Ten days past decorator completion date

It has been an incredibly busy week.  The decorator's completion date of June 21 came and went.  What was the holdup?  I kept getting different answers.  Waiting for the paint retouches to dry. The sign. Getting the water turned on. The plumbing.  I puzzled and tried to push things along, but in the end I believe it was just that the contractor was over booked and didn't have time to finish.

The sign model finally got done more or less correctly, printed, and stamped by the Mall administration.  On Monday it should go to the government office for a business license.  Once it is approved, the decorator's team can make and place the sign.

The water.  What a joke.  One day a couple weeks ago I had an hour break between classes, so I went to the Mall office and applied for the water and electric debit card.  I turned over the money and received change.  I was shown the cards, and the meter in a box, but was told that they would keep the cards.  I simply needed to check with them periodically to make sure I still had money in the account, and add it when needed through them.  The box was sitting aside the clerk as he officiously sat at his desk.  With the speed that made molasses look mercurial, he took out his receipt book and began writing receipts.  I sat there waiting for the receipts and, more importantly, the meter which the plumber needed to install.  In exasperation, I looked at my watch and realized I had a class beginning in five minutes.  The doleful eyes and protruding lower lip turned my way as I explained that I had to go to class; I left, empty handed.

The next day I returned for the box, but did not get the receipts.

The plumber installed the meter.  Days later when I asked the decorator what the holdup was, he said the water wasn't turned on, I needed a card.  At least, that is what I understood.  Oh my what confusion!

I returned to the Mall office and asked for my card.  It was no where to be found.  After 15 minutes of head shaking and chin rubbing and furrowed brows, I asked to simply let me buy another card.  No, I was told, it couldn't be done.

We had reached an impasse.  So I went back to my classes, and waited.  Later that pompous weasel came chasing after me at Web.  He explained that he flushed out the old account and, using a new card and account number, had once again added 45 million gallons, or whatever, to the meter.  We went to my shop and he showed me the meter, set at zero.  I asked what I owed, he said I owed nothing.  I had already paid for that much water.  Problem solved.

So, then, what was holding up the decorator's team?  The sink had arrived on the 22nd, but there was no hardware.  Who was in charge of that?  I didn't know.  As far as I could tell, the restaurant equipment store did not sell sink faucets.

On the 28th the decorator had my oven wired up to the wall.  I wanted a plug, but was told that a 380 volt plug was not possible; the control switch was on the opposite wall, in the new junction box that had been installed.

Now I had a situation where all the big equipment had arrived, including my two work tables and the very heavy bread slicer machine.  At the same time, the floor was littered with dust, paint droppings, crating material.  The place was a mess.

I met with the decorator Friday, and the plumber/wirer.  He assured me that on Saturday afternoon the technician would return and finish everything, and all the garbage would be taken out. The floors would be cleaned.

Meanwhile, I still had no electric outlet for the work table, where I'd need to boil water to dip the pretzels and bagels.  There was no outlet for the bread slicer.  The windowed partition between the kitchen and the shop was still missing lower sliding panels.

At the very beginning I had asked that fans be installed in the ceiling.  I had asked if they could strengthen the ceiling mounts to hold a fan.  I asked that question again when they had the scaffolding in place and were working with the sub and upper ceiling.  Yes, they assured me.

Now they say, no, can't put in fans, the ceiling won't hold it.

I have run out of money before I bought the air conditioner.  The contractor made sure that the wall plug that was originally there was live. He assured me that the placement of the air conditioner in the middle of the room at this high location would be adequate, even without the additional fans to distribute the air.  But now Dean tells me the one air conditioner won't be enough.

Saturday was my last scheduled day at Web, beginning with a 10 a.m. class, and ending with the flea market ECA at 5 p.m.  I had planned to sell bread at that event, but I haven't baked in weeks.

I left the house at 8 a.m., and grabbed a gypsy taxi at the corner of my block.  We went to Hongbei Rd East, where Daniel had his kitchen cabinet shop.  It is an area many blocks long, with many side alleys, holding lots of shops for supplies.  This is where the textile market is, as well.  I had bought my cold sink and faucet here, with Daniel's help.  I wished I could have found that shop again in that labyrinth, it would have been nice to have two faucets the same.

