Free JPod by Douglas Coupland Page B

pizzas, but all that dairy's not a good idea."
    "Where are they from?"
    "Fujian Province, northern China."
    I went online to search for takeout. Stir-fried clams, lychee nuts, squid with pineapple, prawns, crab, whelks and radishes. "Okay, asshole brother, you're spending ten bucks apiece for dinner for everyone here."
    "Ten bucks?"
    "Either that, or I call the RCMP."
    Greg went to pick up the food, and I orchestrated a hygiene pageant. Two weeks in the hold of a container ship leaves the modern traveller a bit. . . fragrant. I got a conga line going in and out of the shower, and I put their dirty clothing in the washer and gave them my own clothes to wear. The hot water ran out quickly, but nobody seemed to mind. I felt like Elliott from E. T. handing out Reese's Pieces.
    Greg came back an hour later carrying a Santa's toy sack worth of Chinese food, and he was surprised to see them all in their new duds. "Check out the makeover," he said. "It's like casual Friday at the Asian Studies department of a Midwestern university."
    "Just put out the food."
    He did, and a feeding frenzy ensued. "Jesus, Ethan, just look at these guys chow down."
    "Greg, what or when was the last time these people ate—a dead seagull somewhere off the coast of Guam?"
    "Relax."
    "How can you be a part of this? It's just—inconceivable you'd get wrapped up in it."
    "Don't be so self-righteous. The people in this room probably made the shoes on your feet, the computer you just turned on, the glass in the windows, the light bulb in that lamp, and just about everything else in here. It's okay if these people are across the ocean in a sweatshop working for fifty-nine cents a day, but heaven help us if we have to actually deal with them in real time in our part of the world."
    "Your social conscience is making me teary."
    "Look, I sell Vancouver condominiums to global pirates from Hong Kong or Taiwan who need a crash pad if China goes ballistic. And tonight it was either bring these folks to your place, or let them starve and shit themselves in a Maersk shipping container over by the Second Narrows. Don't be so pissed off. Here—" He handed me a wad of twenties. "Let them keep your old clothing. You go buy some new stuff."
    "I can't take this money." I turned around and gave the pile of twenties to a scrawny young guy wearing my Nine Inch Nails FRAGILITY V. 2.0 tour shirt. "Take one and pass it along." He quickly caught my gist.
    The doorbell rang, and everybody stopped as if a DVD's PAUSE had just been hit. Greg answered—it was one of Kam Fong's henchmen. He and Greg had a whispered argument. When it was over, the henchman motioned the Chinese out of the house and into the truck. Aside from the food trash (two dozen completely licked-clean paper plates) and a cardboard box full of shit outside the back kitchen door, it was as if the place had never seen a soul. Greg said, "Okay, then, you're right, this was a pretty big imposition on you. Let me pay you back."
    "How?"
    He looked around my place. "Ethan, your furniture is total crap. I'll have Kelly from my office send you some pieces left over from our display suites."
    "I don't want or need new furniture."
    "Don't be stupid. Your furniture is college-grade, and you're pushing thirty. Collectively it spells out L-O-S-E-R."
    "My furniture isn't crap. At least my place doesn't look like I ordered the whole thing from a Delta Airlines SkyMall catalogue."
    "Gee, that one sure stung. How are Mom and Dad?"
    "Busy."
    "I'm off."
    After I closed the door behind me, I went to the washer and took out the first big load of smuggling-wear—cheesecloth-thin knit shirts too flimsy to buff a car with—profoundly depressing—and I wondered what I was going to wear now.
    I put the wet clothes into the dryer, and an hour later, as I removed them, I got to thinking of how you'll sometimes be at a friend's place, and they loan you a jacket or sweater, and how extra-great those garments are to wear because they come with