Now, I’m fairly sure that most of you have heard of the expression ‘Chinese Fire Drill’. But what does it mean? Random House Publishing had this to say on the matter:

There are two main senses of Chinese fire drill. One is the broad one, ‘a state or example of utter confusion’. The other, rather specific, is a high-school or college prank where a group of students jump out of a car that’s stopped at a red light, run around the car, and pile back in before the light turns green. Both of these stem from the idea of a fire drill being confused and panicked.

The first sense was first used in the military in World War II. Chinese here is not necessarily a racial sentiment. Several expressions in common use in aviation since World War I, such as Chinese landing ‘a clumsy landing’ and Chinese ace ‘an inept pilot’, derive from the English phrase one wing low, thought to resemble the Chinese language or a Chinese name. The use of Chinese to mean ‘clumsy; inferior’ may stem from these phrases, although there were earlier isolated examples which were based on ideas of the inferiority of the Chinese.

The car-prank sense is first attested in print in the early 1970s, but a number of people have reported its use in the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s, so it is likely that the phrase was current at the time, but simply was not written down that early.

Whatever the origin of the phrase, and whichever meaning is intended, it is now regarded as offensive to Chinese people, and should be avoided.

And the ever-helpful Wikipedia had this:

The phrase Chinese Fire Drill, in the sense of “a state of utter confusion,” first appeared during World War II. Chinese here comes from British military tradition of using the word to mean clumsy, inept, or inferior. It is likely that this was not intended as a slur on the Chinese people, but rather a play on the phrase “one wing low” which referred to a clumsy pilot and was thought to sound Chinese. Regardless of its origin, it is considered offensive by some.

Fair enough. Late last year I was fortunate enough to actually witness a Chinese Fire Drill, so I’d like to add my own couple of cents to the mix (FYI, at time of writing USD$0.02 = RMB$3057.25).

The location of the event was a suburb of Shanghai – most developed, most modern, most fashion, most diligent, and most delicious city in China (and probably the world) – called QingPu. The Fire Service (a part of the Red Army), had recently taken delivery of the newest and best (and therefore, imported) equipment, and was looking to show it off to an impressed public. They had been practising for weeks, and were all set for the Big Day.

The site for the drill was in front of a large restaurant opposite the local Government building, a huge and impressive structure easily six hundred times larger than any other building in the town (with the exception of the PSB Headquarters, which is even larger). All the top officials were on display, with their plastic water bottles and jam-jars full of piss-weak tea. Some had even gotten changed out of their pyjamas for the Big Event.

The basic premise was that a fire would break out behind a pot plant in the carpark, the entire Fire Service would be called in from around the corner, and the Brave Chinese Fire Fighters would swing into action to extinguish the fire. For reasons of safety, all roads were closed and the fire was simulated by an orange smoke grenade.

I was in the area, and had plenty of time to kill, so I sat back and observed with interest.

The grenade was set off, and within minutes the Chinese Fire Drill was under way. The Fire Service, waiting just around the corner, roared into action. Half of them turned the wrong way and drove off down the road in the wrong direction. The half that went the right way squealed to a halt a hundred yards from the ‘fire’ and began running out hoses. Unfortunately, the hoses weren’t long enough, so they had to reel the hoses back in, drive a bit nearer, squeal to (another) halt, and run out the hoses again. Then someone realised that the water hydrant was the other side of the restaurant, so two hoses were reeled back in, connected together, then run back out again, this time to the hydrant. By now the guys that had gone the wrong way had managed to turn around and had arrived at the scene, and The Brave Chinese Fire Service (great lads, every one of ’em!) started the pumps and began to Fight Fires. Or, at least, they would have, but for the fact that no one had thought to turn on the hydrant. This fact was not immediately apparent to Our Brave Lads, who stood in various postures of puzzlement for some minutes, before some bright spark worked out the problem. Half a dozen lads instantly ran to the hydrant, ran back to the pumper, collected the correct tool, ran back to the hydrant, and turned it on. The hoses, which were lying unattended on the ground, let loose like cut snakes on a hot tin roof, soaking everyone within a hundred yards. Frankly, at that moment, I thought someone was going to be shot (probably me, from the way I was collapsed in hysterics). Somehow, one of the brighter ones managed to get the pump turned off, and the hoses under control. Then the smoke grenade died of old age. There was a hasty conference, and it was decided that the best thing was to send out for another smoke grenade, and try again.

