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My first team day in APA was decided by way of a committee of one – maybe two ex-pats that we would rent a local gymnasium for a basketball tournament and pick-up badminton. While the ex-pats were utterly hopeless at badminton (save those if us still hanging on to our success in the game during the 7th grade co-ed gym class tournaments that some polyester short wearing adult put in the lesson plan twice a year), we dominated in basketball where the local Hong Kong girls (all generally under 5’4), weren’t exactly experts in the paint.
We were split into about 8 teams of five and expected to play full court. I was on a team with Jonathan (an American designer who worked on the basketball line), two local developers and my APLM, who is the smallest man alive.
After Jonathan and I explained the concept of “dribbling”, the games were underway. In the 90 degree gym I felt and looked like I had been playing for eight hours after a mere 5 minutes. We were respectable, my APLM swatting away the ball as though it were bad to have possession of it, the girls hanging around the edges avoiding the ball, occasionally getting aggressive, touching the ball and remembering to dribble, me attempting shots and generally missing, and Jonathan, who as a the only black man in the division was seen as the “lucky” player, setting up “plays” like a veteran point guard. The stereotype that black men are always great basketball players is not lost on the Chinese, unfortunately for us, Jonathan’s shot was almost as bad as mine.
Other teams were in the same boat, the big rugby playing ex-pat, sweating so profusely in his running shorts that he was scoring simply because no one would get close enough to defend him, Lance, a 6’3 New York raised Chinese actually yelling and blocking the shot of a five foot local girl…… and the whole thing being refereed by a 35 year old british woman who “didn’t really like the game or understand the rules”. With this team building, no one actually won, but we all felt closer to each other…… except Nick who had become a lepor over the three hours. I gave him a pity hug at the end and regretted it when a pulled away not just damp, but soaked.
Team building day #2 started with bowling, but the actual team “building” piece broke down a bit as people picked their lanes and the ex-pats hung with ex-pats, locals with locals. It must be a language thing. It was a rough bowling day for me. I fell twice. I blamed my shirt. It was this funky designer thing that had about 18 entrails hanging off of it, and I kept getting tangled in them as I did “my moves”. I think I broke a 50.
After bowling, we hopped on a bus and headed to a “Cantonese style BBQ in the New Territories (open area North of HK that borders mainland China). I figured some beer and a little grilled meat would be a nice finish to this fairly hot day. I envisioned a park, some benches, some grills, some coolers.
We were dropped off at a compound surrounded by a chain-link fence, strewn with mismatched patio and lawn furniture, which sat on either concrete or dirt or a few slats of wood that were randomly thrown down around the area. I assume it was an attempt at a western style “deck”.
That night I learned that Cantonese BBQ consists of a bunch of fire pits, millions of empty skewers and tinfoil covered platters of raw squid, pork sausage rounds, fish balls, beef balls, chicken balls – they really like their balls – and the occasional quail egg (which are actually quite tasty). I think they provided about 10 hot dogs for the ex-pats – they went quickly. I can proudly say that as I downed bottle after bottle of Tsing Dao, I tried everything – okay, I did skip the raw squid – the thing still had it’s head for the love of god!! But everything else? Yes, I tried it. Fish balls ain’t so bad if I do say so.
My strategy of drinking beer to get through the food had unfortunate and unexpected consequences, mainly having to use the bathrooms. Squatters are not my friend, and they never will be. Although you do quickly start to see why so many Chinese girls where skirts everywhere, Tight, American style jeans are NOT the practical choice when faced with a squatter. Add a small army of cockroaches and (and excuse how crass this is), your dangling ass about three inches above them, and I had mentally already moved back to the states.
The expat solution to this problem was just to keep drinking, while you had to go to the bathroom more, you stopped caring about Mr. and Mrs. Roach and their charming family.
Team building #3 was the charm however. My friend Kevin was originally named the leader of the committee to pick and plan the event. We started with badminton and a BBQ on one of the local islands. There was some pushback that we wanted a little more “team” and a little less “party”. This led to the submission of ideas by the whole office. After sifting through options and offering up a ballot for the whole office to vote, with options like “outward bound”, “community service”, “swim park”, “hike to big Buddha”, and “mahjong tournament”, the winner was “paintball war games and BBQ”. Within my American sensibilities this sounded like a great idea. I had never paintballed before and was picturing the very well structured and organized parks and buildings that are provided in the US. How long do you a think a person needs to live in a foreign country before their first reaction is to assume that things will be the same as the US? That is rhetorical. Let’s just say that I am a very slow learner!
Two days before the big event, we were given some print-outs and the schedule. We met in front of the Peninsula hotel at 8:30am, made sure to wear sneakers and bring the Nike towel that had been provided. After a 45 minute drive into the new territories, our bus turned onto a dirt road, passes a few trash filled ditches, skinny stray dogs and rolling scrub and tree covered hills. As we rounded the final bend our afternoon location revealed itself. A corrugated metal roof shack, the most heinous looking squatter outhouses I have ever seen – yes they make squatter outhouses, and some long wood tables. We unloaded from the bus to be greeted by some Chinese guys in full camo gear yelling into their bullhorns in Cantonese. I felt like I was reporting for my first day of terrorist training camp. After about ten minutes of getting talked at in Cantonese, one of my local team members half translated to me as she pushed me towards another shack at the back of the bigger shack, where I was handed my own fatigues, a helmet, eye goggles and a rifle. Let the games begin.
No details in this story, just a few notes; paintballs hurt when they hit you on the ass, helmets are clumsy and fog up, long fingernails and guns are not friends, full camo is hard to get off when you have to go to the bathroom – in a squatter, and I can’t shoot with any level of accuracy.
After we finished the games we discovered that the site on which we had been shooting at each other for five hours was also the site on which we would have a BBQ! Yeah! It was a tough day. I would have gone straight home to shower, but unfortunately a group of us had a gallery opening that night – we were definitely the “B-List” at that particular event…..may have been the clothes, may have been the stench……