My task was to find one cold faucet and one hot and cold mix faucet for the double stainless steel sink.  They needed to arch up, they couldn't come straight out horizontally.  The humidity was high; I was soaked to the skin in  no time.  The driver drove me slowly through the lanes and alleyways, waiting while I hopped out and made inquiries.  Finally I was pointed in the right direction by one storekeeper.  I ran down the block to that other shop.  They had just one faucet that seemed to meet my requirements.  I bought it, and another cold faucet.  I still don't know if these necks swivel.  I delivered them to my shop.

The workman came in the late afternoon, while I was in my last class.  I sent Dean down to talk with him.  He was gone before Dean arrived!  He didn't stay long, and he didn't install the sink faucets.  As far as I could tell, he did nothing.

Dean called him, and called the decorator.  They will meet me Sunday morning at 9 a.m.

comments please

come on, you two or three readers.  Don't be shy.  send me your thoughts upon reading these entries.  Let's dialogue.

the swindle addendum

Yesterday I spent time at the Bali coffee offices trying to talk with the new financial officer, about getting my money back.  I may kick myself, in the end, for being so nice.  You see, I am fighting a deadline.  Once this company files bankruptcy, my money will forever be gone.  Have they done that already?

I went back again today, as agreed, to draw up our payback agreement.  In it she says that I propose to terminate the contract, therefore these are the conditions.  A lump sum will be paid on July 25. But of course, there was no indication of the company's culpability in neglecting to deposit the agreed upon moneys, the back interest they owe me.  I refused to sign it.  I have sent the document on to Atlanta, from the TV station.

Is there even such a thing as a class action lawsuit in this country?  I hope I'm about to find out.

I just want to make a difference.  Even if I don't get my money back, I want to be sure that these people are shamed.  It is what they have earned.

Dragon Boat Festival outing

June 23 is Dragon Boat Festival.  Rena, who has been the Head Tutor during most of my time at this Web center in Wujin, Changzhou, was also finishing up her contract with Web on June 30.  So she and her husband hosted us to a day at an ecology park.  There were three car loads of us, tutors and foreign teachers (only two of the latter).  The weather wasn't great, in that it was drizzling or misting on and off. But I saw that as better than a scorching hot day, which would have been the alternative at this time of year.

The plan was to end the afternoon climbing a mountain.

I met Rena and her carload at the Web center.  We rode out together.  She and her husband, their adorable four-year old son, Rachel, Christina and me.  We got there a little after 10:30.  The appointed meeting time was 11:00.

There were two parallel large glass buildings, one on either side of the driveway with a lobby connecting the two.  Inside was a fabulous garden scene.  There were tall trees, shrubs, gardens with begonias and petunias, and lots of streams filled with coi.  The lofts and balconies that were dining rooms were made of bamboo and wood, giving a feel of nature and tradition.  There were open dining rooms on the first floor, and separate rooms.  We took one of the latter, with a round table for 10. It was open on one side, facing the garden interior; a large window on the opposite wall reminded us of the gray day outside.

It was a quite pleasant hour spent, strolling around the different landscaped areas, resting at tables, climbing stairs to open balconies, standing over the coi as they swam.  Terry was the last guest to arrive.  Rena drove out to a meeting point and showed him the rest of the way to the park, in their two cars.

Terry is the one who had successfully applied for the promotion to her job.  He is a tall, thin unsmiling fop still single at 33.  He usually drapes his slender frame elegantly, in suit and tie.  Where Rena is totally approachable and without ego, he is aloof and taciturn. Though the government will deny it through their teeth, homosexuality is rampant in China.  He is not a Changzhou native.  At times, at the Center, I had observed his inability to speak with local delivery men and such in the common local language. This has further set him apart from the tight knit group of tutors.

It never ceases to amaze me how addicted Chinese women are to high heel shoes.  Knowing they were going to 'climb a mountain' or 'go hiking', still Rena and Christina wore high heels, Rachel and Lisa wore platform heels.

