Counterfeit

Son of a bitch.

It was shaping up to be a great day and then the night happened. That's not entirely fair, the night was mostly good but sometimes it takes one thing to put a damper on the entire proceedings.

We played games, had a few drinks, shot the breeze at the residence. Smiles abound. I'll admit I was getting restless as the clock inched closer to midnight because the goal was still to go out. The later it got the later I'd be out and about. Normally, this isn't a problem but I was not in the necessary dexterous shape to spend a second consecutive night carousing until 4 or 5 in the morning. You need training to go on a spree like that.

We made it to the First Floor at probably 12:15. When people in Canada go to the bar that late it makes me shake my head; last call comes at quarter to 2 and the bars close shortly after (some exceptions stay open a bit later). In Beijing, last call is more in the mind of the beholder; you are left to your own devices and limits.

Making it out, I felt better and was ready to have a fun time. Some decent music was playing and it takes me some time, and the right song, to get me moving. The First Floor serves Guinness on draft - 50 RMB (equivalent to 8 Canadian dollars) - and while it's slightly overpriced, I wanted the delicious dark beer to set my mood. I gave the bartender a 100 RMB bill. After a few moments he returned it to me.

"It's fake," he said.

I stared at him, dumbfounded, and scrambled through my wallet to find 50 RMB in smaller bills. Mulling this oddity over I sauntered back to the crew of colleagues that had gathered to dance, cheer, and chat.

The right song came on, causing me to momentarily forget about the counterfeit bill I was apparently peddling. "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen is one of the best songs I've heard, it brings out the need to sing along and bounce that few others inspire in me. Forget the typical heavy bass dance songs popular in clubs, it's songs like this that really get me going. I am, apparently, a less than energetic person in the eyes of some of my colleagues. I noticed Anthony staring, jaw-dropped, as I bounded and smiled and jumped around like a spastic hyena.

The song ended and I tried to keep the groove in tact, but the beer was gone and the fake money was burning a hole in my pocket. The damndest thing is where I got the money: the bank. I didn't get it mixed in some change from a cabbie (they would never have a reason to give me 100 RMB as change anyway), or food, or anything else. I exchanged some Canadian money earlier in the day as I set up my bank account. I figured since it's a bank that I'd have nothing to worry about; apparently not.

I mentioned the conundrum to a colleague expecting to be greeted with shock and awe.

"Wow, your luck isn't very good this week," she said, referencing earlier in the week when I accidentally swallowed my fake tooth when taking a sip.

According to her, this thing happened last year to another colleague. The bank issued fake money and when she returned to the bank later, they refused to fix it. Makes sense, how could you prove that the bank gave it to you? They would probably look at you like you're trying to pull of some backward scam.

I had another 100 in my pocket and about 25 more in small bills that I intended for the cab later. I gave the 100 to another friend who proceeded to get me a second Guinness. She returned with the beer and my 100. Two counterfeits. I shook my head, graciously accepted her charity beer and stewed in my brewing anger. At this point I should have collected my losses, tucked my tail and return home to lick my wounds and vow to do better next time. Instead, I finished my drink and joined the crowd on its way to Kokomo, a rooftop dance bar down the street from the First Floor.

We danced, and crammed into the crowd near the DJ at the front of the dance floor. I got elbowed in the side, shoved a bit and was generally pressed between five bodies at once. In a different state of mind, and maybe without my heavy leather jacket, I would have been able to have fun. As it was I was mellow and the music and scene was anything but. My friends were all jovial and laughing and dancing, exactly how you should be at such a place of decadent excess, flashing lights and deafening bass. As Cee-Lo Green's catchy "Fuck You" faded, and the sing along ended, I lunged at the hole in the crowd to my right. Standing at the edge of the bar in the only place where I wasn't shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of other people I watched the sweating mass become a singular entity wishing I could merge back into it but my mind was set on dwelling on those rat bastards who gave me fake money. To the streets.

This was the course of some excitement, as I hadn't been left to my own devices to get home yet; I'd always been with others. I tried to take what looked like a shortcut through a shopping area that closes around midnight. A security guard stopped me. While I couldn't understand the words, I knew he wasn't letting me pass through that area. I considered for a moment the excitement that would follow if I were to run into the area and thought better of it. No need to be reckless.

A cab stopped for me and didn't unlock his doors. The cabbie rolled down the window and raised three fingers. After a few seconds of trying to communicate it was clear he wanted 30 RMB for the cab ride. This is absurd by Beijing standards. Even in heavy traffic, it usually costs less than 20 to get to Sanlitun (the district we were in) from our residence. I told him I would only give him 25 (still overpriced, but it was all I could muster). He acquiesced, unlocked the doors and let me in. He didn't set the meter. He ripped me off. But I got home and it wasn't that late, somewhere around 2 AM. Others started coming through the halls around 4 or 5 or maybe 6.

Now to find someone who can tell the counterfeit bills from the real ones and to find a way to fix it.