Lucky Bastard

By James Baquet

Part 5 of the article "My Expat Life"

I have to face it: I'm big.

Oh, not Godzilla - Moby Dick - King Kong big. Not even Fat Bastard big. I'm like "big guy" big. (I once told a girl in Japan, "Sometimes I feel like a small sumo." She replied, "Not so small." She was off my Ku-ri-shi-ma-su ri-su-to.)

Exactly how big am I? Let's apply the "Airplane Comfort Test."

As I write these lines, I'm seated on a flight on Shenzhen Airlines. My hiney fits in the economy seat perfectly, but my arms and shoulders overhang the arms of the seat considerably. As usual, I'm in an aisle seat, so I get bumped a lot. It's OK when it's a flight attendant's hip, but those serving carts are murder!

When I put the tray table down (never during take-off or landing), it touches my gut but doesn't gouge in. The seat belt fits (always fastened when seated), with just an inch to spare. So on the Airplane Scale, I'd say I'm inside the "normal" range -- but just barely.

So what is the bulk effect of my bulk on life as an expat?

First, it makes clothes shopping tough. In the states, I can pay a little extra for large sizes at Walmart, Target, and other quality stores, sometimes in my own department.

Here? Fat chance (sorry). I have found large sizes in "regular" shops, mostly in the Big Three (Luohu Commercial City, Dongmen, and Huaqiang Bei). But I really had to ferret out clothes in my size, sometimes even having my old clothes copied by a tailor.

I also had to deal with the reaction of the salesgirl when she discovered that the biggest size she had was still too small.

I've noticed a few "big size" stores popping up around town. This isn't a concession to the Invasion of the Triple-X Foreigners; it's just that China's getting fatter, a natural consequence of her development (there are reports of a 97% in obesity over a ten-year period).

My fear is that as there's a greater Chinese release of obese, I will lose my edge, my U.S.P., my status as "Obese Wan Kenobi."

You see, in the states, I garnered barely a glance. Yeah, I'm big there, too. But when Japanese friends came to visit, they marveled at how I fit in. "James-san," they said. "Here you are normal."

But in China (as in Japan), I stand out in a crowd. (Hell, I practically am a crowd.) This gets me lots of attention, occasionally negative, but mostly positive -- sometimes too positive.

Because since the old days of not-so-plenty, being "Big in China" was a sign of prosperity, of happiness, of strength.

In other words, size was associated with luck.

So as I float like a bubble through my expat life in Shenzhen, I often get merrily molested. I mean, people pat my stomach. Male and female, young and old, cab drivers, fellow elevator passengers, waiters, all seem comfortable with reaching out and touching someone: me.

My usual response is to say "wu kuai" -- five yuan -- as I hold out my hand with a smile. They laugh, I laugh, but no one ever pays.

I guess it's just expected that you'll allow a free, lucky rub on the belly when you look like the Laughing Buddha.

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