Drive one’s pigs to the market

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to LI Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Yao Weijie

My classmate Zhang Xiaotao is a clever and hardworking man. Although born to a farming family, he got a Master’s degree in the US and settled there. He asked his mother and father to visit him in the US last year.

Zhang Ming, the father, was a diligent and simple farmer, who knew little about foreign culture and language. At first, all he and his wife would do was watch TV. But he put in an effort to learn the language and was eventually able to communicate with the neighbors using simple words.

Once, while strolling near his house, he met his neighbor Linda, who looked drowsy. Zhang said hi and asked, “Why are you looking so tired?”

“Oh, am I looking tired?” Linda said. “It must be because of my husband. He drove his pigs to the market last night.”

Uncle Zhang got very excited. He thought: American people are really hardworking. Not only do they have a daytime job, but some also sell pigs in the market.

“Oh, I understand your husband has been busy,” he said.

“Yes, he is very busy these days and has to work over time.”

Then Zhang thought, I’ve known my neighbors for three months, but I’ve never seen any pigs. Where are they?

So he asked Linda.

“In my house,” she answered.

Zhang’s heart fluttered. He thought: American people not only know how to seize the moment, but they also know how to put their houses to use by raising pigs. What a great nation! He made a mental note to ask his son about this.

After some more small talk, Zhang went home.

At dinner, Zhang said to his son, “I now know why the US GDP is so high. American people are so industrious. If our Chinese people could be like them, our country will have a bright future. They not only work in the daytime, but at night they raise pigs in their bedroom. You should learn from them.”

Zhang Xiaotao was confused and asked for the story. Uncle Zhang told him what happened. Afterwards, Xiaotao burst into laughter.

“‘Drive one’s pigs to the market’ is just an idiom that means the husband snores all night long,” he said.

The father could only shake his head. “I must learn English harder,” he said.

Out to lunch

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to Li Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Yao Weijie

In the Chinese zodiac, the rabbit symbolizes endurance, beauty, peace and hope – and is the animal of 2011. That’s why people like buying things with rabbit patterns or insignias on them.

Gao Han, a friend, is a designer at a foreign advertisement company. He has been working at the company for about four years and has produced nothing but excellent designs. Recently, however, his boss wanted to downsize, so Gao began to worry that he might be laid off. He worked even harder.

Last month, his boss Sam asked him to design a logo with a rabbit.

“You know our company’s condition. If you can’t design a cute rabbit, you can leave,” Sam said.

Gao was very nervous.

A month later, he completed the rabbit. He took the image to Sam and waited for his boss’ response.

Sam stared at it a long time before laughing and saying, “This rabbit is out to lunch, you can go.”

Gao was confused, but since his boss has a bad temper, he didn’t dare say anything. After a while, Sam’s wife, Lily, swung by. Gao couldn’t help asking her about this. “Why did he say my rabbit was out to lunch?”

“Sam is the one out to lunch,” Lily said. “I like this design.”

Gao was even more puzzled.

Eventually, he worked up the nerve to approach his boss. “Are you out to lunch now?”

“Why? It’s just 10 o’clock, why would I have a lunch?” Sam said.

“I asked Lily why you said my rabbit is out to lunch just now. She said you are out to lunch, so now I’m confused.”

Sam laughed. “You misunderstood. Actually, ‘out to lunch’ means not completely there, so, crazy or mad. Lily said I was out to lunch because she really likes your design.

“But she probably misunderstood me. I was saying this rabbit of yours is crazy good.”

“So … you won’t fire me?” Gao asked.

“Not at the moment.”

A classic tale retold

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to Li Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Wei Xi

Last Saturday, on Chinese Valentine’s Day – or Qixi – 35-year-old engineer Yang took his Australian girlfriend, Jessie, to a romantic hutong restaurant near Houhai with the intent of proposing to her.

Several days before, however, they had a fight.

The topic was relocation. Yang and Jessie met three years ago and eventually decided they would move to Australia together, but Yang has never been able to pick up English, no matter how hard Jessie tries to teach him.

Jessie has been pushing him harder recently as she prepares his documents to apply for an Australian visa.

The pressure from his girlfriend and from his work has caused Yang to freak out. One day after work, amid Jessie’s nagging to practice English, he blew up. “I’m not going to Australia!” he shouted.

