Leaving Sin Vegas 11

Notes to serving staff:

I don't speak much Chinese, but I do know numbers. I can count. I can say 'please' and 'thank you'. I can say 'I want' and 'I don't want'. When I tell you I don't understand, and that I don't speak much Chinese, I really do mean it. That isn't a cue for you to bombard me with questions posed at break-neck speed in Chinese. I wasn't joking.

When I go to buy a coffee, please don't laugh when I try to say the numbers. Smirking, even... I'm not going to keep attempting to speak this hideously difficult language if you're going to make me feel crap about it.

When I go to a fast-food place, please stop nudging and competing with each other over who gets to serve the 'waiguoren'... I know you're standing whispering about it... I know you are totally freaking out... but all I'm going to do is point at a picture and say 'I want one of these'... that's all. See? Not so hard, was it?

Note to doctors:

When I'm injured and need medical attention, I'd appreciate that you wash your hands with soap before you attend to me. I saw the bathroom here. The floor was black, and there was no soap or paper towels. You wiped your hands on your white coat after you'd rinsed them in cold water...oh, yeah, after you'd been for a pee and touched God-knows-what. In fact, seeing the hygiene in here... I'd rather bleed to death.

Note to firefighters:

I'm injured. NOW is not a good time to show me your torso and ask playfully what my name is. For starters... you do not have the six-pack of the type of fire-fighter that one sees in charity calendars or movies. What you have is the torso of a malnourished teenage boy. Enough said.

Note to shop assistants:

I'm a foreigner. Yes. How observant of you. Now, could you please stop following me around the store? I'm not going to steal anything (I'd be awfully easy to catch, wouldn't I?). If I need your help I'll come and find you. Now bugger off - I can smell your lunch - go finish belching somewhere quietly.

Notes to all adults:

Publicly belching, farting and picking one's nose are the sole preserve of the under-fives. Kindly act your age. The wearing of cute t-shirts and cartoon characters is a right reserved only for pre-teens and anyone attending theme-parks. Your insistence on wearing pink sparkly bows in your hair only accentuates your grey and makes you look the full 45-years-old that you are.

Note to self:

Glitter ANYTHING is for clubbing or children's decorations. You are 30. Glitter isn't cool anymore.