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This is the 3rd chapter of the Migrant Worker thread. Read the 2nd Chapter.

I scored a front row ticket to the Closing Ceremony of the Beijing Olympics this summer. Going by myself, yet eager to take lots of pictures inside the Bird’s Nest, I borrowed a camera tripod to set up auto-picture-taking.  A security line surrounded the Nest a few miles out, so no one without a ticket could enter, and those with tickets had to talk a good 45 minutes (I made it in 30 because I was power-walking) until they reached the stadium. I arrived at the security check-in point next to the stadium forty minutes before start time, only to find out that camera tripods were not allowed in. I tried every trick in the book: sweet-talking the male student volunteer, pretending to be a dumb foreigner, being an angry bitch. Despite my protests, the volunteers told me my only options were to either chuck it or walk back outside the security line to find a hotel that could check it for me.

Seeing as how the tripod was borrowed, I could not throw it away, so I turned around and started on my trek outwards. Twenty minutes out I approached a fancy-hotel-ish-looking building and asked the policemen on guard if I could check things there. They told me no, the closest place would be outside the security line. When I asked how much checking it at a hotel would be, they relied, “100 [RMB]”. Running out of time and breath, I called my friend to ask how much the tripod was; her response: “65RMB”. Some quick math told me that paying 100RMB to store a 65RMB object was not right, and exasperated, I told her my situation and asked if I could buy her a new one instead. At that moment, a policeman, I suppose out of pity for a single frantic girl, offered to hold on to it for me until the end of the ceremony. I just had to meet him back at the exact same spot immediately after it ended. I grabbed his number and headed back.

Great, I run back towards the stadium and arrive with time to spare. I snap some photos sporting my Olympic and Chinese patriotic gear, and ask some foreigners to sign my Olympic guestbook (using my fake Chinese accent to speak English so I sound like a cute Chinese obsessed with foreigners).  I head on over to my great seat and watch the show progress, seeing up close Yao Ming’s towering ogre of a figure. The show ends and I start to head back to where I met the policeman, only (I should’ve seen this one coming) my horrible sense of direction and memory lead me 15 minutes down the wrong street. By the time I arrive at the spot, the policemen have all moved to their next shift location, and I have no choice but to take a taxi to their new shift.

Arriving at the Museum of Science and Technology past midnight, I look around but don’t see anyone. The entire area is deserted and the only sounds were the humming of cars on the highway. I call him to tell him my exact location: in front of the main gate on a rock, wearing a white skirt. At first, in the silence, I hear footsteps approaching, and then I can make out a tall plain-clothes man walking towards me. Our eyes meet but we do not know for sure if we are right people that we are looking for; in the darkness and rush of our first meeting, we didn’t really get a deep impression of each other’s appearance.

“Hi, are you the girl here for the tripod?”
“Yes, that’s me”
“Here you go”
“Thanks so much, I really appreciate it”
“How are you getting home?”
“Metro”
“So late at night? That’s not safe for a girl like you traveling alone. We can send you home in our police car”

And so he sent me home, all the while chatting about our lives. I usually never tell Chinese that I am actually American, but I felt like I could trust him (he is, after all, a policeman). He was also quite cute, and when I chat with cute guys, I naturally can’t stop smiling during the entire conversation. After I arrived home though, I never thought that I would see him again.

The next day, I receive a phone call from his number.

“Hi, do you remember me?”
“Of course I remember you!”
“I just realized that I never even asked for your name”
“Oh, I am Crystal”
“My name is LYK”
“How long are you going to be in China? I hope to have more opportunities to chat with you”
“I am actually leaving for Wuhan today, but I will be back in two weeks”

Two weeks later, I call him to let him know I was back. Every few days I would receive a call from him just to chat for hours.  We talked about our childhood, jobs, the U.S., China, our past, our present, our future, just everything about our lives. I was really giddy – I mean, a policeman was interested in ME! Flirting is a universal language afterall. I had an extra ticket to paralympics wheelchair basketball, and I had been looking for an excuse to see him again, so I invited him to come with me. The conversation gradually shifted to the Olympics, and I asked him if aside from security work, had he ever been inside the Bird’s Nest.

“Yes, I went last week, but we didn’t get to spend much time there because we had to hurry home”
“Oh, how come?
“My mother-in-law wanted us back”

I felt like an anvil had dropped and crushed my pride. I had spent the past few weeks flirting with a married man?

“Oh.” [silence]

He must’ve sensed my shock and understood why, because the next thing he asked me was, “How old did you think I was?”

Asian men look younger than they are, a lesson I learned the hard way. He was a married, 35 year old man, who for some reason or other, wanted to make friends with a 20 year old college student.

What does this have to do with the migrant worker, you may ask? Recall that for the entire week I had been avoiding the migrant worker because I was more interested in the policeman. After this phone call, I was so upset that I called up the migrant worker and invited him to dinner.

Mood: 7 just ate dinner and helped one of my students with his lab report, had my weekly tea party with friends

Physical tiredness: 5 slept at 4 am last night, but woke up at 1:30, so haven’t been awake very long

Spiritual tiredness: 4 finally made some long term progress today, turned in my major grant proposal