At one point, a group of us piled into Rena's car and her husband drove us around the grounds.  There were neat rows of organic gardens.  There were open fields of corn, as well as many large sections domed with plastic sheeting  .  We stopped and went in one.  Squash and cucumber plants were climbing up webbed plastic lines.  Speaking of webs, we group of Web workers encountered many spider webs as we walked the outdoor grounds.


I was a little surprised to see the heavy winter squashes hanging down.  

This one got caught early in the netting.

We left that lovely park after an excellent lunch, and went on to climb the mountain.  We were near Rena's parents' home, so we all went over there for a while.  No one was home.  It was interesting to see a countryside single-family home, since China is determined to get people off the land and into high rises.  this one had been modernized by adding another room out back for the kitchen.  The old kitchen has been preserved, though no one is using it, at the advise of the remodeler.  It looks like the kitchen I know so well up in the mountains of Kham.

I had brought along my box of 'Mexican Train', a dominoes-based game.  About five of us played it.  Rena loved it, and asked where she could buy it.  Of course, even Taobao doesn't offer this one.  She's trying to persuade one of our American teachers to bring it back for her after his summer visit to California.

We walked up the steps of the not-so-high mountain.  We rested at the main platform, although a few hardy souls climbed the last 100 meters to the top.  That portion has just a beaten path, no cement stairs had been added.

The girls played around, taking lots of pictures of each other.  Rena is the one in the middle.  Rachel, whose family has taken on the responsibility of having their name on my bakery business license, is just above her.

As we sorted ourselves into separate cars in the mountain parking lot, Rena opened her trunk and distributed gifts to us all.  Bundles of 'sheet tofu', a specialty of this small region, and the basis of one of the excellent dishes we had just eaten; tins of 'pork floss', a unique product of the consistency of spun sugar (cotton candy) but dried.  In China this method is used with fish, as well.  Delightful gifts, appreciated by all of us.


As we were driving home I asked Rachel if we were organizing a farewell dinner for Rena.  My assumption is culturally based; we honor the person who is leaving, by hosting them and showing them our appreciation. But in China it is not that way.  Rachel said that this day was for that purpose.  But this day has been sponsored by Rachel and her husband, rather than us.  


Just one more unexpected cultural difference that sets my thinking on its head.

The Ponzi Scheme

This is a draft of a letter I'm sending to a Chinese TV reporter here in Changzhou.  His beat is the ex pat community.  He has set up a blog in English to help us be in touch with culture activities in the city.  He provides many interesting links on his site.  Atlanta's blog (汪健的博客)  I won't send it until after tomorrow.  Tomorrow I will make one last attempt to go to the offices of what I think of as a Ponzi scheme, and see if I am somehow mistaken and all will be put right.

Dear Mr. Wang Jiang,

I don’t expect you’d remember meeting me.  It was at Jagerwirt’s German Restaurant, they hadn’t been open long.  You were with Linda.  In fact, I didn’t recognize either of you until afterwards.  It took time before I realized you were the author of the Atlanta blog I’ve been reading, and that Linda was the elusive recluse I’ve been hearing about for years. Perhaps if my iTV service provided the local TV station I would have recognized your face.

In an email Linda told me you were looking into the difficulties encountered by foreigners trying to open small businesses here in Changzhou.  I am such a person, and I’d be interested to hear about others like me.  But that’s not why I’m writing.

I think that I have been swindled.  It is too small an amount to take to a lawyer and court, but for my fledgling business it would be enough to carry me through the first year.

Then again, maybe it’s all a bad misunderstanding.  I was thinking that someone in your position might have a better chance of finding out than me.

In the Fall of 2010 I brought over from the States my life savings.  I thought I could find an investment, or buy a home.  I have lived in China off and on since 2001.  I found Changzhou to my liking, with decent business opportunities.  I was too invested in China, its changes, its future, to leave.  It would be like walking out of a movie theater just as the hero begins to unravel the mystery, but before the audience is fully clued in.

