Jeff, Wu Gang, the guy who introduced me to the coffee investment scheme, told me that the coffee muckety mucks were inviting me to dinner Saturday night. I should meet them at the fancy restaurant where they held a huge kick-off dinner in January, 2011. Jeff's home is just north of there, my home considerably further south.
I took the bus and got there a few minutes before 6. The Bali Coffee people were waiting outside for me. Jeff had not yet arrived. We went to our private room (that's how it's done in Chinese restaurants) and gradually assembled. There were 7 chairs.
In attendance were the general manager, his deputy manager, the financial manager and his deputy manager, who was the Ms. Ma I had dealt with a couple times recently. Rounding out the table was their driver, Jeff when he finally arrived, and me.
A lot of lip service was given. They showed me newspaper articles praising their company. All in Chinese, I couldn't read it. Jeff was there supposedly as the translator, but he did very little of that. It seemed as if he had suddenly lost his former fluency. He stuttered and stammered and took forever to say anything, by which time the Chinese would start speaking again and Jeff would give up.
The financial director entertained us the whole evening. I have no idea what he was saying. He was lively, moving from one story to another. At one point they said, 'Please don't tell Obama that! you'll cause international problems.' They all laughed. I sure wish I knew what had been said. I asked Jeff, and he said 'they're talking politics'. I was in no way drawn in to the dinner conversation, except for the congratulatory toasts.
The day I sat with Ms. Ma at their offices, trying to work out a solution, Rachel served as our translator by phone. She let the cat out of the bag, that I was opening a bakery. Previously, Jane Wang had dealt with Ms. Ma for me, telling her that I was sick and leaving the country and needing the money right away. That's the Chinese business way. But Rachel is just an honest worker, without guile. So at this dinner there were many toasts to the success of my new business.
They had bought some bottles of bai jiu, the Chinese distilled rice liquor that is so horrible. But we sipped a cheap Great Wall red wine, and the good cheer never rose high enough to justify breaking out this expensive stuff. They bundled it up at the end of the meal and carried it home.
Three-quarters of the way through the dinner the deputy manager was the one to give me the bad news. He told me that the check would be cut at the end of the month. Translated, just one more delay. I keep thinking there is a bankruptcy filing, or a company disbanding, or some gloomy thing for which they are stalling me until it is too late to reclaim any funds.
As we rose to leave the table (I have never seen a lazy susan so empty of dishes at a Chinese restaurant as at that dinner, an indication of the importance of the guest) Mr Yang, the general manager, inquired of Jeff about my transportation. Jeff dismissed the inquiry without even asking me how I was getting home. Bundled in a full belly and empty promises, I trailed the crowd down the elegant stairway. With chin dragging, in my fine silk dress, I walked to the bus stop through streets still damp from a sprinkling of rain
I took the bus and got there a few minutes before 6. The Bali Coffee people were waiting outside for me. Jeff had not yet arrived. We went to our private room (that's how it's done in Chinese restaurants) and gradually assembled. There were 7 chairs.
In attendance were the general manager, his deputy manager, the financial manager and his deputy manager, who was the Ms. Ma I had dealt with a couple times recently. Rounding out the table was their driver, Jeff when he finally arrived, and me.
A lot of lip service was given. They showed me newspaper articles praising their company. All in Chinese, I couldn't read it. Jeff was there supposedly as the translator, but he did very little of that. It seemed as if he had suddenly lost his former fluency. He stuttered and stammered and took forever to say anything, by which time the Chinese would start speaking again and Jeff would give up.
The financial director entertained us the whole evening. I have no idea what he was saying. He was lively, moving from one story to another. At one point they said, 'Please don't tell Obama that! you'll cause international problems.' They all laughed. I sure wish I knew what had been said. I asked Jeff, and he said 'they're talking politics'. I was in no way drawn in to the dinner conversation, except for the congratulatory toasts.
The day I sat with Ms. Ma at their offices, trying to work out a solution, Rachel served as our translator by phone. She let the cat out of the bag, that I was opening a bakery. Previously, Jane Wang had dealt with Ms. Ma for me, telling her that I was sick and leaving the country and needing the money right away. That's the Chinese business way. But Rachel is just an honest worker, without guile. So at this dinner there were many toasts to the success of my new business.
They had bought some bottles of bai jiu, the Chinese distilled rice liquor that is so horrible. But we sipped a cheap Great Wall red wine, and the good cheer never rose high enough to justify breaking out this expensive stuff. They bundled it up at the end of the meal and carried it home.
Three-quarters of the way through the dinner the deputy manager was the one to give me the bad news. He told me that the check would be cut at the end of the month. Translated, just one more delay. I keep thinking there is a bankruptcy filing, or a company disbanding, or some gloomy thing for which they are stalling me until it is too late to reclaim any funds.
As we rose to leave the table (I have never seen a lazy susan so empty of dishes at a Chinese restaurant as at that dinner, an indication of the importance of the guest) Mr Yang, the general manager, inquired of Jeff about my transportation. Jeff dismissed the inquiry without even asking me how I was getting home. Bundled in a full belly and empty promises, I trailed the crowd down the elegant stairway. With chin dragging, in my fine silk dress, I walked to the bus stop through streets still damp from a sprinkling of rain
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