Washing Machine Blues

So things around my apartment are always breaking. However, I love my bachelorette pad so I would rather pay to have things fixed than move out.

On one of these occasions my washing machine had broken. Scratch that. It wasn’t fixed properly the first time. So I had the school secretary/translator call the repair company and request that they fix the machine properly and for free.  They agreed.

When the worker finally arrived at my apartment (he got lost, as most people do), I showed him straight to the washing machine. I tried to explain via use of charades and Google translator what was wrong with the washer. I even hummed the annoying sound that the machine makes when it refuses to do work.

Through my limited Chinese, sound effects and secretary (well, mostly secretary), he managed to understand the problem. He then unceremoniously ripped the top off of the machine. As I watched him pull black electrical tape out of his fanny pack of tools, I realize that this is probably something I should watch him fix in case it ever breaks again. As a result of my tenure in China, I already know how to repair toilets so perhaps with these two new skills I can start a successful business as an English speaking repairwoman in a city where no one speaks English. You always need a plan B.

I realized as he affixed a new washing machine sensor to the machine’s wires in the most haphazard manner that, although the agreed-upon labor was free, I would have to pay for this part. Something that I did not plan on and did not have the extra cash to cover the costs. 

Sure enough, he called my Secretary and handed the phone to me. “He wants you to pay 75 ¥ for the part,” she said. Laowai price, I thought in my head.

“Uh, ok. I didn’t take out any cash today so I will look around the apartment to see what I have.” What I had was 50-some RMB (¥) in notes and a bag of coins from around the world. As I took out the coins, I realized that throughout my time in China I had never used coins to pay for anything due to their miniscule value.  And even though each coin had only one numeral on it, I knew that there was surely a coin equivalent to .50 ¥.

I called my secretary back. “Hi again. This is kinda embarrassing but I don’t know how to count Chinese coins.”

She walked me through the process and confirmed my suspicions- evidently the coins bearing a ‘5’ are actually worth 50 percent of 1 ¥ and those emblazoned with a ‘1’ are 10 percent.  Even as a liberal arts major, I know that 1+5 does not make 60 parts of 100. The Chinese repairman looked incredulously at me as I painstakingly counted out the money, coming up 4 ¥ short despite sneaking in a gold coin from Chuck-E-Cheese.

Another call to the secretary. “Ask him if I can pay the rest in Australian coins. They are worth more than RMB anyways.”

After a brief conversation with my secretary, the man agreed and swept his payment into my former plastic change bag as I tried to keep a straight face. This is definitely going on the blog, I thought.

I handed him the bag and offered him some Easter candy. He politely refused, opting to exit my apartment as quickly as possible. My washer has only broke once since.