At that time my circle of Chinese friends was extremely small.  It has since grown vast.  At that time I met a guy who lived in the same building as the apartments rented by the school for its foreign teachers.  “Jeff” WuGang’s English was well mastered, and he was an interesting guy.  I did some copy editing work for him now and again.  So when I was looking around for investments, I asked his advice.  He led me to the Bali Coffee Co.  He had contracted with them to put together a team for the interior design of a new factory they were building, and also a small retail shop in the Landmark area of downtown.

They sat me down at their offices, in the east side of University Town, and explained the proposition.  They were offering investments in blocks of 50,000 rmb.  In return, they were guaranteeing 18% annual interest and, at the end of the contract (either 3 or 5 years), a full return of the capital.

I said to Jeff, this is too good to be true.  What’s the catch?  No, no, he assured me, this is legit.  These guys are well connected.  Mr. Yang went to high school with the vice Mayor of Changzhou, he said.

I saw lots of certificates, signatures, stamps, photos on the walls to verify their authenticity.

The scheme is that they are making coffee vending machines.  Investors buy X number of machines, which the company then leases back from them.  Filling these machines is very profitable (I know that), and that is how they can share such high profits.

I asked them what their marketing strategy was.  Where were they planning to place the machines.  I pumped them for details.  I got nothing in return but platitudes.  Well, I thought, maybe that’s just the way Chinese do business.  Westerners tend to be more direct, to the bottom line.   Maybe I was experiencing this cultural difference right here.

Jeff was so persuasive.  I wanted to laugh at his naivete.  Instead, I said OK, let’s prove it.  Although I had at one point mentioned to Director Yang that I might invest 200,000, by the end of our talk sessions I knew I was already taking a big risk just giving up 50,000.

After the signatures were dry (the copy he gave me was stamped but not signed by him), he said that he would show his good faith by putting the first quarter’s interest into my bank account immediately.  The alarm bells went clanging and echoing in my head.  Ponzi scheme!

A couple of months later I was invited to the grand opening of their little ‘coffee culture’ shop in downtown, followed by a gala banquet.  The guests piled into two buses and were ushered from the shopping center to a hotel nearby.

There had to be at least 200 people in that hall.  Many speeches were made, you know how that sort of thing goes.  I had to leave before the end, because I had a class to teach.  There were boxes of goodies stacked near the entrance, which looked to me to be gifts that would be handed out.  Jeff swears none were, but I assume he kept my share.  He never did invest a nickel of his own money.

I visited the downtown shop a couple of times that winter, as I had a part-time job nearby.  They had asked my advice about how to decorate the stuff in ‘western coffee style’.  But I never did get a clear picture of what they were planning to sell there.

The shop was empty, except for the counter worker.  The shelves were lined with very expensive gift packages combining coffee pots, cups, and coffee.  There were also expensive wines, and tea sets.  I could go on Taobao and buy the same things much more cheaply.

I saw a number of examples of extravagance that belied good sound business practices, such as a day at the Dinosaur Park hot springs for a large number of guests.  Is this really the way Chinese business is conducted?  I had nothing to compare it to.

Now let’s get to the part about these quarterly payments of 2,250, totaling 9,000 rmb per year.  As I said , the first one came immediately.  So the next one wasn’t due for about 5 months.  I was busy at that time, having a full-time and two part-time jobs, and so I didn’t check my bank account.  When I finally did, in May, no additional funds had been deposited. 

I wrote to Jeff.  He spoke to his friends.  After some time, he emailed me to check my account.  I did; nothing.  It took a week before money showed up.  By then it was June, and the next payment was almost due. 

When next I checked, again no money had been deposited.  Again I contacted Jeff, and through his efforts another sum was deposited.  After that I put it out of my mind.  My fears either would or would not be confirmed.  I felt powerless.

Then I started working for Web full-time, and began to talk to smart business people.  I began to change my impression entirely of business is conducted in China.  I didn’t bring up the matter of this investment, however, until events thrust me onto this path of opening my own business. 

One of my new friends liked my business idea.  And while she was already deep into her career and so couldn’t get involved as my partner, she said she would back me up financially if and when my own funds ran out.  Eventually, I told her about the lost investment of 50,000 rmb.