I couldn’t take any more of it, really I couldn’t. My spleen was near the rupture point already. I still get the giggles whenever I think of it. All I can do is refer you back to our friend, Mr Wikipedia:

The phrase Chinese Fire Drill, in the sense of “a state of utter confusion,” first appeared during World War II. Chinese here comes from British military tradition of using the word to mean clumsy, inept, or inferior.

’nuff said.

I still remember my early days here in Hell China. Back then I had this odd belief that people were all basically the same, that all parents wanted a better life for their kids than they had themselves, that education was the key to progress, that when you smiled at people, the vast majority would smile back, that love really was the most basic human emotion. Oh, how naive I was.

Now, I’m a guy that likes to have a laugh: I like to hear jokes, and I like to tell them. So it was rather a shock to me when I arrived in the sewer China, to discover that irony was something they made rice bowls out of. Oh, the revelation didn’t come all at once, and Ye Gods! I tried hard to find a funny bone in these peeps, but no joy was to be had. Initially, I put this down to cultural differences. It seemed a reasonable assumption to make, and foolish young grasshopper wot I was, I figured it was something I would come to understand in time. Of course, I was wrong.

One day I was hit by inspiration: I would gather together at a restaurant all my Chinese leeches bloodsuckers ‘friends’ (my apologies to those few who genuinely are friends), and I would tell them all the jokes that I knew. By observing their reactions to said jokes, I would be in a better position to determine the orientation of their sense of humour. I ended up with around a dozen peeps, male and female, urban and rural, aged from twenty to thirty – a good spread. Well, I don’t mind saying that I was on fire that night. It was a night in which every joke I’d ever heard came back to me as easily as if I’d only just heard it. I covered it all, from wit to satire to irony to sarcasm to slapstick to farce. I did plays on words, body gestures, and cringe. I even asked why the chicken crossed the road. I reckon I nailed it all. And not so much as a smile from the audience, not a fucking twitch.

Oh yeah, you may say, they didn’t understand. Perhaps, which was why I had Mrs MyLaowai translate everything, and why I explained the various cultural references. It went on for hours.

No reaction at all. Nothing.

After I’d run out of ideas, I sat back, exhausted. And inspiration hit again: “All right”, I said. “I’m going to eat something myself now. While I do that, I have a mission for you: Since you don’t find my jokes funny, I’d like you all to get together and decide on the funniest joke you collectively know, then tell it to me. Perhaps I can work out Chinese Humour that way!”

Well, they all thought that was a fine idea, so off they went into a struggle session group discussion. After some minutes they all started to fall about the place laughing, so I knew they had it. I present that Joke for you now…

A Man and his Son go to the zoo. They are at the Tiger cage, when Son asks his Father “Father, is Tiger married?”
“No Son, Tiger is not married”
They then get to the Giraffe cage. “Father, is Giraffe married?”
“No Son, Giraffe is not married”
They move on to the Elephant cage. “Father, is Elephant married?”
“No Son, Elephant is not married”
[at this point my humorous friends are starting to crack up, so I know the Punchline is near]
They arrive at the Donkey cage. “Father, is Donkey married?”, asks Son.
“Yes, Donkey is the only animal that gets married”, replies Father.

And they were falling about the place in hysterics. Why? I know not. I tried to understand, I really did. Was there something cultural about donkeys? Was it a play on words that was lost in translation? No. It was simply the idea of a donkey being the only animal to get married. Would it have been funny if, instead of ‘Donkey’, it had been ‘Aardvark’? No, of course not, Aardvarks don’t get married, I was informed.

Chinese ‘humour’? Don’t make me laugh.

In an unexpected sequel, I told this story to some local colleagues here last year, and they informed me that there was, in fact, an even more hilarious joke. Stay tuned for The Funniest Joke in China – Part 2.

P.S. for what it’s worth here’s a joke for you: Chinese Culture.