The People of Jiangsu, and How to Confuse Them

I heard the faint “ah!” just as the doors were about to close. I’m not a monster. The six elevators can take a while to materialise because ain’t nobody taking the stairs to the 28th, 31st or 36th floor, so I pressed the button to reopen the door and save the person a five-minute wait.

He stepped inside, arms full, milk tea from Auntea Jennie in his right hand and various plastic bags holding plastic containers and featuring a cute yellow duck—Nanjing people and their damn salty duck.

Again, I’m not a monster.

“Jǐ lóu? (几楼？)” I asked.

He paused for a split second, but clearly, he wanted to go home and get started on the duck, so he didn’t question why the foreigner was speaking Chinese.

“Shíqī (十七).”

I pressed 17.

Feng and I resumed our conversation. Plans about the evening, the next day, or maybe whether we needed more bāozi.

“Tā huì shuō Yīngyǔ? (他会说英语？)” our elevator mate blurted out, staring at Feng.

“Yes, he speaks English,” I replied in Chinese because around the 6th floor I had apparently become the official elevator translator.

“So you speak English together,” he said, nodding as he processed the information. “But where are you from?”

“Fǎguó (法国),” I said naturally because I answer the “Nǐ shì nǎlǐ de? (你是哪里的？)” question twenty times a day.

He stared at both of us, completely confused.

And I started laughing.

Poor guy, it really wasn’t his fault. Why would a French person speak Chinese but English with someone who looked Chinese?

Welcome to my life, dear random Nanjing person.

Here are the people of Nanjing, Shanghai and Suzhou, some of them confused by me, but many of them confusing to me!