Her husband is a policeman, and they thought I should fight for the money.

I waged what campaign I could, but I got the clear feeling that the coffee team was about to fold up tent and steal away in the night.  They kept promising me that on June 16 they would pay me my money.  That sounded to me like the day they would file bankruptcy, if such things transpire in China.

I am sending you the documents involved.  The original contract, and the history of the bank account they set up for me to receive their funds.  There is also an email sent me by a new man on the team, after I went to the offices to talk with Director Yang, who of course was not there.  That man, I believe his name is Liu Ming or perhaps Li Ming, was very nice, very sincere.  He gravely told me he would bring the matter to the attention of the Director, and resolve it.  This email was the promise of resolution.  But of course, the 16^th came and went, and there was no money nor were people answering the phones.

A friend looked into the business a few days ago, and found that the accountant was no longer working there.  Did she leave because she was uncomfortable with what was going on?  Or did she embezzle money?  Or did the Director fire her so he would have no witnesses?  I have no way to get answers to these questions.

I welcome your suggestions, if any come to mind.  If you find this story to be unusual and newsworthy, I can give you contact information.  Thank you for your time.

Business License meeting

Business License

On Thursdays I work the night shift, 1 pm to 9 pm.  It’s a good day to sleep in a little, and to put some time in on the treadmill.  But this day I have a number of things to do for the business. 

I need to get the flour sacks up off the shop floor while the men are painting.  This means a trip to the restaurant equipment store to buy some food-grade ‘trash’ bins.  They open at 8, so this is something I can get done quickly before turning to the task of getting the business license.  It seemed that I had all the papers collected to do that task.  Except one.  I need a photo of the shop front stamped by the ‘Logistics Office’.   I had printed out the designer’s mock up, but had not yet gotten it stamped.

So, get the barrels, deliver them to the store, take the photo to the Logistics office, get the stamp, then gather the documents and a Chinese person and go to the right government office.  Pretty straightforward.  My Web colleague Rachel’s mother had agreed to be that Chinese person.

Some days, however, are simply governed by ‘Murphy’s Law’ [Everything that can go wrong will go wrong].  The sooner you discover this fact, the better.

I woke after 7, got dressed, grabbed a granola bar and some soy milk and headed out the door.

I should have seen it right then, but such is the spell of the day.  I know too well that on a long and busy day I simply must start out with a hearty bowl of oatmeal, to carry me through.  But I slipped out the door with only a meager snack.

I caught the number 2 bus in front of the apartment complex.  While sitting in the bus, a text message came through.  It was in Chinese, and no name registered.  I assumed it was from someone envolved in the store decoration.  They asked me to come to the.  I texted back that I would be there at 9:00. 

The bus took me to the equipment store, and I was greeted by friendly faces at the door.  I told them what I wanted.  I knew from the past visit that this sort of goods they kept at a different location.  I said, let’s go.  They hesitated.  They spoke a lot of unintelligible Chinese.  I realized this was getting complicated.  I cut it off quickly, politely exited, and walked down to the other such store on that road.

As I walked, I mentally ticked the minutes away.  I was supposed to be at Web at 9:00.  It was already well past 8:00.

I reached the other store, and again was greeted with familiar smiles.  I explained what I wanted, and we climbed to the third floor.  I measured the tubs.  I asked repeatedly if it was OK to put ‘food’ in there.  I don’t know how to say, “Is it food-grade material?”  I always got the same answer.  “Flour?  Sure.”

The sticker price was 198 rmb, and I needed four.  I pulled out my tape measure.  I had a maximum clearance of 56 cms.  These, with protruding lock tabs, measured every bit of that.  But I decided I could put them into the under-counter bins on the diagonal, and they would fit.  They seemed much more expensive than I had anticipated.

I asked for a price of 700 rmb, about 10% off.  That seemed as far as they would go on the price.  Driven by desperation, I agreed and paid up.  One lady put the tubs on a cart and wheeled it out to the street, where we tried to hail a cab.  None would stop!  There weren’t many empty cabs to begin with, but of the couple we saw in ten minutes one avoided eye contact, the other waved his hand side to side and shook his head “no”. 

