When in Doubt, Blame It on My Mom

Last night was just silly disappointment after silly disappointment. After getting back to my hotel, I quickly shaved and changed to grab a cab to the local acrobat theater. Well, it was more difficult to get there than I thought, and all I wanted to do was grab a cab. There is no order or preference to who gets a cab off the street here, the winner is the one who daringly (idiotically) throws themselves the furthest into harms way to stop a cab. Seriously, there are people running around in the middle of a 3-lane-each-way road as if life was a game of Frogger. In this instance, I lost, for after 40 minutes in the cold trying to hail a cab and not die, it became evident I was going to miss the acrobats.

So I went back to my room, cracked a beer, and decided to start recharging my junk so as to be able to use my laptop, iPod, and camera on the train today. A few minutes after plugging in my laptop to the newly returned power adapter, I smelled smoke. Yeah, you guessed it, I was frying the adapter.

But luckily I had been drinking, and as so remembered I saw an Apple store in the mall across the street. Running over there, I attempted to purchase a chinese-style power cord. Babaiba kuai later, and rather pissed off at forking over babaiba, I returned to my room. And somehow, I ended up with the wrong adpater.

But luckily, I had been drinking! So I just started plugging things in as I had them, that is to say, American prongs into the Chinese outlets, Storey style. And it worked. There is no need for a power adapter in China so long as the cord only has two prongs and both are the same size. Which makes me a big winner. To celebrate, I went and enjoyed some dumplings.

Waking up this morning with a useless power cord that cost me babaiba, I quickly put together some rough Chinese and headed back to the Apple Store. Here is a direct translation:

"I'd like to return this thing."
"Why?"
"It is the wrong thing."
"What do you mean?"
"My mother told me to buy this thing. She told me she had an iBook. She does not. She has an IBM. She is a dumb egg."
"I dont really understand."
"My mother is a dumb egg. Can I have my money back? Here is the receipt."

Some dude who overheard the conversation and who was laughing at it came over, spewed some Chinese, and then got me my money.

Which proves my theory once again: When in Doubt, Blame It on My Mom. It is a concept that dudes around the world understand.

This afternoon will be spent sitting in the train station waiting for my 830 PM train. (I need to check out at noon, and they wont hold my luggage for me.) I plan on finishing "The Fountainhead," re-reading "Confederacy of Dunces," and listening to my iPod.

PS: Mom, you know I love you. But you really don't know anything about computers.