Yang, valuing face, had yet to apologize.

It wasn’t until Friday, when a colleague reminded him that Qixi was the next day, that Yang decided to quit being so stubborn. He was going to do something special.

At the restaurant on Saturday, he looked at Jessie’s expressionless face and said, “I’m sorry, honey. I apologize for what I said the other day. I know you’ve pushed me for my own good and I realize what I said hurt you a lot.”

Jessie kept quiet and did not immediately respond.

But Yang knew how to please her.

“These days I have worked so hard on my English that I even prepared an English poem especially for you.”

Clearing his throat and taking out a draft, Yang began to read.

“O my love’s like a red, red rose, that’s newly sprung in June,” he said, taking out a batch of red roses and handing them to Jessie.

“O my love’s like the melody, that’s sweetly played in tune,” he continued, taking out a toy violin and pretending to play.

Then, Yang got up on his chair and intoned, “We met in early May, and that must be set by the old man under the moon.

“I do not want to be the bull man who has to wait to see the weaver girl only once a year. So Jessie, please marry with me and let’s go to Australia together!”

Jessie looked embarrassed. She whispered, realizing everyone was looking at them, “Hey, what are you doing? Get down from there.”

“No, I will not get down until you agree to marry me.”

“Yes. I said yes,” Jessie said shyly, letting Yang put a diamond ring on her finger.

When Jessie told me this story on Monday, I laughed. “He’s a romantic guy and worth getting married to,” I said.

“But who is the old man under the moon?” she asked.

“Well, the old man under the moon is a Chinese god who is in charge of the romance of men and women,” I said. “Every time the old man thinks a couple is suitable to be together, he ties the two with a red string. So, if we say a couple’s meeting was set by this old man, we mean they are destined to be together.”

“Got it. But who are the bull man and weaving girl?”

“Bull man?” I was confused at first. Then I realized the problem. “I think he means the cowherd and the weaver. In a Chinese fable, they were a couple separated by the goddess of heaven. They could only meet once a year, on the seventh evening of the seventh month on the Chinese lunar calendar – called Qixi.”

“That’s sad,” Jessie sad.

“Yes,” I agreed. “And that’s what he meant: he couldn’t bear to only see you once a year.”

Wenzhou rear-end accident, a horrible nightmare

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to LI Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Han Manman

Chinese student Wu Zheng has studied journalism in an American college for nearly one year. Although he’s abroad, reading news on Chinese websites has become a daily routine for him.

On the morning of July 24, Wu was searching for news when a headline on Sina, one of the biggest portals in China, shocked him greatly – two high-speed trains crashed and led to dozens of people dead or injured.

Wu could not believe his eyes. In his mind, Chinese high-speed trains are safer and more reliable than airlines. “How did this happen?” he wondered.

As he Googled the details, his British roommate Richard was coming back from a basketball game.

“Hey, what’s happening? Why do you look so upset?” Richard asked.

“You know what? A very serious accident happened on my country’s new high speed railway. Many people died!” Wu said.

“So horrible! How many people died?” Richard asked.

Wu found it hard explain due to his poor English.

“The latest report said two bullet trains catch trail with each other in Wenzhou last night. But till now, no official has come out to clarify  the reason behind the accident,” Wu said.

“What? Two trains catch trail with each other? What does that mean?”

A good idea suddenly came to Wu. He asked Richard to put his mobile phone on the table and said, “Your phone is one bullet train, my phone is another. Suddenly, your phone stops and my phone bangs into your phone,” Wu made a vivid metaphor, hoping Richard could understand him.

“I see! You mean a rear-end collision? A bullet train rear-ended the other train, right?” Richard said.

“Oh, rear-ended, I learned a new word. Can it be used in a car accident?” Wu asked.

“Of course. You can say, ‘My car was rear-ended by a truck,’” Richard said.

Richard told Wu that a word linked to rear-ended is “pileup,” but he said the word is always used to describe massive rear-ended accidents.

“For example, more than 100 cars and trucks are involved in a massive pileup on a highway as patches of dense fog obscured visibility on the heavily traveled roadway,” Richard said.

