Twice during my first year in China I did something so obtuse I can hardly stand to think back on it. In each case I was so mad at the bus or taxi that had come within one millimeter of running me down -- while I was in a crosswalk with a green light and it was roaring at full speed straight ahead through a red light -- that I slapped its fender as it went by. I didn't even have to move my arm to reach it, since it was right there.
In many American cities, perfectly normal! I've seen road-raged pedestrians or bicyclists in San Francisco and New York yell at and pound the hoods of cars they judged to be cutting it too close.
But in China -- not such a good idea! The screech of brakes and squeal of tires. (Hmm, if the brakes work so well, why couldn't they have been applied before the red light?) Door flung open. Multi-lingual festival of curses and gestures. Contorted face of rage on the Chinese driver's side. And my chagrined realization that I had for no good reason made somebody very angry at me and, by extension, the outside world of laowai (老外, foreigners). Even though the bastard did almost just kill me.
Of course now I realize my error.
The pedestrian in S.F. can get away with screaming because at some level even the most aggressive U.S. driver realizes that, in theory, he was "supposed" to stop. This just isn't the operating assumption by many of China's big city drivers, starting with those in command of buses and trucks. (Full folk-sociological explanation here!) As far as I can tell, buses operate on the principle that unless they see a sign saying "Bus Stop," they are supposed to keep moving. Since you can't "shame" people over behavior they don't think is wrong, my reaction seemed like an inexplicable outburst of hostility. Those hot-blooded Americans! You never know when they will go berserk.
So now I just dodge the trucks and buses, as I would try to dodge gators in a swamp -- or vehicles if i I decided to cross Interstate 95. I feel happy each time I reach the opposite curb. (It never hurts to cross at the same time 1,000 other pedestrians are moving, and to stay in the middle of the pack.) Person-to-person relations between Chinese and Americans are, in my experience, amazingly good. No reason to make even a single needless enemy.
With my new worldliness, what stupid error did I avoid? A few hours off the plane from Beijing, wandering around Washington DC marveling at its taken-for-granted opulence. Outside one of the many chi-chi coffee/bakery joints stands a panhandler, quite stockily built. "A dollar mister, I'm hungry." My first reaction, with the same lack of common sense I showed long ago in the Chinese crosswalk, was to prepare a little lecture about what I'd seen people do to earn a dollar in Gansu province or Nanjing. Fortunately, before I managed to say anything, my brain went into gear. "Don't be an jerk -- again," it signaled. And I fished around in my pocket.
