The Karaoke Facists
Dunhuang, China
I was awoken by singing. I thought it had come from outside, perhaps from one of the many bars on the street. It was awful and loud. It sounded like howling, like an animal had been wounded and was suffering badly.
I lie awake in my bed trying to gauge the direction of the noise. It sounded vaguely distant but close at the same time. At certain points it would sound very close. The singer hits a high note, his voice breaking; he sounds very, very close to me.
It was 1:48 a.m.
I sit up, blinking in the darkness. The singing sounds like it is actually coming from the same floor I am on. It is so loud it’s surreal, like someone is playing a trick on me. The walls are rattling. From my bathroom I hear something fall. My toothbrush and toothpaste have been knocked off the mirror by this noise. Is this for real?
I vow to kick someone’s ass for this.
I open my door and burst into the hallway in my underwear. I need to find whoever is doing this to me.
Outside my door I find a girl, a timid Chinese in charge of opening and locking the doors when guests leave. Naked flesh scandalizes the Chinese; she shrieks and giggles, covering her eyes.
“What the fuck is going on here!” I bellow above the raucous singing. She runs into her little alcove and shuts the door. I hear a little click. She has locked the door. Through the curtains I see beady little black eyes looking at me.
I am furious. I hear the noise stop followed by men talking, laughing. It’s a boozy kind of laughter, carefree. They are upstairs.
Like a bloodhound I bound up the stairs, three at a time.
At the top of the stairwell I find a ramshackle disco. The doors are made of black glass. Inside it is very dark but I can see the feeble movements of a cheap strobe light.
I open the door. There are three men in suits. One of them is standing with a microphone while the other reclines, Jabba the Hut style on the couch. He is surrounded by cheap whores. I want to hurt these men for their arrogance, their drunkenness.
All eyes turn on me. The look at me like I am a ghost. Half-naked, wild-eyed Westerners covered in tattoos tend to get this reception in China’s rural west.
“Turn. This. Fucking Shit. OFFFFF!” I shout, smashing my fist against the wall. I was so angry I could have eaten one of these men’s faces. The didn’t understand a word I said.
Jabba looks at me and says, “Cheesusprayyesss. Jesussss. Pray. Yes!”
I wanted to headbutt him.
I was seething with anger. “I fucking swear to fucking god that if I am woken up again with your bullshit..”
I walk out; my point had been made.
On the way down the stairs I pass buy the little girl in charge of keys. “Tell those fuckers to shut the fuck up!” I shout in her face, pointing upstairs. She looked hurt.
Back in my bed my heart is pounding with adrenaline. I listen to it pound in the darkness, thump, whump, thump.
Ten minutes later, they start again.
45 seconds later, I am there. It is now after 2:00 a.m.
I rip the door open and find an old woman waiting in my way. Is she the owner?
Fuck her.
“Move.” I am done playing with these people.
She wags her crooked finger in my face; the Chinese sign for ‘no.’ I find very little about the Chinese I like. I hate their culture, their shaming culture. By waging her finger at me, she was trying to shame me.
I brush past her, toward a man standing and looking stupid with a microphone.
He steps back and covers his face, thinking I was going to punch him.
“Give me that, fuckface.” Snatching the microphone from his hand caused screeching feedback, which kept me from hearing Jabba rushing me from the side.
Clearly, being kept from his karaoke was not something he would stand for.
He tripped over his feet and fell clumsily on the floor three feet in front of me.
This all was happening in slow motion. I wanted to break the Karaoke machine, to kick it and smash it. I had no shoes on, kicking it would break my foot.
I toss the microphone at the harem of whores sitting on the couch. The little bar is silent and still. Nobody is moving; I felt like a bank robber in the old West.
“Keep the fucking noise down.” It was 2:11 a.m.
