Chen’s Red Shoes & other Asians I’ve known

For as long as I’ve lived at my address, I’ve known an Asian man (more specifically, Chinese) who lives here too, but I’m unsure which floor he’s on.  He’s younger than me by 10-15 years, but we’re the same height & build (5’8” and chubby) and I share that because I wonder if that’s the reason he’s so friendly with me.  He always greets me the same way—“Haha, hey!  Hi!” like we’re old acquaintances who haven’t seen each other for awhile. 

Let me think… should I know him from somewhere?  Nope, I don’t think so!

Friday I was coming home from a dental appointment, feeling pretty… relaxed from the Valium my doc gave me, when I saw my Chinese man outside.  He was holding an iphone in one hand and a cigarette (yuk) in the other, and was wearing the reddest pair of Adidas shoes I’ve ever seen.  He saw me and waved, and I thought of the recent ugly headlines of attacks on Asian Americans, so instead of just waving back I approached him and said “Hey there!  I like your shoes!” 

He smiled and nodded at me, but I could see the confusion in his eyes.  Maybe he didn’t speak a lot of English?   I pointed down at his feet and said “Very cool!” and gave him a thumbs up, and I think this time he got it, because he said “Hank you!!”  I said “I’m Doug!”  and he said “Chen!” and we just stood there nodding and smiling.  I said “Well… bye!” and came inside.  He followed me in, and as I checked my mail he said “Doug!” and held up his phone.  On it’s screen was a pair of his red shoes, on a website called Zappos. 

I thanked him, but yikes—they were priced at $94.00!

I read recently that Asians make up 60% of the people on our planet; how is it that I can count on two hands the number of them I’ve known in my life personally?  Growing up in my hometown of Waynesburg PA, there wasn’t an Asian in my school to be found.  Come to think of it, we didn’t even have a Chinese restaurant until I’d moved away!  The only Asian I knew back then was Mrs. Livingston, a Japanese woman who helped raise a widower’s son on The Courtship of Eddie’s Father.

“Mister Eddie Father not come home for dinner again?  Little Eddie need more than nourishment to grow up and be a man.  He need… his father!” 

Not including the Asians I know online (bloggers Kay of Musings and Gigi-Hawaii), I’ve gotten to know probably 10 Asians total in my years in the city.

A few of them instantly come to mind like Gao Y., a Chinese woman I worked with in 1989 at my first IT job in Pittsburgh.  Her husband was a professor at nearby Pitt University, and she only moved here from Beijing a few years earlier (yet spoke English fluently).  She gave me ‘lunch lectures’ on everything from where to buy soup downtown to what type of girl I should marry.  And then there was Ping C., a VERY petite Japanese coworker in her fifties who sat “over the wall” from me.  She ate things like raw eel or octopus wrapped in seaweed everyday for lunch, and one time when I called out “Ping, can’t you eat something that doesn’t smell like mildew?” she cackled and said “Just wait!  I’m going to live to be 200 and show you all!” 

I very much believed it. 

But I’d have to say my favorite was Andy H., a Vietnamese man I met my first day on the job at UPMC Health Plan in November 2000.  He was considerably younger than myself, and his business attire was the same as his sense of humor—VERY sharp.  He loved to taunt you, but it was all in good fun; Andy didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

He called me Doug-Luss or White-Boy (when we were alone), and he’d come to my desk on Fridays and say things like “What are you doing this weekend white boy, sitting in front of your tv for 2 days and eating cereal?  I’m taking my wife to best steakhouse in town—then picking up our NEW MERCEDES SUV on way home!”

A couple years ago when I saw Crazy Rich Asians, all I could think of was Andy 

One time in early 2001, when “political correctness” was all the rage in the corporate sector, UPMC was offering torturous 3 hour training classes throughout the week on being PC.  You weren’t required to attend unless your manager asked you to, but Andy chose to go one morning to score points with our boss. 

After Andy was through, he came over to my desk and told me if I knew what was good for me, I’d attend the next session.  I joked back “I’m already the most pc worker in this office, go sit your commie ass down.”  Not TWO seconds later, our manager came around the corner and Andy said “Len—did you hear what this white boy just said to me!” 

Len said to Andy “What did you just say?”  Andy said “I SAID, did you hear what this—I mean Doug-Luss” and Len stopped him.  He asked “When’s the next PC training?”  and Sarah (who sat one row over) told him that afternoon.  Len said “Andy you’re going.”  Andy said “But I just GOT BACK from one!” and Len said “Then maybe this time you’ll listen!” 

After Len walked away, we all had a good laugh—even Andy, who swore he’d get his revenge. 

Hmm, I want to look money like Andy--maybe I’ll buy Chen’s pricey red shoes after all!