Sitting on the sitcom.....

I went to a writers workshop a few weekends back with the director of 'Friends' - they flew him over just for this. The workshop was exploring the possibility of a sitcom based in shanghai following the lives of expats...a brilliant idea and has the potential to do so well all over the world as more and more of us have lived in another culture at some point in our lives and now the hilarious interactions that can occur. As part of the workshop we had to submit our own idea of a scene for the expat show based roughly on our own experience of living in shanghai...so i wanted to share mine with you (the female character is not me....well there may be some elements of truth...)

The Lane House Hunt (I imagine the lead character to be a women aged around 25-30. She could be a really high maintenance girl, high heels 'new yorker' which would make it even funnier. This is a work in progress so please excuse its half finished state!)

Voice Over:
It all began in the real estate office. Or at least on the way to find one….

Walking along the streets, day two of my new life in Shanghai…

“Lookie lookie. Lady. Bags, watch.” A crowd of ten women fling bits of paper of Gucci copy bags in my face.

“Ah no thank you” I try to get passed them…

“Just lookie. Bags watch”

“No.” I try to stay calm.

“Come, come, bags watch..”

This then continues to happen for the next five minutes at every street crossing ...I meet the dreaded phrase.. “bags watch bags watch bags watch’ like a broken record on ground hog day.

‘Look, can’t you see. I have a watch. I have a bag. I’m perfectly happy with them both. Now if you would please just leave me….’

‘lookie lookie. Bags watch.’

‘ahhhhh’ Beginning to loose it now…

“No. please let go.” She starts dragging my arm down the ally way, I’m freaking out by now, I get my weapon, my lonely planet phrase book out and scramble for a word to fend them off…

“BOO YAOW” I shout out, as if I won the jackpot. “BOO YAOW BOO YAOW BOO YAOW!!!” (my way of spelling how No sounds in chinese, not the correct way i must add...)

“Boo yaow? Awu za ba ” she yells some shanghainese slang (good for nothing tough girl) to me as I walk away.

I am irriate but then I see the neon bubble tea sign luring me in….and all the stress goes away…who knew small chewy balls at the bottom of your drink could be so weirdly satisfying…

I find a hole in the wall which seems to have pictures and prices of apartments outside. I step inside.

The air is thick with smoke. The two men look at me like they don’t want business. One is clipping his toenails whilst reading the newspaper. The other is eating noodles like it’s a drink. The wall paper is falling off the walls, there are turtles crawling around a small bowl next the front door wanting to get out. Right now, in this situation, I can totally relate to you buddy.

A waving cat ornament greets me then suddenly the arm falls off. Perhaps its an omen.

“Ah…lowfan suuu, apartment,.old lanehouse….’ I stutter in my appalling pilmser Chinese.

‘mao.’ (no)

“Mao lowfan suu? But..?” I point to the pictures and prices on the wall.

‘Mao. Mao. mao.’ He yells without ever looking at me once. He lights up another cigarette and turns the page of his paper.

Ok. I get the hint…

I look up a number of an agent I found on a website. I give him a call.

‘hi there. I am interested in seeing the old lanehouse apartment you have advertised on craigslist. The two bedroom in French concession?’

‘Dwea yes yes. When u have time?’

‘Ah well anytime from now is good.’

So about fifteen minutes later he picks me up. I’m hoping this is it.

A tiny man arrives in a suit a bit too short for him, I can see his white socks, on a tiny push bike.

“hello madam. Please get on.”

Are you joking I think?

“Ah ok.”

My butt is going to break this thing. I am double the size of him and the tyre is going to burst any minute I think to myself.

“Ah is it ok to hold your waist?” It’s all a bit awkward by now. Personal space cultural boundaries crossing.

“yes yes.”

He struggles to get the bike moving, it twists and turns from side to side..i’m going to fall, it’s all over…

“ohhh you very heavy!!” he laughs…i try to play along..

“ ah yes (damn those steam buns I think to myself)…maybe we should get a taxi?”

“no no.”

I bite my tongue.

We weave through the traffic and I’m having heart palpitations. People stare as we go along, pointing and laugh. I’m not pointing at you, wearing you PJ’s with your tshirt rolled up, stomach showing in broad daylight I think to myself.

“Here we are.”

We pull up at an old lanehouse.

“This is very nice. I think you like?”

I bloody hope so, I think to myself as I waddle along clutching my aching butt.

We walk up five sets of floors, through jungles of junk, you name it.

Finally we get there. I am panting and waddling.

The door opens.

The landlord greets us with a Ni hao

“Do we take off our shoes?”

“no no.”

I look around. I see why. The floor hasn’t been cleaned in about two years. But the place has character. And, it’s a lanehouse after all. That’s the key. That’s the ‘in thing’ right. That’s what all the ex-pats say.

“So you like?”

“Ah yes. But I can’t see any kitchen. Or bathroom?”

“Yes. That is because you share it with the neighbours.”.

“Ohhh.,.” My heart sinks,

The landlord then takes me down to see it. The kitchen is black with oil stains, an old lady smiles as she fries her noodles humming to the Beijing opera playing in the background. A hear a man cough and spit on the next level down from us…I shudder..

“Ahh. Tell him thank you, but I really need to have my own.”

“Ok.”

So then we go, on the bike again. Butt numb by this point.

Next stop, lanehouse number 2. Third floor. Clean. Can you believe it.

“The landlord give you special price. He likes you. I told him you are from new Zealand. He likes New Zealand his son studies there.”

The landlord smiles and speaks to me non stop in Shanghainese with the occasional ‘Lord of the rings. Lord of the Rings. Auckland. Auckland. Beautiful beautiful’

Yes yes thank you thank you but I want to see your apartment I think to myself.

Then I see it. In the corner of the living room. The kitchen. Yes it is there. But what is it surrounding it? A shower cubicle? Really?

“Yes. To keep the smell out. We don’t want the smell of our cooking in the room.”

“But surely…”

There goes that one..

So close. And yet so far away..

Apartment three.

Top floor. Nice landlord. Speaks English always a useful. Place is big. Spacious quiet. This is it I think to myself. This is it.

We step in the kitchen. It’s big. Clean. Wow.

Then I see it. A bathtub, a sink and a toilet. Yes that’s right. In the kitchen? I blink again….really?

‘Yes. But it’s fine. We have installed a curtain to separate, so you can be cooking and not disturb the person having a bath.”

Hmmmm. I am beginning to give up my shanghai lanehouse dream....maybe I am just too much of a westerner…