the great american-kazak-chinese preschool saga: part 二

(Please read my previous post about kidneys, kindergartners, and Kazaks here in the “Jing” for background info)…

Two Fridays ago…or as we say in Mandarin: “Fourteen moons and one red sun henceforth”…my Chinese class and I embarked upon an adventure to one of China’s historical landmarks.
This class field trip was the brainchild of my beloved teacher, Zhang Laoshi, who decided that our group of aspiring speakers of Putonghua had not yet truly gotten acquainted. (This lack of friendship might have had something to do with the fact that “broken Mandarin” was our only means for spanning the 4+ plus language barriers amongst the 25 of us. But maybe that’s just me…)

In the days leading up to our trip we “decided as a class” where we should go:
Student 1: “How about the Art District?”
Student 2: “Let’s go to the Great Wall!”
Student 3: “Happy Valley, Happy Valley!”
Zhang Laoshi: “Ok! It’s settled. We will go to the Beijing Movie Museum.”

Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking: “HOLY COW! THE BEIJING MOVIE MUSEUM??? MY FAMILY’S BEEN DREAMING OF VACATIONING THERE FOR DECADES!”
Try to reign in your jealousy for one moment as I relive some our fieldtrip’s highlights.

Given China’s history for progressive and creative breakthroughs in cinema, exemplified in Internationally renowned works like “Love for Life,” “No. 32 B. District,” “Wang Li Shi Wo Pengyou” and “Kung Fu Pan..—oh, wait that one was Dreamworks—it’s no wonder that we literally knew EVERY SINGLE actor and actress memorialized in both wax and photograph throughout all 20 of the museum’s display rooms.

Furthermore, we had the opportunity to expand our insight into each star’s life as Zhang Laoshi gave us a running picture-by-picture commentary:
Laoshi: “And of course you must know this actress! She is the most famous!”
Me: “Ooooh! I thought she was Japanese…”

As our exploration of the Beijing Movie Museum came to a sad close, the members of CAMIC Elementary Chinese Level C ended our time together with some Lazy- Susan fun at the Big Roast Duck Place, a restaurant situated near our school’s Eastern gate. Laughs and glasses of boiling water were had by all.

As we were entering the oh-my-Emperor!-i-can’t-believe-i-am-still-shoveling-spicy-peanuts-into-my-pie-hole phase of our meal, I received a cryptic phone call:
“Jessica. I have your money. Can you meet me at the Russian Café Asia in five minutes?”

It was my Kazak friend, the one who had formerly “invited” me to sell my soul to preschoolers in the nether-regions of Beijing (a moment of honesty: I actually LOVED that gig, but it was just too far from my house. Sadly, I had to give it up. I miss those xiao pengyou’s something fierce.)

Slipping away from my classmates with a muttered excuse about needing to visit the WC, I obeyed the Slavic voice and headed to yonder café. Entering through a gate and then into the restaurant, I was met by fluorescent lights and the stares of about twenty Central Asians all smoking, drinking, and talking in hushed voices. (I'm just telling it like it was.)

Soon, my friend met me. We grabbed a table and exchanged apologies that the preschool situation had not worked out. Then, with a quick movement-- AND I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP--she slipped 900 yuan under the table and asked me to count it.

After shuffling through the bills and giving her a nod, I departed, glancing over each shoulder and walking back up the street. Soon, I slid into my chair at the Big Roast Duck Place, much richer and my classmates, none the wiser.

And that was that.

Dear CIA, if you are reading this, you should know that if all goes well, by this time next year, I should be proficient in Mandarin and buddy-buddy with many of your top suspects.
Feel free to recruit me.
I am currently unemployed.

Kind Regards,
Jessica “Burning Wood” Schleiff