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There are few places in Beijing I am scared to enter. But one makes me tense the moment I set foot in the door. It is the bank.
Most of the few times I go there, I run into trouble. While working at China Radio International (CRI) last year, visits were kept to an absolute minimum. With my salary electronically deposited, I needed only to withdraw from an automated teller machine (ATM).
The ATM is fine for taking out RMB, but on one occasion I wanted some US dollars. When I told a CRI colleague from New Zealand, he offered to come along and help fill out the form - a procedure he emphasized "is easy."
The branch was near the Friendship Hotel, and as we walked in, my workmate assured me, "there is nothing to worry about." But after writing out the details, he looked at his watch and said: "I need to leave for an appointment. Just hand over the form, and she will give you the money."
When my turn came, I walked nervously to the teller. She motioned me to push the form, along with my card and bank book under the wire grill. I waited.
With an expressionless look on her face, the teller pointed to the keypad, on which I entered my six digit pin numbers - the same ones which had always worked at an ATM. She looked at her screen then directed me to enter them again. Something was out of order. A third attempt was no better. To make matters worse, this teller was not telling me anything. We had reached an impasse, linguistically and financially.
The customer behind me had been watching, and while her English was limited to a few words, she explained: "Numbers not right."
I tapped them in again, but still the teller would not let me have the money.
Suddenly I remembered advice from a website for overseas tourists visiting China. It said if foreign cards do not work in an ATM - try adding two zeros at the beginning or end of the pin numbers, especially if the cards have only four digits. My card was Chinese with six numbers, but I was desperate.
As frustration showed across my face, the teller remained calm, not a smile or frown changing the look of hers. She watched the screen as I repeated the same six numbers, but this time I carefully added two zeros.
Bingo! I had struck the jackpot and my "prize" of US dollars was handed over in the same cool manner she had maintained during the drawn out, tense transaction.
I walked out, wondering why a major bank in an area close to the Friendship Hotel where many foreigners live does not provide the services of an English speaker to help people like me. This branch has since closed, but when I visited a new one close by, I would again ask myself the same question.
I went there to deposit my salary because my present employer pays me cash, partly in US dollars.
On the way I ran into a foreign expert from the Middle East living at the Friendship Hotel. I told him I was concerned about what might happen after my earlier experience of withdrawing US dollars, but he too was reassuring.
If speaking Chinese is hard enough, writing and reading the language is - for me - next to impossible.
It was a hot, humid day but from the moment I walked inside, refrigerated air breathed new life not only into me, but scores of customers who occupied every waiting seat. Near the doorway I noticed people touching a screen, taking a ticket and waiting for their number to appear at a teller.
When I pressed the screen, ticket 647 fell into my hands. At least numbers in Chinese are the same as in English. All four teller booths were changing their illuminated red numbers as each customer left, and while still only in the mid 500s, I was grateful to be out of the heat.
From my seat I not only had a good view of the Tom and Jerry cartoons on the big screen above, but the tellers and their electronic readouts below.
Over 40 minutes passed, and now they were getting closer to my number.
I was next, but when I stood up ready to go over, the number after mine - 648 - started flashing. As I rushed forward, I found to my dismay a fifth teller had opened without me realizing. I had not seen her booth because, unbeknown to me, a floor to ceiling pillar obstructed my view.
To think I had waited almost an hour, and missed my turn. Not even the air conditioning could soothe my rumpled brow. I ran to the teller and despite a polite "excuse me" she would not let me in, explaining why - in Chinese naturally.
As I looked around expecting a guardian angel to materialize, an older Chinese man suddenly appeared at my side, speaking English: "Do you need help?" he asked. When I told him what had happened, he explained to the teller who now said she would take me next. I asked him to wait, and luckily he did because there was more trouble ahead.
First I had to sign my name on the deposit form in Chinese. No problem. I had already copied it onto a deposit slip I took from a previous visit, but for some reason she claimed this was not the right form.
I watched in horror as she rip it up and drop the pieces in her waste paper bin. Before I could say "I need that to copy the Chinese characters of my name", the teller produced a different form, and told my helper I would have to sign again.
When my friend pointed out I could not write Chinese, the teller laughed and kindly retrieved two sections of the tattered form on which my now crumpled Chinese signature was still readable.
I laid the pieces carefully on the counter and smoothed them out so that they almost joined. What I did not notice was that some of the nearest waiting customers intrigued by this "performance", had gathered behind me to watch. They held their breath as I slowly copied my name like a child writing for the first time.
The man told the teller she should have let me sign in English. After I finished she did, and when I wrote my usual signature, the onlookers nodded in admiration.
Then after an hour of waiting, my helper told me something I did not, at that moment, need to hear: "When you have foreign currency, you do not have to wait. You just touch the lowest readout on the screen, take the ticket, walk up to teller number 7 and they will serve you straight away."
If only I had known. But if you have been following these adventures, you will gather that after being turned upside down, I usually have a happy landing.
We arranged to meet for dinner during which he told me about his interesting career in the public service which had taken him to many countries, including a posting in Iraq before the current conflict. He now has a senior job with a sports organization for the disabled.
Maybe he will show me how to get tickets to the 2008 Beijing Olympics. And without waiting in the queue.
(China Daily by Edwin Maher August 26, 2004)
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