Unlike Thanksgiving, this time I had a plan for the gong bei-ing (literal translation--bottoms up--a favorite among the Chinese & expats alike). I wouldn't be swayed by any words. I had just 15 students (out of 240) left to grade on their final oral exams after the dinner treats. Vacation was on my mind and I didn't want to return to finish the rest the next day by returning on the 7 a.m. bus. I assumed the Dean would understand. Baijiu < Responsibility.
Wrong.
Wrong.
My boss didn't hesitate to shoo me during the opening round. Forget about the grading, she told me. As I feigned excitement at the sound of those words as Ms. Xia fixed the camcorder and the video in the making on me, I squirmed and took the half-wine glass fill of baijiu--one baby sip at a time. Hong jiu (red alcohol), or red wine as we know it, doesn't count as alcohol in the business (or teaching) world of China. My ploy to switch the two was futile. Instead, the president cheering my glass poured more baijiu in and my esophagus burned from the fire of the baijiu, while one of big honchos of the school danced. Yes, danced. If China didn't have such a crackdown on drugs, I would have believed he was on something else. He flung his arms in a YMCA, shout dance style. I couldn't breathe, concentrate and certainly not drink the 50% punch awaiting in my wine glass. Heather translated what I didn't understand from the visuals, "Drink, drink pretty girl, I will dance until you finish it all. Do you want more? Yeyahhhh!"
With red eyes and the threat of the baijiu burps, I made my way back to the classroom with one of the Chinese teachers guiding (read: stumbling [with]) me.
The aftermath included at least two black outs (not me, luckily), one bus vomiting incident (again, not me) and a sloppy final parting of my teaching act from semester one. All a real part of the Zhengzhou teaching experience. For the new year, however, I wish for no more baijiu.
