So ol’ Joe falls sideways on the bed after the most marvellous sex and sighs. His lady companion Roxanne asks him, “Do you still smoke after having sex?” Joe’s eyes twinkle and he gives Roxanne a crinkly, mischievous grin while he lies there with his arms behind his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never looked.”
Trust you got that one. If you didn’t, ask a blond. Still no? Let me spell it out. It’s comparing male sexual prowess with serious firepower. Hoo aah. (Wait till you hear my episode with free bottles of tequila given to me recently, just bear with me for a bit.)
But ol’ Joe’s smoking rifle barrel punch line reminds me of the other department of male prowess I am currently richly learning from: being almost jobless and its effect on masculine identity: Being the hunter, the bread winner. Two blogs ago, in “How do you cope with suddenly being jobless?”, I wrote about being given four days notice by a Chinese school as casually as if that information were as ho-hum and common as flies around horses’ posteriors and swishing tails. Like a fly I was just swished off. “Perhaps,” the reader might be thinking, “it is time to get away from anal gazing and look at all the opportunities”. Oh, agreed. But this time of year in China (Spring Festival is approaching) is equivalent to the Western festive season. Everyone is on holiday. The powers that be only start crying for teachers in Shanghai near the end of February.
This blog may on the surface appear introspective (what creative writing is not, to some extent?). But I think it is appropriate to blog this as many of the readers out there know what it is like to go through unemployment and it often leads to a crisis in meaning. We are just conditioned to feel so worthwhile when we work. It is a great opportunity to look at what one’s life is all about and what should matter … and what one is basing one’s identity on.
Marion, the Chook, my missus, got the sack a week or so later — same reason as given on my blog — but it really does not seem to bother her. “We seem to have enough money, we have our part-time jobs and I could use the break,” she murmured, lighting up a smoke and squinting across the kitchen to see how the roast chicken was doing.
A time for enormous reflection, this jobless thing. You don’t feel like going on holiday — at least responsible me does not — as there ain’t much money coming in. Also, I have not done that wonderful motivational tool: The Timetable. In other words, a meaning-inducing rhythm:
8am Gym
11am — 1pm Study Chinese with appropriate breaks.
Lunch. Go for a walk, perhaps.
2pm — 5pm. Write, with appropriate breaks. (I am working on a sequel to Cracking China: a memoir, other book projects, these blogs).
I never wrote down that timetable, because I knew I wouldn’t stick to it and I was right on that one. Yep, I just got the “appropriate breaks” thing spot on for two weeks! I think I just needed to get away from all those structures in which we hide and define our identities without questioning their validity.
A life of focusing on endless goals can be very artificial and strenuous sometimes. I have just mostly sat at home and listened to music (Fleetwood Mac, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd coming out tops at the moment), occasionally joined the fellow ex-pats at pubs, done my part-time work and given studying Chinese and writing a break — both big parts of my identity. Studying Chinese is part of my identity? I have lived in China for five years now and would be most embarrassed if I could not at least proudly say I am at the intermediate level. My heart and head swell with pride when I chat in Chinese while foreigners, fresh off the aeroplane, listen with great respect. Or they watch me in wonder as I send off a text message in Chinese. See? “Great respect”. I need respect. So what I have done is given striving for a sense of “meaning” through pursuing “worthwhile goals” a break.
Boy, talk about no structure. Here comes that free deluge of tequila episode. As I write, just a few days ago we were all having Sunday roast lamb British style with Yorkshire puddings and Bisto gravy at one of our favourite pubs in Shanghai: Oscars. Altogether I had my roast, half of Marion’s, and both her and my puddings. Yeah, I can pig out after a few beers. It was a real breath of fresh air to get out the apartment and lave a laugh and chat with the lads, network for job opportunities.
Have you heard of angelic appearances with messages of wisdom from the Beyond? Mine came in the form of the first bottle of free Tequila Gold. Our Chinese bartender, Frank, put an entire bottle of that fine gentleman, Pepe Lopez, in front of me. “What’s this?” I asked him. He grinned. “For you. For free.”
“You joking,” I said in Chinese: Ni kai wanxiao. (See? Be impressed.)
