Motherfucking China 3: Starbucks (Part 3)

You didn't know there would be another one! Cue DJ Khaled ....

So toward the end of the trip, I had an unfortunate experience at Starbucks. Yes, I tarnished the place that I grew to love so dear. We were in Beijing, and my wife was preparing for a dinner with some fairly important people. I don't know how important they were, but they were enough so that she wanted to put on make-up. While my wife was applying make-up, I dipped into the nearby Starbucks.

Now I mentioned before, and if not then I will later, but China is streamlined as a sumbitch. Pretty much everything is paid through WeChat. You pull up your barcode, or they pull up theirs, one scans the other and suddenly everything is paid. Now that is all well and good, unless you are an American and do not have a Chinese bank account. Enter: Me.

When I went to Starbucks, I tried to order my favorite nitro-cold brew coffee. Now first, imagine trying to order something in English. I walked up to the register, and the barista looked at me with genuine confusion. I could tell, she was thinking, "Who is this white motherfucker, and how did he get here?" This was then compounded by fear, when I ordered the drink in English. I understand how to say, "ka fei" to convey coffee, but I cannot say "nitro-cold brew" in Chinese.

The woman looked lost, so I pointed at the menu item. That alone, though awkward, was not the bad part. The bad part was when I needed to pay. In a country that everyone scans their phones and pays within seconds, I had to pull out paper currency. Everybody knows that experience of being in line, when someone is painstakingly slow, and you almost want to jump out of line to help them along. I was that slow person. I could literally feel the blood-pressure of the 20 people behind me max out. They were all so uncomfortable. It didn't help that I was looking for several coins, which conveniently got lost in the folds of the bills.

Once I finally managed to get the money together, it took the barista a hot-minute to understand what was happening. Her eyes were already bulging from the experience of helping an American, but suddenly she had to start counting this weird paper...with Chairman Mao's face on it.....and calculate change.....

Now, ideally, this would have been the end of my story. Alas, it is not. When I get through the line, I try to connect to the Starbucks WiFi. I didn't have a Chinese phone or SIM card, of course, so I was trying to ask the barista for the Password. Now first, the barista's name card said "The Hulk". That is fucking badass. Two, the barista tried to tell me something quickly in Chinese. I don't know what about my blonde-hair-blue-eyed-dumbfounded face said, "Yes, I know Chinese", but I did not know what the shit he was saying.

Suddenly some other guy comes up and says, "you need to enter your phone number." Now again, what about my blonde-hair-blue-eyed-English-speaking-clearly-American self suggests that I have a goddamn Chinese phone or SIM card? I mean, seriously? If I had a fucking Chinese phone number, I wouldn't be fucking asking for a Password, would I? They don't even sell my phone model in China, let alone give me a number for it. The last time I had tried to turn on the signal, Verizon was like, "whoah-ho-ho, you must be lost". And you think I can enter my number, and receive a text with the Password?! I really wanted to turn around and say, "Bro, look at me." It was another white guy, with an American accent. He should have known better. As it was, my wife showed up and we had to get ready to leave.

Moral of the Story: I evidently a Chinese SIM card to access Starbucks WiFi. Also, I may have single-handedly caused an aneurysm for 15-20 people in Beijing.