The huikou and the fury

It feels good to be on the other side.

For the past month and a half that I've been traveling through China, I've been a pseudo-foreigner. Pseudo-foreigner treatment, pseudo-foreigner topics of conversation, pseudo-foreigner prices. Yesterday, I was finally inducted as a full member of the Chinese society.

How? A little magical thing called the huikou. During a few hours of downtime, my white co-workers decided to go shopping at the biggest electronics market in town, and I tagged along as a translator. We were checking out cameras, looking around and asking for prices. When we walked into a booth and one of the white guys pointed at an HD camcorder he wanted, the salesperson turned to me and asked me if I was the translator. I said yes. He then asked me:

"Do you want huikou?"

I didn't understand. I've heard of the word before, but only in news reports about corrupt politicians. I asked him what he meant.

"You know, huikou." He was confused that I didn't know. I still didn't. He got annoyed.

"He pays us. We give you some."

All kinds of bells (and dollar signs) went in my head. KICKBACK! I can get some? This blew my mind. All those times we took miserable bus tours, we seethed helplessly with suspicions about the guides who "negotiated" our ticket prices and made us go to jade factories. Now, I was the one to be suspicious of. Spectacular.

I duly said no, but I didn't tell them what the salesperson said either. Now that I've been inducted, I reserve the right to kick around some Maos. I'm pretty sure that one's in the Chinese Bill of Rights.