It's been nearly 24 days since the last time I wrote an article describing the situation I've gotten caught in, rather than one of my investigative articles or a book review. I opened this account with the intent of mostly writing academic or journalistic pieces rather than a personal diary, but I feel like I should give an update on what has happened to me, if for no other reason than to warn anyone back West who may currently be contemplating the damned-fool idea of coming to China. Let me start off by saying that even though the foretaste of Hell that I got while being vivisected by the PLA is long over, I am still essentially a prisoner in everything but name.
I suppose the best way to arrange things is chronologically. I mentioned several articles ago that after a fierce battle to get the agency to agree (in writing) provide a housing subsidy, that agreement turned out not to be worth the paper it was printed on. I was stashed in a storage room (I mistakenly thought this had been an office, but it is actually a storage room), with the teaching agency's miscellaneous stored items taking up 75% of the room, my suitcases taking up about 15%, and the fold-out-sofa which serves as my bed taking up what's left. Also, allow me to point out that even though this unit has a bathroom with a shower (ironically, it was originally a residential apartment which has been repurposed as a school office), there is no hot water, no washing machine, and nothing even vaguely resembling a kitchen, all of which are rather basic amenities that are standard for foreign teacher accomodation in China, even among the least reputable schools.
I was assured this would be temporary. "Only two weeks, while you heal. After all, it's close to the hospital, where you have to check in every few days." I had to admit, the logic that it was close to the hospital made a certain degree of quasi-sense, at least compared to most of what I've heard out of this agency.
However, when the two weeks elapsed, there had been no progress made toward finding an apartment, and any questions I asked on this topic were met with whining and pouting.
"We're trying, Pat."
"Why can't you be more patient, Pat?!"
"Why don't you show more appreciation for all we have already done for you?!"
To sum up the running debate on the subject, I am still in the same "temporary accommodation" today, 34 days after moving in for what was supposed to be "two weeks," and long after the hospital check-ups (which were the alleged reason for putting me here instead of in an actual apartment) have finished. Everything I own is still packed away in suitcases except for about three sets of clothes, which I have to hand wash and hang up over the fold-out couch where I sleep, since there is nowhere else to put a clothesline. The only good news is that I did FINALLY convince the idiots at the agency to turn on the hot water (which had been disconnected because the agency holds classes for kindergarteners in this apartment/office and they were afraid one of the little idiots, who have never heard the word "no" from their parents, would scald themselves and sue the company), which means last Thursday (April 25) I had a hot shower for the first time since February 13.
As for my medical condition I am still using a walking cane and have been told that is likely to be permanent. I was finally able to get to a clinic staffed by doctors and nurses who are US-trained US citizens, and though I was only able to afford a consultation, the doctor's response was "I can't be sure, but there appears to be foreign material left underneath the skin graft, likely pieces of gauze judging from the pictures you showed me. Also, the debridement was apparently done badly and you may have a permanent limp. Thirdly (and I can tell you this even without any tests), the skin graft was not properly tended to after surgery and the skin has melded to your shinbone."
This doctor's advice was to get back to the US (or South Korea if I can't get to the US, since South Korea's health system is apparently superb) and have several surgeries done to repair the damage done by the two surgeries the PLA doctors performed.
Well isn't that nice? But since that costs rather a fair penny, I'd like to discuss some of the absurdity surrounding my pay.
As the end of April approached, I was reminded by the school, rather than the agency, that I needed to create a new bank account at either CITIC Bank (I'm actually not sure what the acronym is for) or China Construction Bank in order to have my salary deposited. Weird as this sounds back West, it's actually pretty common in China for employers to ease the logistics of direct deposit by requiring all employees to bank with a certain bank, so this one didn't shock me much. To paraphrase George Thorogood's landlady, "that don't confront me, long as I get my salary."
However, the bank needed a hell of a lot more information than any other Chinese bank I've ever opened an account with before. For instance, my US Social Security Number was one of the things I asked for. I told them at that point they could kick rocks, and that there was no reason on Earth why any foreign citizen or entity should need that. They claimed it was for tax purposes, and I rebutted that under Chinese law a foreign citizen's Tax ID Number is their Passport number.
After being schooled in his own country's financial laws by a foreigner, the bank rep sulked a bit in silence and shuffled some papers around on his desk to make it look like he was doing something. About 8 minutes later, the bank rep said he needed to see a copy of my cell phone bill. I responded "no you don't." He gave me the standard-issued "it is Chinese law" response, at which point I pulled out my three other debit cards from three other Chinese banks, smiled broadly, and said "nage, Yingwen shuo 'bullshit,' " which means "in English, we call that 'bullshit.' "
At this point the representative from my agency pushed me out of the way (walking cane and all) and had a roughly 10 minute conversation with the bank rep. I don't know what was said (something about Chinamobile's online billing app and the word for "login"), but I am reasonably certain that despite my protests, the agency rep ended up getting his phone number attached to the account, meaning when money is deposited or withdrawn from this bank account (which was created for the express purpose of depositing my salary), he's the one who gets a text message about it.
When I got pissed about this, the bank rep fell back on the "it is Chinese law" excuse, re-iterating that he needed to see someone's phone bill to prove that the account was being created for someone who actually had a cell phone registered in China.
I called the bank rep's bluff once more, reminding him I've already opened multiple bank accounts in China and have never heard such garbage, and he calmly said "laws change." Let me simply state for the record that I have checked and there is no such law, but in China, if you're a foreigner and the guy swindling you is Chinese, you're the one in the wrong. Period. It's one of those "unwritten rules" which hold the legal status of being part of their constitution here (Yan, p.70).
But here's where it gets really twisted.
When the account was finally created, the bank rep took the debit card and put it in a nice, neat little green envelope with an information packet containing the account number, debit card number and password...
...And handed it to the fucking agency rep!
Needless to say I jumped in to try and stop this, with a shout of "gao shenme gui?!" which caused four bank security guards to come running, billy clubs in hand. The agency rep (who goes by the English name of "Andy," by the way) stood by and calmly said "I wish you would be more cooperative, Pat. This is a standard procedure, and it's for your protection." The litany of bovine excrement I was assailed with afterward amounted to "we take care of the deposit and handle your banking ourselves because foreigners make mistakes on their taxes, so we're making sure the right amount of tax is withheld. Don't worry. If you need to access your account, you can come to the agency office and one of us will go with you to the ATM so you can withdraw money."
In short, I have to ask the agency's permission, to withdraw my own money, from my own bank account; an account they have access to, and I do not, and all of this is done by an agency that openly declares they are going to withhold a large portion of the already insulting paycheck they have stuck me with, under the pretense of "taxes." Oh, and remember, this is the agency that is already holding my US bank card as collateral against the astronomical bill for my so-called "care" at the 306th. And as I emphasized before, if this is what happens when you come to China even with the proper teaching credentials (I hold an M. Ed. in Educational Administration), imagine what can happen to someone who falls for one of the "no degree necessary" scams I wrote about before.
The good news is I don't have to walk far to get to the company's HQ if I need to ask permission to borrow my own damned debit card. After all, they've already got me living in the storage room there.
Works Cited
Yan Jirong et al (other authors not listed in this translation). Trans. Huang Fang. China's Governance. Beijing, 2017. Renmin University Press.
ISBN 978-7-300-24625-3