owT traP fo owT traP

Resumed from owT traP, esreveR ni anihC ni serutnevdA...

As I brought my camera into perfect alignment with the Monument, the sun about to reach high noon, the sky as clear as a paradisaical lagoon, I heard English. Not unusual, surely, in this tourist hotbed, but searching English, an inquiry in the form of a greeting. Damn that I'd heard this. My eyes looked about and finally settled on two men to my left, slightly behind me and just under ten feet away.

"Hi," I said in reply, annoyed that they'd got me just before I could take a picture.

"Where are you from?" was their first real question, and I was already suspicious. On my guard, which is admittedly weak anyway, I carefully replied that I was from Florida. They asked my name, and I told them. They introduced themselves as a teacher and student, practicing their English. My wariness relaxed finally: In Korea it is not unusual for students who are practicing their English to engage foreigners in conversation; usually, nothing comes of it but 10 strained yet polite minutes of basic chitchat, punctuated by departure once the subway arrives at its destination, and the occupants scram for the exits.

Tony was a tall man, looking roughly 25 years old, shaved as smooth as marble, with a Yankees hat concealing his jet black crew cut. He wore a black Gore-Tex jacket, its puffy squares shiny as though they'd been spitshined just minutes earlier. He also had glasses -- though probably the better description would be spectacles. He spoke fluently, easily, and with enough suave to disarm a paranoid heroin addict undergoing withdrawal. Naturally I should've been more suspicious of the dupe, but -- goddamn, he was good. I suppose all cons must be, else they'd need to find new work.

The teacher was nondescript, nearing the half-century mark, wearing a soft but worn grey jacket stuffed underneath with multiple layers, and with a bile-green scarf wafting out of the neckhole. He spoke evenly, and with the greater skill of the two. His face was friendship, though his eyes were plotting.

They invited me to walk through the open areas of the square, and to walk with them through another portion of the great tourism milieu, Old Beijing, a thick slough of thin alleys, penetrated widely by Dazhilan Street, with its spanning gateway arch and corndog stands bookending it. Here the hubbub was substantial, and we took a sidestreet off Dazhilan.

Every building was gray, but no sign or design on or in any of the buildings utilized that color. We ducked into a teahouse. I resisted at first, thinking it an unnecessary diversion from the walk. (Fool I was, not to walk away.) Their entreaty won me over, and we proceeded to drink tea, samples of everything from green tea to jasmine tea, to some other concoctions that burned my mouth. They offered me a glass of wine, which I drank only reluctantly.

My discomfiture was at a zenith when they finally agreed it was time to go. I prepared to pay, thinking it would be a measly pittance, perhaps in the range of 100 Yuan (roughly $15). But instead the lady stuck a preposterous bill of 940 Yuan in front of me. I'll let you figure how much that is in dollars.

"It is a sign of friendship in China if you pay for this," Tony said, now seeming much larger than before. My eyes were wide as fuck; I was aware that my jaw had clenched, that my teeth were so tightly clenched I risked chipping one of them. I looked from Tony to his teacher, and the old man, ever the pro, looked at me with that same friendly face as before. But I could see the plot in his eyes now, the dastard. I quickly weighed my options, which were as follows: Pay now, leave later; or leave now, pay never. The latter was certainly the more appealing, but with the old man blocking my way to the exit, and the charming crackerjack to my left on the alert, I figured I had no chance. So in reality my options were these: Pay now, leave later; or attempt to leave, risk life. Perhaps an exaggeration, and certainly a hyperbole, but -- no one ever said I was brave.

I paid, putting it on my card. I wasn't a total buffoon during this whole escapade. When I realized I would have to pay, I was already planning to cancel the transaction, if possible, upon my arrival at my hotel.

At the moment my signature touched the receipt, which, though I didn't know it then, was the death knell of my hopes to cancel the bill, I began inventing new curses and swears for these two gentlemen. When I say new, I mean new to me: I had never bestowed these dubious titles on anyone, at least not in seriousness. So, if you'll allow me, I will list some of them here, in order of their appearance:

1. Scatmunchers
2. Suckers of Satan's scrotum
3. Pitlickers

By the way, the second one also doubles as a tongue twister.

Anyway, I felt the last one too weak, especially following the others, so I stopped. The men walked me back as far as Tiananmen Square. I walked briskly back to the hotel, told Luke what had happened, and then prepared to forget the whole incident. It didn't take too long, fortunately, as I was back in Tiananmen Square again only 4 hours later. This time Luke and Loren were with me. I took in the obelisk one more time. And this time I got a picture, a damn good one....