“No. All yours.”
Now I do like a tequila or four after stuffing myself, preferably with lime, not lemon; it really is a great digestive after a gargantuan feast. But I had never been presented with a whole bottle of Mr Lopez, cousin to that other distinguished gentleman, Jose Cuervo.
“Who gave this?” I demanded. Frank ducked his head, pursed his lips and did the oriental mask of inscrutability thing. I had an unknown benefactor. Shrugging my shoulders, I proceeded with helping myself to the tequila and poured Marion a round. I announced the good news to the chaps and we shared a round or two. Slowly but surely the level of the bottle fell and I felt like ol’ Joe in that joke at the beginning of this blog, with his smoking rifle barrel; you know, solid male prowess. Hoo hah, bring me that liquid cactus. I don’t quite know where that bottle of tequila went but eventually, I kid you not, another bottle arrived, as if sliding down the rainbow of peace from heaven, in Frank’s angelic hands. Face starting to melt from the impact of a lot of liquid cactus, I stared at the fresh beautiful bottle of Pepe Lopez Gold with a curious mixture of delight and goofy bewilderment.
“Who is giving us this?” I asked the beaming Frank, who immediately froze his face and ducked his head again. Someone, somewhere in the pub, with a fat wallet, was having a good laugh. I have an idea it was one of the bar owners as tequila at retail per bottle in a Shanghai pub must be exorbitant. It is fifty RMB a tot outside of happy hour.
Man, we were sailing. I decided to record the event of angelic appearances (Frank’s beatific face arriving with gifts of liquid gold from heaven being one) by taking a photo of my face with the look of a cat who got the cream. Enjoy.
Then I proceeded to toast the whole pub, trying to spot my unknown liberator. I was now one huge smoking barrel of masculinity, giving my fellow poets Dylan Thomas and Roy Campbell a run for their money. My mind was “bee-loud” with honeyed creativity and male prowess, cheers to that mate.
The rest I don’t remember. Marion does, as she is usually more well-behaved than me. Usually. Apparently I simply walked to the pub entrance and fell out the door and could not get up again. Two Chinese bartenders carried me into a taxi. No easy task; they are slender people and I weigh 120 kilograms. When we got home I fell out the taxi. (Macho talk: My story equals my identity.) After sliding out the lift to our apartment on the 22nd floor, I was apparently so bloody tired of falling, cursing and banging into walls that I crawled to our apartment on hands and knees, Marion giggling and coaxing me along. I vaguely remember that bit, because I still decided that I was a smoking barrel of masculinity and was associating myself with Springbok player James Small at the end of the rugby World Cup in 1995, where the Bokke won by two points. The crowds exploded and James Small was crawling along the field due to some temporary injury, pulling himself along with just his arms, if memory serves me well. Man, he brought down that giant Jonah Lomu. Hoo aah. James was in good company: Crowds up on their feet, cheering and roaring me on. Hoo aah. Vaguely I remember fantasising about the obvious similarities between me and that Bok player until the last fumes of my smoking barrel dissipated and I woke up the next morning in bed with no hangover and with the taste of raw and very prickly cactus in my mouth. Oral sex lovers of the world unite. Not. There was a mere pair of underwear between myself, decency, and our giggling maid, Tang Ying and the Chook. Marion then proceeded to tell me about my undignified behaviour. Which I nearly decided not to talk about in a blog, because, like, I have an identity, an image to maintain; I need respect and awe man. Meaning.
Sure, the episode was drunken, decadent, bacchanal, the whole nine yards. Every event presents a gift, some kind of lesson, and I loved the complete loss of structure, its limitations and I am off writing again, though I will be distancing myself from Mr Lopez for a while. Hoo aah.
I’d still love to know who my benefactor was, though.
Lovely story how not respond to being “suddenly jobless”. Come to SA and learn how to play the “job firing squad”. Their bullets feel like kisses. The motto: “get fired, get rich”. The better option is to get “suspended” with full pay of course. Years later some junior auditor -by mistake- points out this “wasteful expenditure”. The auditor might get fired while the expenditure might just continue.
