Day 36: Mystery Captain

There has not been a moment here that I have not been covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The cafeteria, the car, the office, just out of the shower, everywhere. The cherry on top? I ran out of antiperspirant a few days ago. I wasn’t too worried, until I found out that the Chinese don’t really do the whole “antiperspirant” thing. The only thing I could find at the store was that spray on garbage. So now every morning I chuckle at myself as I spray on some citrus scented Axe. I know it’s not going to stop me sweating and I smell like an angsty eighth grader, but it’s better than sweating and smelling like a tub of dead things and stale socks. Sweden couldn’t come fast enough.

Last weekend was my birthday, so that was interesting. My boss decided to take us out to dinner to celebrate. However, when he had offered to take us out, I thought I was in trouble. I thought the purpose of the dinner was to reprimand me for something I had done. I started cycling through all of the questionable behavior I had displayed here. Was it for watching hours of “best of Worldstar vines and fights” on youtube in the office and laughing shamelessly? Was it watching the entire 12 minute highlight video of USA dicking down China in basketball without earbuds in for the whole office to hear, twice? Was it playing the national anthem on loud on the Fourth of July in the office? Was it the constant stream of putrid gas exiting my body because the food here doesn’t quite agree with me? In reality, I shouldn’t have been concerned about this last one considering the guy behind me hocks the gnarliest, most bone rattling loogies on an average of 12 times a day. Regardless, I was concerned. Much to my surprise, it was just for my birthday. I felt relief that I could continue to get away with the things mentioned above. The next day as I was packing for the weekend, Several of my coworkers decided to surprise me with cake in my dorm room. They were slightly confused when they walked in to me shirtless and about 12 empty beer bottles on the shelf behind me. Since I don’t speak Chinese and couldn’t explain myself, I just let them believe that I am a rampant alcoholic. They then gave me a gift of 16 little bottles of vanilla flavored milk. I found this to be absolutely hilarious that they bought the American the safest food product that they could find. I guess I really am that white.

Then we hit the clubs. Back home, our nights typically end between 12 and 1 am. Not in China they don’t. I got back home at 5 am two nights in a row. I didn’t know real people existed at that time of the day. I am not built for nights like that. On the upside, I met my new role model at the club. We had just shown up when I spotted him. He was dressed in a yacht captain’s hat (you already know he’s a baller), a blue short sleeved button down (not too formal, but just enough to say “yeah, I make millions. What of it?”), and khaki shorts (because he came here to fucking party). He also seemed to be in his mid sixties. Yes, you read that right folks. This white guy in his mid fucking sixties bought table service, two bottles of Grey Goose (from what I could see), and was going HAM. In a moment of awe, I realized I was staring and we made eye contact. He motioned to someone else, then pointed at me. At that moment two ladies also in yacht captain’s hats came over, kissed my cheeks, put a hat on my head, handed me a glass, giggled, and patted my ass. I looked up in disbelief, not sure if I sharted, creamed my pants, or both. We made eye contact again and he winked, chuckled, and went back to going dummy to the music. So many questions ran through my head: who was this man? What did he do for a living? Am I drooling? How can I be exactly like him? Is the adoption process in China easy enough that I can become his son by the end of the weekend? I looked around to see if anyone had seen what just happened. No one had. All I have now is that hat and a short video of him dancing to prove what had happened. Where ever you are Mystery Captain, keep running clubs and killing the game. You may be pushing 70, but you’re immortal in my book.

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