Obviously it was the cargo that was putting them off.  I dialed 96196 and handed her the phone, asking her to get the taxi dispatcher to send a car.  But she had no luck connecting to them.  And I thought it had been my bad Chinese, in my previous unsuccessful attempts! 

Another associate drove up on her ebike.  They chatted.  The clock was ticking.  She said we should hang back, and she would hail a cab.  It worked.  We managed to put the tubs in the back seat of the taxi, and I drove off. 

But at the moment I picked my bag up to put it in the taxi, I realized liquid was pouring out of it.  I had tucked a bottle of Mr. Muscle in my bag, thinking to finish cleaning the shop’s wall.  I so easily forgot the last experience, when the squirt top worked its way loose and doused that bag.  The same thing happened again.  This time, all the precious papers I’d been collecting: contracts, leases, copies of ID cards, my passport, designer’s blueprints; all were drenched with cleanser.  I cursed, and cursed and cursed as I scooped up the soggy mess and threw it in the floor well of the passenger side, and jumped in after it.

It was now well past 9:00.  Rachel had called me, reminding me that her parents were waiting.  I assured her I was in the taxi and on my way.

When we arrived at the mall, I asked the driver to continue on south to Hongbei Road where the entrance to the underground parking was.  This added 5 rmb to the fee.  I would take the elevator up, to avoid dragging the tubs from the curb to the shop.

Foiled!  The nearest elevator was out of service.  I had the taxi driver back up to another elevator, though he was uncertain what I was doing.  I jumped out of the taxi, tossed the tubs into the elevator and rose to the ground floor.  As the elevator doors opened, I realized I was just about as far away as if I had gotten out on the ground level.  I struggled a few feet with the tubs, but a shopkeeper noticed and said to his companion, ‘Let’s help our neighbor.’

They each took two, and off we went.

With the help of the painters, I got the flour sacks put away safely in the four tubs; they fit exactly, two sacks to the bin.  I showed them the message on my cell phone.  They nodded.  I had not brought a translator, and so these two workers, fresh faces to me, just made some vague gestures.  The lead man shrugged his shoulders, without really trying to talk with me.  They had almost finished with the off-white blue kitchen paint.  The main room had a white bottom coat on.  They had not yet started with the two ‘toast’ colors I had chosen.  I nodded approval and left.

I rushed upstairs, sweaty and already feeling tired. 

As I gathered the papers together, I remembered the photo.  I searched everywhere for it.  I hadn’t seen it when I scooped up the wet mess.  Where was it?  Had I left it home in the other bag?  Of all days to change bags!

I asked Rachel if I could borrow her ebike.  I quickly rode home.  I immediately noticed how comfortable and smooth her bike was compared to mine, over the very very rough terrain of the city roads and bike lanes.  My second hand bike had no shocks left.  It was the cause for the sudden ‘arthritic’ ache up and down my spine these days.

A careful search uncovered neither the photo, nor the USB stick I had used at the photo shop at the Tesco Mall.

On the drive back to Web I had time to reflect coolly on the morning events.  It was then that I realized that Murphy ruled that day, and “resistance is futile.”

I took Rachel’s mother into a classroom, and realized the father was there too.  Rachel bears a strong resemblance to her father.  Her mother looks young, with a stylish short haircut combed to the front, the bangs on a diagonal.  She wore a rich purple dress.

I apologized for making her wait so long.  I tried, in my poor Chinese, to say how grateful ‘happy’ I was that she was willing to help.  I said I didn’t think this would be a good day.  Sorry she had come out for nothing, but I was happy to meet her.

When we rejoined the group at the tutor’s desks there was a lot of discussion going on.  Daniel walked in then, with his wife.  What happened next was like watching a movie where the tension builds, each party following a different thread, conversations here, phone calls there, and a half hour later the plot has taken shape.  At last the audience is let in on the future direction of the film.

The parents were concerned about liability, if they put the name on the license.  I said, through Daniel, that we would go to a lawyer and draw up a contract releasing them from any liability.  Rena called a lawyer. 

