http://flagpole.com/users/photos/2012/jun/19/1269/

*Dispatches From An American in The Far East Trying Desperately Not to Spread (The Bad Parts of) His Americanism*

**Part V: The Pallid Peril**

Recently, I had beers with a coworker at a 7-11 (yes, I came halfway across the world to work at a 7-11). We had a long, interesting conversation, but his most memorable comment was “Don’t be an American apologist.”

You probably haven’t noticed, but I inserted some parenthetical information into my blog’s subheading after that conversation: “the bad part of.” I know that there are great things about America, but currently, I don’t happen to be there. Thus, I’m treading carefully and trying to notice the better things about the East. But I’m not always pleased here.

In Taipei, it’s difficult to walk ten feet without almost being murdered by a taxi or scooter. Every time I walk to the subway, I have to pass a gas station. There has been not one single instance when I was not almost creamed (killed) by some dick on a scooter or some asshole in a taxi.

If you’re up-to-date on my trip, you know that my iPod and iPhone have both been decimated. Things have drastically changed.

Life without headphones is interesting. With my technologies gone, I am forced to wander the streets with nothing more than my inner-monologue to entertain me. I have come to discover that my inner-monologue is an asshole.

However, I am hearing and noticing more new things—something I should have been doing all along.

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As I walked to work one morning, I overheard two women conversing in Chinese behind me. Of course, I didn’t understand a word they were saying, but their cadence entranced me. I listened carefully.

“Something Chinese, something Chinese,” said the first lady.

“Faw,” said the other. She said it like an American would say “of course” or “yeah?”

“Chinese, Chinese, Chinese.”

“Something Chinese, faw.”

“Chinese, Chinese, Chinese.”

“Faw.”

“Chinese.”

“Faw.”

“Chinese.”

“Faw.”

“Chinese.”

“Faw.”

“Chinese.”

“Faw.”

Initially, I was amused. However, the rapid-fire “faw” conversation began to wear on me. It lasted a full ten minutes at least.

“Faw, faw, faw, faw, faw!”

Eventually, I had to use every modicum of politeness I had to hold myself back from shouting, “Stop saying ‘faw,’ you tedious bitch!”

I did not want to portray the Arians as inherently rude and impatient people, so I said nothing. I simply walked to the subway, my inner-monologue pestering me the entire way.

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I like this place. Absinthe is drunk, love is had, and politeness is a given. I am, however, glad that that I am resuming my stateside status in less than two weeks—finding size 13 shoes is really hard here.

*Sorry about the lack of pictures. Just read, will ya’?