And strange he was. This scruffy, unshaven man in his late forties was hobbling over, smoking a cigarette and wearing army attire (why do the strangest people always wear camouflage?). I was plugged into my music, and casually checking the time, before he said something that required me to pull away from Katy Perry's Roar (I'm fabulous):
"'Ave you been waiting long?"
"Just a few minutes. The bus should be here in about five, though."
So far, so good. I was trying to be helpful. But of course, this is the logical question that follows:
"Where you from? China, or Japan?"
Now, ignoring the fact that he so rudely and abruptly demanded me to declare my nationality (maybe the UK has now implemented border control at bus stops, too?), why have I suddenly entered Who Wants To Be A Millionaire and used my 50/50, so that I may only choose from two answers? Can I phone a friend on this one?
"China."
If you're only going to give me the choice of either being Chinese or Japanese, I'm not even going to bother explaining my dual Hong Kong-British nationality - that'd be as complicated as explaining Wolverine's origins. But yes, I am Chinese, so to speak. That I'm not denying, nor ashamed of.
To my one-worded response, this man grunted and rolled his eyes, as if I had picked the worse of the two options (perhaps he was right. Maybe I SHOULD be Japanese instead. That's how it works, right? I just magically transform into another form of Asian? It's like evolving Eevee with a different Evolution Stone).
"What you doin' here?"
I was about to inject a diversion into the situation by saying "waiting for the bus", but before I could even say anything:
"Why are you in England? Isn't China doing really well?"
It was at this point I realised this was going to be a long five minutes. I didn't need this first thing in the morning, before my morning cup of tea (no sugar, if you were wondering). And so I thought I'd give my last response to this interrogation, before proceeding to the next chorus of Roar:
"I was born here, and I live here. My parents are from China."
Side note: also not precisely true, but pretty close, as they are from Hong Kong. But at this point, if I said the words "Hong Kong", I'm thinking he's imagining I originated from the belly of a giant ape that scaled the Empire State Building. But I was in fact born in Nottingham (grew up in Hong Kong), and I do now live in London.
And again, he seemed disgruntled at this answer - angry, even. Is there an answer booklet? I'd like to see where I am losing my marks for this exam. I really would like to pass.
But I was already plugged back in and hoping that Katy's voice will not only summon courage within me, but also a bus, three minutes earlier than scheduled (I was counting down). But lo, the questioning wasn't over it seems, as he kept talking, and was motioning for my attention. Normally, I would ignore such a person and just keep listening to my music, but he was walking towards me, so I decided to just hear him out before he came within touching proximity (ewww):
"Really, why are you even here? I hear things are fine in China. Why aren't you there?"
Oh no, not this question again! I already gave a poor answer last time, is this my second chance to correct myself? D, I choose D! And that's my final answer!
But there was no multiple choice this time, so I just gave the first answer that came to mind: "Here's better, I guess."
Flattery towards your country, is that going to work then? Apparently not, according to the gritting of his teeth. I'd like elaborate here that what I meant was that London is a better place to get career experience in English copywriting. That's what I had in mind, but I'm sure this point would've flown over this man's head, much like general manners.
"Huh. 'Here's better'."
Again, I plugged back in, but paused the music just to be more cautious (Katy can wait). But by then, he was so close to me, he was able to purposefully blow smoke in my direction. Now, the questioning - fine; I can muster a few words whilst I wait in the rain. But I am NOT about to smell like Satan's bumhole for the rest of the day because this stranger feels my answers to be inadequate. So I shuffle away from his emissions and turn away - I wasn't even going to bother trying to tell him to stop.
And so I thought that was that. To my surprise, it seems that I had transformed into the Joker, and I had not yet told this Dark Knight where Rachel is, so the interrogation must continue:
"Where you headin'? College, or work?"
50/50, again! Why can't I be heading off to slay a fire-breathing dragon? By now, I figured which answer would've best pleased him, but screw it:
"Work. I'm going to work."
And then this answer really ticked him off. I had committed the unforgivable sin of being employed and working for a salary - I'm such a downright scoundrel. In fact, had I not applied and got this position as Marketing Executive at this online company, I'm sure he was next in consideration. His CV and interview skills must've been equally impressive. Damn me and my job-thieving intentions. So I surely must've deserved the following line, spat under his foul breath:
"Go back to where you belong..."
I decided to end the conversation here. This time I really was going to plug in and ignore him. Only a minute left before I can leave this horrible predicament. I could see from the corner of my eye that he was agitatedly jabbering away still. I walked further away and mentally shooed him off.
So there we were: me, begging for the 142 to come around the corner, and him, furious as to why I wasn't immediately buying a one-way ticket to Beijing on my phone (I really should take my British passport with me out more often, so I can prove my nationality and be ready to deport myself at Heathrow a.s.a.p.).
What happened next was probably better than the bus arriving though. Two lovely ladies came to the bus stop, probably heading off to work too - and both wearing hijabs. You could see the man literally shift aside at their approach, followed by another troll-like grunt. Picture it: the uncomfortable and aggressive self-nominated immigration officer was suddenly the minority under this bus shelter.
A lengthy ten seconds later, finally the 142 had arrived. I let the two ladies onto the bus first, and as Sir Smokesalot was standing closer to its entrance (and this being the only bus that comes by this stop), I motioned for him to get on before me:
"After you." Pro tip: being extra polite to someone that is rude really annoys them.
To this, he shook his head, sneered at me and turned around. Oh well. Some of us have work to get to. So I hopped onto the bus and thanked Katy for telling me I'm a champion. As I looked out of the window, I had noticed that Mr. Grumpy (not to be confused with Grumpy Cat - she's much nicer) was still standing under the bus shelter, most likely waiting for the next bus. It seems the one I was on was heading to Shanghai (I hope I have enough on my Oyster card). But all the better - he can stay in the rain. I don't want him on my bus anyway.
Now, having told the entire story, I feel a little better. Scathing sarcasm posted online without one's knowledge is my way of fighting back (non-confrontational, much?). Was I offended? Yes, a little. But he's not worth the thought, so I ushered him out of my head until I decided to write this post. And it's not like he did very much towards me. Petty racism is something I've learnt to deal with growing up. I know there are much more severe racial injustices around the world than just bus stop interrogations, so I hate to admit it still irks me a bit.
But I do have a question at the end of all this: do you think he's racist, or xenophobic? As very basic definitions, racism is the hatred or discrimination of others based only on the irrational grounds of their race, skin colour, or culture, and xenophobia is the fear of the foreign and the unknown. Was he spewing his questions because he hated me for my ethnic background, or did he actually fear the unknown factor derived from a heritage different from his? But hey! This isn't Who Wants To Be A Millionaire - maybe he's neither, and there's a third option. I'm not going to put you under the same rules.
Who am I kidding? It must've been because he's not a Katy Perry fan.
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