Doom gathering, back to back

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to LI Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Zhang Dongya

Last weekend, I went to visit a painting exhibition at a French gallery located in an old factory that is expected to be demolished in a couple of months. It is quite a good place that blends the old with the modern. However, it is destined to be removed, so we all have to accept its fate.

To commemorate the opening of the last exhibition here, the gallery prepared a farewell party. The start is an end, and the end is another start. They will move to a new place soon.

The curator announced the opening of the exhibition to applause. Then the atmosphere changed when she said this would be the last show at this venue.

Many old faces turned up in succession, with some I think I have met many times before but never said a word to.

Some looked at the paintings while others gathered in the yard, talking with wine. I talked with Stephanie, the gallery’s planner, and was surprised to learn she would leave Beijing for her hometown in Jiangxi Province next week. Stephanie is an old staff member at the gallery and we have maintained cooperation with each other. I felt very sad that she would leave. “It is exhausting to live in Beijing sometimes, and I am longing for a cozy life in a small place – like my hometown,” she said.

Then the curator – a French guy named Lionel, came by complaining about all the demolition of the old factory and Stephanie’s resignation.

He was blushing due to his red wine – he is the sort of person who blushes after a drop of wine. He talked and talked, pouring his heart out about all his bad luck recently. More people gathered in our group, pricking up their ears.

“A complete mess! You know my partner bought me a crappy start-up company last week, and the stock fell out of bed already!” he shouted. “You know my little Denden [his dog]  – he chewed up my favorite flip-flop!”

People began to laugh and relax after learning about all the poor things that had happened to Lionel. Later, the crowd dispersed and people began to look at paintings and enjoy food and wine again. A newcomer – a young journalist at a Chinese art magazine – came to Lionel to introduce herself, exchanging name cards with the red-faced guy.

“I just heard you dropped from the bed last week. Are you okay now?” the girl asked Lionel with caring eyes.

“Sorry?” Lionel frowned.

The girl tried to repeat the bad things he had mentioned previously, but it made the guy more puzzled. I heard the girl say “fall out of bed” and suddenly knew the misunderstanding. The girl must have mistakenly related the stock’s drop to Lionel himself.

I smiled and walked away. I don’t think it was the right time to tell the French guy, since he was hapless enough and would not want to drop from bed again.

Getting the right ‘juice’ for your boss

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to Li Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Huang Daohen

For many young people, working for a multinational company like Google, Apple or JP Morgan is an enviable goal which can provide opportunities to learn from great thinkers from all over the world. The generous salary doesn’t hurt either.

But such experiences aren’t always pleasurable. For many Chinese, frequent exposure to native English speakers can be a double-edged sword that may help improve their English skills, but also result in embarrassment.

My friend Lillian, who works for a US trading company in Beijing, knows this well. At a recent get-together, the 26-year-old secretary shared her latest experience.

Late spring is a busy time for trading entrepreneurs in China, as the country’s largest trade fair, the Canton Fair (China Import and Export Fair), opens every April. As a result, Lillian’s American boss Joe traveled to Guangzhou every other week last spring to attend the fair.

Occasionally, her boss would need to travel to Guangzhou on short notice, causing headaches for Lillian, as most hotels near the exhibition site were booked up.

During one such crisis, Joe asked, “Don’t you have any pull, Lillian?”

Upon seeing the look of bewilderment on Lillian’s face, Joe tried a different phrase: “Don’t you have any juice?”

“But what kind of juice do you want? Apple juice or orange juice?” asked Lillian, thinking that Joe wanted something to drink.

After a moment of silence, the office burst into laughter. Lillian realized she had made another Chinglish mistake.

The words “pull” and “juice,” though regularly used, are not as simple as they seem. In slang, they can equate to the word “connection.” To have “pull” means to have advantage or influence.

When Joe asked Lillian about the juice, he actually wanted to know whether she had any relationships, or guanxi, in Guangzhou that could help him get a room.

Don’t be ‘er’ at dinner parties

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to LI Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Annie Wei

My friend Alison hosted a house party for nine guests last Sunday. She loves cooking and hanging out with friends over wine, so we were all excited for the get-together.

Alison let us know that before she moved to Beijing, she hosted dinner parties every two weeks. Like a true veteran, she prepared nine dishes plus a soup. The dinner was great. The dishes were foreign and local, and delicious. She topped things off by serving Chinese dessert.