A long conversation ensued. The gathered crowd of tutors and the two couples continued their conversations in halting rhythms.  They were also listening to Rena.  Something she said sparked the conversations in a new direction.  Another snippet of the one-sided conversation spurred another spat of chatter.  Rena hung up and reported that the lawyer said there was no way for such a release, legally.

While all this was going on, I checked my email.  The artist had finally got the sign board right!  But as I tried to download and open it, a problem arose.  The computer couldn’t find the software to open it.  This is puzzling, because it seemed to be a jpg file.  So how would I copy it off and bring it to the color printer?

Daniel came to my right, and spoke in English.

“Look, this is all so that you could get a visa.  What about forming a company?”

 We had talked about this before.  My logic ran this way.. since I would be supplying bread to restaurants that made me a wholesaler, just like any other factory, so I should have a company license. 

“Or, what about getting another company to sponsor me.”  I said Dean’s company was my preference, but Dean had not yet been convinced, and had not yet arranged a meeting with his Israeli boss.  Having spent three years in Israel, I love Israeli people and just wanted to meet this guy on general principals.  But I also thought, knowing Israeli ethics, he might be amenable whereas a German company, of which there are many here in Changzhou, would be too law-and-order to agree to such an arrangement.  Dean is conservative, and I felt Daniel would need to chat with him to bring him into the plan.  Daniel filed that piece of information away and returned to the knot of Chinese conversations going on to my left.

Next, Rachel walked to my right, away from the group speaking in Chinese.  What she said was probably a suggestion from the lawyer.  

“If my parents are going to take on this liability, maybe it would be appropriate for there to be some money involved.  Like shareholder.  What do you think of that?”

“Sure.”  I said, “They should be shareholders, 10%.”

She wrinkled her eyebrows and gave an embarrassed smile, “No, I think that is too much.”

I reminded her that at least for the next year, 10% would mean nothing.  She also then asked if they were to share in the profits, would they also need to put in some money, and what if I incurred debts, would they owe also.  I assured her that all the responsibility was mine, they were contributing significantly by just being the ‘face’ on the license.  The mother had also repeated to my face what she had said weeks earlier through Rachel,  that she wanted to actually help out in the store.

This was translated, smiles all around. 

Rachel blew me a kiss.

Now down to the specifics.  I pointed out that if we were not going to use my name, the lease was invalid.  Rachel’s dad assured me he would have no problem duplicating (faking) another lease.

I would not be needed, then, when they finally went to the government business administration office.  They could arrange that to suit themselves.

We still needed to find an attorney and draw up the papers.

Daniel and I got together over the papers they would need for the license application.  I pointed out that I needed to go back to Tesco to print another picture, as it was necessary to have it stamped by the WuYe “logistics’ office and I had misplaced the original.  He looked off into space.  Oh, yeah.  He had taken it home with him, to ask another opinion about the cost.  He had done that, and said the cost was reasonable.  But he had put the photo aside, forgetting that it needed the official stamp.

We had previously agreed that at this point, whatever photo we used wouldn’t matter.  Later, when the Wu Ye was ready to include us in their mall advertising, they would have a proper photo of the actual signage.  I could use this latest mock up received by email today, if the print shop at Tesco succeeded where I failed in opening  it.

It was 11:30.  I still hadn’t eaten.  Things were finally beginning to wind down.  My attention was drifting off.  I wanted food, and sleep, not necessarily in that order.  My first class was at 2 pm, and I still hadn’t done my preparation.  I had English corner at three, and had not yet decided on a topic.

The conversations began to slow.  The knot disentangled.  Rachel’s parents moved towards the door.  Before they left, Rachel said that they would like me to be their guest in their home for dinner.  We worked out when we would all have time for that.  As they left, so did Daniel and his wife.

The plan was laid.  Others would play out their role, and bring me in when needed.  Quickly the area emptied out.  The visitors left, the staff went their ways in groups to lunch.  I went back to the furthest, darkest classroom and lay down on the floor for a quick nap.