LiShi the Bulldog Driver

Until I find a new apartment in Jiangmen, I am making trips between Zhongshan and Jiangmen every week. It's not a long trip, only 45 minutes (I've driven that far in LA just for a good cup of joe) and for the first two weeks, I was being driven by Mr. Ma and his personal driver in their Hong Kong SUV. Hong Kong abides by the British driving rules, so the driver's seat is on the right side which I'm still getting used to.
At then end of the first week, Mr. Ma brought me to the same seafood restaurant he brought me to on our first meal together for dinner before we headed back for Zhongshan (and this time insisted the cooks take the heads off all the fish so as to make the American more comfortable. It was a nice gesture, but after living in China for two years, I wouldn't be put off with a cows head next to the beef).
On the way, we picked up a man of giant proportions and it took all my will not to use the many ways I know in Chinese to comment on his size. Being able to speak sometimes poses it's own problems because now that you know how to say "You're as big as a house", you have to know NOT to say it when your new boss is watching your every move.
This man's name is Lishi, which is easy to remember for me because he looks just like a dull witted Bulldog who desperately needs to be leashed.
When I first met this giant version of a Chinese man, I was not impressed, mostly because he was pandering to Mr. Ma like a lonely puppy dog who wanted nothing more than to be spanked or pet by his owner: either would do at this point, just to see his masters attention directed at him. He had come with us to dinner because Mr. Ma was in the market for a new driver and this was as good a time as any for an interview. I understand wanting to impress you prospective boss, but I haven't seen so much ass kissing since I was in West Hollywood. Ever time Mr. Ma was half way finished with his tea or coke, Lishi would get up from the other side of the very large round dim sum table to fee fi fo fun his way around to refill Mr. Ma's glass. This was made worse by the fact that every time he did this, Mr. Ma insisted he serve me first. He did this entire dance with his chin shoved into his chest and his gigantic shoulders curled in. Seeing this on such giant man was almost comical, and might have been the reason it stood out so much for me. I realize now that many people pander to Mr. Ma. This happens with anyone who has money: a swarm of well wishing friends collect under your coat tails and shine your shoes in the hope that you'll see the reflection of their face on your shiny new loafers and think of them on your way to the top.
I realize I'm being too harsh, and I felt like eating my mental words later, but I just couldn't help it. He was there for a job interview and how he acted when he first met his potential boss would set up the pattern of exactly what the rest of his employment with Mr. Ma would be like. He was setting up a job of being a welcome mat, a pissant, a yes man, a pet. I hated it.

Mr. Ma did indeed hire Lishi the Bulldog driver and I've had a few chances to talk with him on the 45 minute drives back and fourth from work, which gave me ample opportunity to practice my Chinese and served as a reminder that I needed to learn more.
Lishi is a big teddy bear. He is a competitive martial artist and told me in his big fluff ball smile that he got second place in a competition just the day before our last car ride. When he's happy, he's the epitome of happy, like someone put all the joy and excitement from every kid on Christmas morning into this one giant man. He bubbles when he's happy, he stammers and jitters when he's nervous or doesn't understand, and with how extreme he is with these emotions, I don't want to be around to see what he does when he's angry. No, that's a lie. I'd pay top dollar to see him explode. I'm sure it would be exactly like watching the hulk in a fit of rage. He's about as big.
Lishi doesn't speak any English. He's attempted to say only a handful of English words; among them were "hello", "thank you" and "fuck you" which he tried to say jokingly to a car that nearly killed us on our first run to Zhonshan. It came out "Foocha ew!" with a heavy German ch on fuck. I told him that to say it properly he had to use his hand and showed him. He exploded with laughter at the little (in comparison) white girl flipping off cars on the street in his back seat.

It turns out I relate with the guy a little as I've been there before. He doesn't give two shits about this job, he just needs to pay the bills while he works on what he does care about, which I believe is winning every martial arts competition and becoming the world's biggest man. Oh, that's the other thing he said, when I finally did comment on the fact that his arms are twice the size of my thighs, he said "I am man", and kind of laugh roared.
He's offered to teach me Kung Fu, which I'd love to do, but he lives in Shenzhen, and I just don't see that happening.
I'll see what I can do about getting a picture on here one of these days.