Originally written: Fall 2011
So three white guys walk into a condom shop: a short fat guy, a tall skinny guy, and a guy in the middle doing the talking. It sounds like the setup for a bad joke, but it’s not.
So we were walking along in Kaifeng, a little podunk town in the middle of nowhere China, going out for some late-night snacks: myself, my good friend Adam, and my good friend Richard. On our way to the night market, a cornucopia of cheap foods and amazing tastes (though not always so amazing smells), we happened to see a particular kind of sign that only comes out at night. Set inconspicuously in the middle of the side walk, in big red block-characters set against a background of white, it said 避孕药, which literally translates to “Avoiding pregnancy medicine”. Seeing this (being the most literate of us three in Chinese characters), I pointed it out to my two friends, and we all snickered in our male-way at the frankness of the awkward translation. Walking past the sign, I turned around for no reason I can now recall, and saw the back of the sign said 安全套, literally “protective coverings”. Taking about two seconds to recognize the Chinese word for “condoms”, I couldn’t resist but point this translation out to my friends as well. We all got a good giggle out of it, then Adam said all of a sudden, “Hey, Richard, didn’t your wife say you needed to get some of those?” A pause. Then Richard, in his tall, awkward, gangly sort of way, replied, “Yeah.”
So, three white guys walk into a condom shop: a short fat guy, a tall skinny guy, and a guy in the middle doing the talking. They want to buy one box of condoms.
First off, this condom shop is tiny. It looked bigger from the outside, but on the inside two big, glass display tables take up most of the room. In the glass display directly in front of us: condoms. In the glass display to the left: contraceptives. On the wall behind the contraceptives: dildos and other toys. In the back of the room: a bed (not as kinky as it sounds, this is for the store owner), and a grainy, black-and-white television set. The three of us fit in the room, but uncomfortably.
Second, the store owner is having the best day of his life. He gets this huge, toothy grin as soon as we walk in, and you know this will be a story he tells his grandchildren one day, when they’re old enough. (“You won’t believe what walked into my shop the other day.”)
Anyway, I get to work helping Richard buy some condoms, and Adam gets to work sight-seeing. We quickly ascertain that there are two distinct kinds of condoms in the shop: the brand-name 20-25 RMB condoms, and the 10 RMB condoms with pictures of naked ladies on the boxes. Adam is convinced that the latter would make the best souvenir from China, but we go for the brand-name.
In the end, there is no punchline; or maybe the whole situation is the punchline—three white guys working together to buy a box of condoms in China. As we leave, Adam waves over his shoulder and says in Chinese, “明天见”, or “See you tomorrow”. The guy just laughs.
So three white guys walk into a condom shop: a short fat guy, a tall skinny guy, and a guy in the middle doing the talking. It sounds like the setup for a bad joke, but it’s not.
So we were walking along in Kaifeng, a little podunk town in the middle of nowhere China, going out for some late-night snacks: myself, my good friend Adam, and my good friend Richard. On our way to the night market, a cornucopia of cheap foods and amazing tastes (though not always so amazing smells), we happened to see a particular kind of sign that only comes out at night. Set inconspicuously in the middle of the side walk, in big red block-characters set against a background of white, it said 避孕药, which literally translates to “Avoiding pregnancy medicine”. Seeing this (being the most literate of us three in Chinese characters), I pointed it out to my two friends, and we all snickered in our male-way at the frankness of the awkward translation. Walking past the sign, I turned around for no reason I can now recall, and saw the back of the sign said 安全套, literally “protective coverings”. Taking about two seconds to recognize the Chinese word for “condoms”, I couldn’t resist but point this translation out to my friends as well. We all got a good giggle out of it, then Adam said all of a sudden, “Hey, Richard, didn’t your wife say you needed to get some of those?” A pause. Then Richard, in his tall, awkward, gangly sort of way, replied, “Yeah.”
So, three white guys walk into a condom shop: a short fat guy, a tall skinny guy, and a guy in the middle doing the talking. They want to buy one box of condoms.
First off, this condom shop is tiny. It looked bigger from the outside, but on the inside two big, glass display tables take up most of the room. In the glass display directly in front of us: condoms. In the glass display to the left: contraceptives. On the wall behind the contraceptives: dildos and other toys. In the back of the room: a bed (not as kinky as it sounds, this is for the store owner), and a grainy, black-and-white television set. The three of us fit in the room, but uncomfortably.
Second, the store owner is having the best day of his life. He gets this huge, toothy grin as soon as we walk in, and you know this will be a story he tells his grandchildren one day, when they’re old enough. (“You won’t believe what walked into my shop the other day.”)
Anyway, I get to work helping Richard buy some condoms, and Adam gets to work sight-seeing. We quickly ascertain that there are two distinct kinds of condoms in the shop: the brand-name 20-25 RMB condoms, and the 10 RMB condoms with pictures of naked ladies on the boxes. Adam is convinced that the latter would make the best souvenir from China, but we go for the brand-name.
In the end, there is no punchline; or maybe the whole situation is the punchline—three white guys working together to buy a box of condoms in China. As we leave, Adam waves over his shoulder and says in Chinese, “明天见”, or “See you tomorrow”. The guy just laughs.
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