The guests were great, too. Everyone had an interesting story, old friends and new friends mingled and we gabbed the night away.

Although it’s usually assumed that food costs will be split among the guests, most people also brought a bottle of wine to show their appreciation for the chef.

It was a nice gesture, considering Alison spent two days preparing for this night, and food costs are skyrocketing these days.

I brought a bottle of Penfold’s from Australia, a safe choice. It cost around 150 yuan. My friend Emilia, a Canadian originally from Hong Kong, spent about 200 yuan for a bottle of French wine. It was her first time attending our party, so she went overboard and also brought a big bucket of Cold Stone ice cream.

Everything went great until the very end, when a girl named Samantha, as we were about to leave, blurted, “Oh, my cheesecake, everyone should give me 20 yuan to cover the cost.”

I was a little surprised. But, well, I’ve known Samantha a long time, and I understand she’s not as financially secure as others. She’s a scriptwriter who hasn’t had much work lately.

Some others, however, were completely caught off guard by her request.

I noticed that Emilia unhappily gave her 10 yuan and quickly rushed into the elevator.

I went after her, saying, “Are you Ok?”

She looked upset. I understood it wasn’t because she couldn’t afford it, but because of the principle of the thing.

I said, “Well, I’m sorry for Samantha. She’s between jobs and always a little bit ‘er.’”

“But how inappropriate!” Emilia said. “She was the only one who didn’t come to the party with wine. And she even told everyone at the beginning that she prepared two cheesecakes and she decided to keep one at home.

“I should have told her that each person should pay me 20 yuan. She would still owe me 10 yuan.”

Emilia then stopped and said, “Wait, what does ‘er’ mean?”

“Oh, it’s just a popular Chinese term to describe people who act simpleminded and foolish,” I said. “Maybe it means ‘thick’ in English.”

“She is,” Emilia said. “I almost introduced her to my company’s new movie project when she told me her work experience. Now? I don’t think so.”

Pulling one’s leg

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to LI Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Yao Weijie

Zhang Liping, one of my best friends, married an American teacher named Martin in China. They live a happy life, but the cultural gap is always tricky to deal with.

Not familiar with China, Martin rarely goes out shopping. Once, seeing his wife was too exhausted after a day’s work, he volunteered to buy some vegetables. When he got to the vegetable market, he found that his language skills weren’t good enough to communicate with the farmers; consequently, he was cheated, paying 30 yuan for vegetables that should have been 5 or 6 yuan.

Martin didn’t know he made a mistake, thinking he’d pleasantly surprise his wife. Zhang was surprised all right, but not in a good way. “What are you doing? You’re too hu,” she said.

“Hu? I know that means tiger in your language, but what do you mean? I didn’t behave like a man?”

Zhang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’s from northeast China, and in her hometown, hu refers to a person who’s stupid. After explaining that to her husband, he became embarrassed.

But the language problems cut both ways. Though Zhang’s English is better than Martin’s Chinese, she recently committed a blunder as well.

Last Saturday, both of them were in a long-distance run. As Martin’s a bit overweight and out of shape, he quickly ran out of breath and after a while could only pant out the words, “Honey, wait for me.”

“Look at your legs, so short, that’s why you can’t catch up with me,” Zhang said, laughing. “From now on, I’ll call you ‘fat husband.’”

“Don’t pull my leg,” Martin said.

“I didn’t pull your leg, you are pulling my leg,” Zhang replied.

“Pulling my leg is just a joke.”

“I know it’s a joke, because I can’t pull your leg. But I’m telling you it’s not funny.”

At this point, Martin knew Zhang had misunderstood him.

“Seriously, honey, pulling one’s leg in English means ‘making a joke.’ You made a mistake again,” he explained.

This time, it was Zhang’s turn to feel embarrassment.

Chicken with saliva?

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to LI Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Wei Xi

My friend Philip is one of those who prefers eating in small local diners rather than five-star restaurants, and every time he travels to a new place, the first thing he will do is find a diner to have a meal.

Last weekend, he came to Beijing for the first time and asked me to dine out in a hutong.

“Why do you always like to eat in such small places? I don’t think the dishes are clean enough,” I said.

