An American in Chinatown

No! No, I had not forgotten that as of yet I haven't revealed to my faithful readers the events that put me in Pennsylvania (Lancaster County and Philadelphia) and New York City during the second week in May.

But to those of you who have haunted me with reminder emails, thanks ever so.

You might have already guessed we went to take in touristy places like the Herr's Potato Chip factory, Sight & Sound, Shady Maple, the Liberty Bell, and Geno's Steaks (slogan: This is America ~ When ordering SPEAK ENGLISH).

(And yes! We did meet Joey Vento, who I am sad to learn has since departed the mortal coil, having suffered a massive fatal heart attack on August 23, 2011. He died in his own bed after putting in a full day's work at Geno's.)

Joey personally took my sandwich order and I handed him nine dollars. He was a great and patriotic American and I am honored to have made his acquaintance, however briefly.

There is already a memorial page to Joey on Find A Grave.

Then we cruised on over to the Big Apple where we visited the Empire State Building, the Brooklyn Bridge, Grand Central Station, Rockefeller Center, Yankee Stadium, Times Square, Ground Zero, Central Park, the Staten Island Ferry, St. Patrick's Cathedral, FAO Schwarz, and roughly three thousand four hundred twenty-nine miles of sidewalk.

See these seven darling young people?

I'll take that as a yes.

Well.

Those kids worked for the trip. It was their trip. TG and I were invited along as tour guides.

It's a little more complicated than that but let's leave well enough alone.

The above photo was taken in front of the Liberty Bell, which every American should have the privilege of seeing with their own eyes. When you take its picture, as often as not it seems to have legs.

Later that same afternoon we headed for New York City and three days of classic sightseeing.

Our group eventually ended up in Chinatown.

Nope! Didn't eat there.

Didn't eat here either:

Wouldn't have minded eating here:

But didn't.

Three of the five girls in our group were obsessed with finding a place to buy knockoffs of designer purses.

As we moved down the street we were approached boldly by merchants determined to separate us from our money if not our sanity.

They have a system. You're walking along and short, slight Chinese people dressed casually in jeans come straight for you and almost make eye contact.

As they slide by, not quite touching, they mutter with a barely-recognizable tonality: You want sunglasses? You want purse? Prada, Gucci, Chanel?

Not answering is taken as a no but they lean in if given the slightest encouragement.

The girls were relentless in their begging to be taken where they could buy the handbags. Mrs. Weber ... they tried every few minutes.

Okay! I finally said. You want purses, you're going to get purses. Gird your loins.

Within seconds a thirtyish Chinese female sidled by and inquired sotto voce as to my need to buy Prada purse.

I looked right at her. Yes, I said.

People! It's like an electronic army. In less time than it would take to snap a chopstick in two, she was on the phone. A few unintelligible sounds later, she turned to me and gestured across the street.

Lady you go under yellow sign, they tell you what to do.

Talk about your social networking.

(Y'all understand it's illegal to sell -- and, I presume, to buy -- knockoff merchandise bearing trademarked names and logos, don't you?)

(Just wanted to make sure you knew the danger level.)

Conscience and law-abiding sensibilities temporarily laid aside for the sake of expediency, I swanned across the street. My eager contingent followed close at my heels and we entered a doorway under the yellow sign.

Another frail Chinese female sauntered over and addressed me. How many lady?

These three plus me, I replied, waving my hand toward the girls.

We were told to wait and look around at a preponderance of kitsch but we just waited.

A few minutes later we were directed through the rear of the minuscule store and back outside. We were told to walk down a steep flight of steel steps and make a right.

As we descended I sensed nervousness behind me. One of the girls whispered: Mrs. Weber are you sure this is okay?

I didn't whisper back. I used my outside voice. Oh yeah, I assured her. They won't mess with me, I promise.

And they wouldn't, either.

So after arriving in what amounted to a small courtyard we were ushered into a windowless, amenity-less room measuring approximately twenty by ten. The walls were lined with hundreds of purses. We were not offered fortune cookies.

The tiny young Chinese man presiding over the selection and sales process urged us to hurry as the girls dithered over this bag and that.

As for me, I was drawn to one fake Chanel that didn't scream Tacky Tourist From South Carolina. At least, I didn't think so. But it was too expensive. I can't even remember how much but way, way too much.

After all I own a Kate Spade and it's not a knockoff. A few Dooney Bourkes dot my pursey past as well. Let's avoid lowering our standards this late in the game, shall we?

I know you want to know what happened and I wish it were more exciting but the bald truth is: Nothing.

Except those three girls dropped enough good old American currency to buy me a few more authentic Kate Spades and left that place thrilled to pieces, seemingly unaware they'd just been run through an innocently no-frills but terribly efficient Chinese laundry.

The law paid us no mind.

To this day the only Chanel reticules I own -- or am likely to own -- are of the paper shopping gift-bag variety but I will have you know my collection is more than decent.

I did buy a purse in Chinatown, however -- for Erica, whose birthday was approaching -- and a tote bag as a gift for someone else. Total spent: not quite thirty dollar, lady.

May you fare so well when you find yourself cast in the role of an American in Chinatown.

Comments

[Bijoux]

Would you believe that in April 2011, I also found myself in Chinatown with a group of girls and a quest to get a designer purse for one of them? Not my proudest moment as a chaperone, but it was an adventure I will never forget!

(Recovering from Covid here, so I’m reading old blog posts from those I enjoy). Hope you don’t mind comments from yesteryear.

[Jennifer]

@Bijoux ... Ugh I hope you're feeling better and no, I love comments from yesteryear! They give me the rare opportunity to read my own blog and reminisce about what I was up to, haaahahaha! xoxo