lost in this dark unknown wilderness. Where would we even end up…maybe he was going to lead us out into the bleak wasteland, and just shoot us in the back of the head one by one…it happens…in movies…but still…IT HAPPENS!

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Some time passed, and whoever was in the front passenger seat was the only one still trying to converse – the rest of us had given up. We took a sharp-ish right which shook us out of our drunken backseat snooze – before we knew it we were outside of a building. “Shunyee.” the taxi driver pointed, whilst also avoiding all eye contact. 

We looked out of the window in unison. It was a huge flashy hotel, nothing like the one we were staying in. And around it…errr…well, nothing…at all, just a lot of grass…roads…and more grass, possibly some more road…then grass. Short version: this was the middle of nowhere. We tried to tell him that this was not Shunyi…but he insisted…we were drunk sure, but we weren’t that drunk! After some heated words we decided to cut our losses, handed over the money that it read on the taxi-meter and started to head into the hotel…maybe at the reception we could order another taxi, or get directions or something.

“ARRRRGHHH – GERRROFFFIZMAN!”

I spun around, there was my friend battling with the taxi driver, trying to pull away from his grasp – he had two hands clasped around his forearm and wouldn’t relinquish his hold…anytime my friend would try to prize him off he would hold on even tighter…anytime he tried to move, he would just follow right along with him…there was one weird moment where they walked along as if part of a wedding procession – would have been romantic in the right setting I am sure, but in this one it was down-right terrifying!

“COME IN THE HOTEL!” my other friend screamed,  “JUST GET HIM OFF, AND COME IN THE HOTEL!”

“I CAN’T…HE WON’T GET OFF MAN! HE’S HOLDING ME!?”

“GET TO THE HOTEL!” I started to imitate the suggestion loudly, despite being only a few feet away from him – I was scared that if I got too close he would somehow grab my forearm, and have us both!

“HE CAN’T GO IN THE HOTEL – JUST GET TO THE HOTEL, AND HE ISN’T ABLE TO ENTER! IT’S A LAW! 

My friend seemed pretty certain of this, I had no idea why a taxi driver would be banned from entering a building…but at the time it made sense to me. So I repeated these words, over and over – finally he managed to break free…and we all ran the last couple of steps – desperately pushed through the revolving doors and fell into the hotel reception, panting hard. We all stared out at him on the other side of the glass, as he stared right back at us…we were safe…it seems my friend was right…oh…wait…NO, NO, NO! WHAT?! WHAT IS HE DOING?!

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He started advancing, and began pushing the revolving doors, edging closer and closer – what was he doing…how? HOW?!

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID HE COULDN’T GET IN?!”

“HE…HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO!!!”

“WHAT?! HE’S NOT ABLE TO PUSH A DOOR OPEN…WHY WOULD THAT BE A THING?!”

No one waited for an answer to that ridiculous question, we simply picked ourselves up, and sprinted to the reception…he was still following, not running – but following, at a weird horror movie killer pace…you know, where they don’t seem to go fast but are always around the corner? Yeah, that! We had limited time we knew that – so we explained the situation as fast as possible – but alas, the lady at the desk didn’t speak any English, and soon our nightmarish friend was back with us – grasping arms, and twisting hard.

Another guy was called over, who managed to speak to the irate taxi driver – he translated that the man was upset, because we had ran off without paying…even though the money we had handed over was still in his pocket – once we pointed this out, he changed tactic and said that it hadn’t been enough – when quizzed about his meter and how that could be so – he gave up, and went off in a huff. Phew, as you can imagine we already LOVED the translator guy – he was our hero, our savior. Our new best friend, for life.

He went even further than the call of duty, and called us a taxi with a trustworthy company, he even looked up where we were staying – and gave the exact address to the driver once he arrived, as well as making sure we paid FIRST, to avoid the same issue happening again…people’s arms were sore, we couldn’t cope with more of those shenanigans!

On the ride back home we were absolutely exhausted…the friend who had got the worst of the wrestling hold was complaining about how much it hurt, I thought he was just joking, or perhaps even over-exaggerating…but when I looked it was bright red – “wait…that’s a bit like a…Chinese burn, remember those?” My friend nodded solemnly. “So that’s a real thing…haha…hmph…well there you go! You learn something new everyday!”

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We slept soundly that night, I can tell you that for sure. Too much drama, and excitement for one night.

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Fun…but errrr…

Just so very, very bizarre…but the good news is that there is another twisted individual off the streets – JOB DONE!

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