“But it’s only here where you can truly taste traditional Beijing dishes,” Philip replied. “Now let’s see what they have on the menu – you’ll have to translate the names of the dishes for me.”

Although Philip is conversant in Chinese, he is only able to recognize a few characters.

“Now I see why you called me out to dine with you,” I joked.

As the waitress handed me the menu, I found it had English names for each dish.

“Here you are,” I said, passing the menu to Philip. “It has English names.”

But as he read the menu, I saw a strange look form on his face.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Nothing to stir the appetite?”

“You Chinese are strange! Do you often cook chicken with your saliva?”

“What? That’s gross!”

I took the menu and began to read it carefully and soon burst into laughter.

“Were you reading ‘mouth-watering chicken’? It does not mean it is cooked with saliva, but that it’s so delicious that it’ll have your mouth running.”

“So I suppose the four-glad meatballs mean meatballs that bring you happiness, right?”

“Now you’re talking,” I said. “This dish is used during the Spring Festival as a way of wishing good luck and happiness to the family.”

“I see. So let’s take those two, and what shall we have for a drink?”

“As you prefer fancy liquor, I’d suggest the Two Pots of Heads.”

Philip looked worried. “I’m sorry, what’s the name again?”

“Two Pots of Heads,” I answered, happy to see his frightened reaction.

“I didn’t catch that. The name’s bloody.”

“Actually, it’s a twice-matured alcohol,” I explained. “It is usually cooked and matured twice in a pot.”

Hearing this, Philip’s interest was piqued.

“I think I’d like to try it and tell my friends back home that I had ‘two pots of heads’ when I’m back in the States.”

Unhealthy sex?

Chinglish story

This column focuses on Chinglish mistakes in our daily life. If you have any experiences to share, send them to Li Zhixin at lizhixin@ynet.com.

By Chu Meng

Not long ago, panic about “HIV-negative AIDS,” an unknown virus, attracted the attention of world health organizations.

Although the people who claimed to suffer from this ailment were found to have psychological rather than physical problems, the scare put the spotlight on the country’s health and medical professionals.

Since 2004, a group of patients have been seeking attention and treatment for what they call “HIV-negative AIDS,” a range of AIDS-like symptoms discovered through self-diagnosis, such as perpetually swollen lymph nodes, subcutaneous bleeding, joint pain, fatigue, night sweats and emaciation.

As of 2010, the Ministry of Health had received 59 reports of people with the condition in Beijing and Shanghai, as well as in the provinces of Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Hunan and Guangdong. In 2009 and 2010, the Chinese Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) offered free HIV tests to the 59 patients. No evidence was found of HIV or any new virus.

I was following the story while foreign media were preparing to publish unverified reports.

Kathleen Heugh, one of my Australian friends in Beijing, who had a habit of overreacting toward health and safety concerns in China, asked me for more information about the news.

“If the problem is serious enough, I will leave China for a while. Anyway, my scholar exchange program will come to an end this May,” she said.

In order to relieve her anxiety, I said that all the affected people reported a history of “unhealthy sexual encounters” preceding the onset of symptoms. However, not one of the people had tested positive for the HIV virus, and despite these negative results, their AIDS-like symptoms progressed.

As a reporter in the Chinese media, I instinctively avoided using the sometimes sensitive word “homosexual” in my stories. Conservative Chinese authorities are more likely to refer to “bu jie” or “bu jian kang” sexual encounters — meaning “unhealthy,” “unsanitary” or “immoral.”

I told her they were engaged in “unhealthy sexual encounters.” she smiled wanly and said nothing, leaving as if deep in thought.

I was puzzled by her reaction and added him onto my mental list of quirky expat friends.

The next day, Derrick, our copyeditor, called me to her desk, pointing to the word “unhealthy” on and asking, “So, are you saying these HIV-negative victims had sex with animals or something?”

“Absolutely not,” I answered. “How come? Why do you ask?”

“‘Unhealthy sexual encounter’ is vague and invites people to imagine the worst. There is nothing wrong with being specific if you mean ‘homosexual’”, he explained with a laugh.

Well, I hope Heugh wasn’t too freaked out. If she has left China, hopefully she didn’t go with the wrong impression.