Anyway, good to hear from you. Do something about your 120 odd kg’s.
At the age of 73,I have just been fired from my 20k a month job by a 25 year old “director”. The SA labour law system gives rise to a lovely power game. The Director is “manoeuvred” by a bunch of greedy poms who thought that the UK had bad labour laws.
Think you should join the Chinese unions for better working conditions. Just be careful, don’t get shot in the process. The current working conditions do support the Chinese expansion in the global economy.
When do you move to New Zealand?? Or shouldn’t I ask?
Hi Benzol – sorry to hear about your situation…. it is tough being there. I may have a fantastic job soon… if not we will probably go to New Zealand in March.
I suppose you are right – this is a blog about how not to deal with being jobless. But, excuses, excuses some unknown person gave me two bottles of Tequila whilst having an innocent enough roast at the popular ex-pat pub Oscars in Shanghai… I hope things turn around quickly for you soon, and me too. I am about to go off on my all day Saturday job then have two days freelance work lined up. So some stuff is happening.
Flashbacks to inebriated days of yon at Knockando in Parktown, glad to read that you still go at it Rod! Structure and identity: are they not just our attempts to find meaning in a random and chaotic universe? Congrats on getting ‘Cracking China’published, good reason for another soiree with Mr Lopez.
Rod, all sorted out. with the SA labour laws behind me I have managed to negotiate a more independent role (can do what I want and when I want). Higher financial risk but better gains.
Win some, loose some.
At 73, who needs a boss with less brain and certainly less experience.
Still have a little monthly contribution to my expenses. Courtesy of Her Majesty, Queen Beatrix in Holland.
The advantage of having one leg in a welfare state and the other in a labour protectionist nursery state.
Nothing wrong with a good ol TILT. Sometimes helps put things back in perspective. And having a tilt with friends and family to look after you is a privelege. Good on you, Rod, now go do your thing, no excuses left.
David H… took me a moment to figure you out! Go well, ou smous!
Knockando, dude, so you were at JCE. Me too. Was in Medhurst. Know what you mean about being jobless. Just had a year of that after being retrentched, dried up funding? Oh, i am an anthropologist too. Teaching part time this year, loving it and am missing reaserch. Know what you mean about that whole structure, meaning and identity thing…I research, publish,teach etc. therefore i am! Not! Am really starting to see that being is in fact enough! Cheers re the tequila by the way!!!!
Don’t for one moment assume that joblessness has a more dire effect on the masculine identity than the feminine one, Rod. And single mothers are also hunters and breadwinners, even tho’ that probably comes less naturally to them.
If you both have part-time jobs, Chookie’s attitude is probably the most sensible. Why get hysterical when there is still income of a sort? I’ve been in far more dreadful situations than yours, which may account in part for the unresponsive thyroid, the diabetes, high blood pressure and high cholesterol, etc. but life goes on. At some stage, this period will become a ‘remember when’ moment.
Thank you St Bridget, lovely blog name that… are you a saint? All of you now can see the photograph of myself on on this blog which I took of myself after a bottle of tequila with my mobile phone… god it really is me…..
Hi MLH agreed and that is a topic I would like to debate perhaps in future blogs: identity and how women handle unemployment and how men do. I certainly agree with what you say but it remains an interesting topic. Marion’s stoic philosophy is better than what I am at times… other than that I am just enjoying a cheap holiday at home. Now is the festive season in China and there just aint jobs.
When I get anxious it is because, I assure you, it is quite sobering to be almost unemployed in a very foreign country. But there are irons in the fire for the next semester.
CRACKING CHINA the memoir is now published and my publisher tells me sales are doing very well.
Hey Beerboep, long time no hear. What does TILT stand for if anything? As per getting more work we have bits and pieces of part time work till end of February, which is when,as I said to MLH, the work becomes available again.
Thanks for the online support. Now back to the best music of 1976…. I have files on my laptop for the best R&B from 1960 to about 2004. Nice to have Freddie Mercury remind me that “nothing really matters….anyone can seee…. nothing really matters… to meeeee….. anyway the wind blows…”
All babies should only get the love and care! I will be using your expertise.