It was bound to happen sometime.

Hi Ellis, this is Apple from web. Would u mind doing me a favour? My friend’s company in Nanxun need to take some pic. Of 2 foreigners, which will be put on their poster. Well would u like to be the girl model? Coz u r the prettiest foreign girl of whom I know. I think u will probably be famous one day, Haha…Of course, they will pay u. Pls feel free to let me know ur thoughts. Thank u in advance.

(Let’s not think about how I’m the only foreign girl.)

I’ve fielded model comments all my life. It has never appealed to me much, which may or may not be my father’s fault. He drilled into me that modeling was not something to aspire to because of the way models are treated and perceived. (This little plan backfired on him when I routinely refused to let him, a professional photographer, photograph me. Sow what you reap, Dad!)

My mother, on the other hand, encouraged me (out of earshot of my father) not to count it out if I ever needed to make a little money. She also took me to get my ears pierced when I was 7, both against my father’s wishes and without his knowledge. Poor Dad, thwarted at every turn.

The closest I ever came to modeling was auditions and call-backs for America’s Next Top Model at the encouragement of my friends and, strangely, both of my parents, as they claimed it would be good ‘material.’ It was a pretty degrading experience. Bikinis and high heels? Really?

But I told Apple that yes, I’d do it, because my life can get a little boring and heck, it’d make a good blog entry at the very least. So Monday after class I headed to Web, an English training center, to meet Apple and Brandon, the male foreign model. The company picked us up in a van and shuttled us through the foggy rain to Nanxun.

Apple asked if I could speak Chinese. I said that actually, yes, I could, and I’d studied a bit. In the car ride, I translated some things for Brandon. Apple looked at me and said, “Wow, you can speak Chinese!”

Yep, that’s….what I said.

Turns out the company we were posing for was Giant Kone elevators. Once we got there they plopped us in a little conference room to wait.

We met Shirley and Steve (at least I think that was his English name…?), and Shirley did my makeup.

I had brought some of my own, but so had she, and I guess she was more comfortable with hers, because she didn’t use mine.

Navy blue eye shadow: not really my color. But hey, if they’re going to pay me 1000 kuai, they can paint my face green.

Shirley went to Beida (Harvard of China) and studied English Literature, then returned to Huzhou to work, and has gone to Finland and Norway for her job. She’s a take-charge kind of woman. I like her.

Once she finished spackling my face, Brandon and I followed her downstairs and through the factory.

I had wondered beforehand whether the company would be okay with me bringing my camera and taking pictures of the photoshoot. I decided that, if need be, I would bat my foreign eyelashes and wield a little Chinese and have no problem. It’s not like China is known for its fierce copyright enforcement.

In the back of the factory there were rows of elevators sitting out like what I imagine a cryogenic freezing lab would look like.

The whole shoot was conducted with a camera, flash, tripod and one or two bounce cards. Not high tech, but Shirley informed me that the photographer was a member of the China Photographer’s Association. I guess that’s important?

Brandon and I started in a shiny marble elevator.

“Just be relaxed,” said the photographer in Chinese, giving a more specific directions.

I did what he said, and then Apple looked at me and said, “Wow, you can speak Chinese!”

Yeah. That’s what I said.

Right. Because elevators are such relaxing places where everyone struggles to avoid eye contact. It’s especially relaxing when you get caught in one with a guy (always a guy) smoking a cigarette. Smoking bans. Please.

The photographer told us to get closer and have a conversation. So we kept talking, but our conversation topic was not to be shared on a mostly-family-friendly blog. I kind of wondered if the Chinese English speakers understood what we were talking about.

Next it was my turn alone in another shiny elevator, holding a grocery bag and looking relaxed. Elevators are like free, mini, thrity-second spa sessions, right?

Then the photographer shot some with Apple and Steve, which freed me up to do a little snapping myself.

Photographing photography. I am so meta. Reflexivity of the medium and such.

Brandon kept trying to make Apple laugh.

The guy holding the bounce card didn’t seem too enthused.

I can think of few things more exciting than holding a large white piece of foam core at just the right angle.

Brandon and I changed (in the elevators) and looked relaxed yet professional in the next elevator.

Then it was Brandon’s turn to use his iPod (in a relaxed manner).

And then he used his laptop in a relaxed manner in an elevator that looked like it belonged in a club.

A thirty-second elevator ride: the perfect time to whip out your laptop and see if Plate of Wander has been updated yet. In a relaxed manner.

The company was going to take us out to look around Nanxun but it was raining heavily and we were hungry, so instead they took us to the restaurant for a 4:15 dinner. But it gets dark so early now, I find myself ready for dinner at four. The company people were talking in Chinese about what to order. I listened, made some comment about one of the dishes they mentioned. Apple looked at me and said, “Wow, you can speak Chinese!”

Of course, there was lots of food, starting with this really nice soup that tasted like it had both curry and vinegar.

Eggs stir-fried with some sort of fish/squid/squish/fid.

Chou doufu aka stinky tofu. But this was fried so that it didn’t smell strongly because you know those foreigners and their weird eating habits don’t like smelly tofu.

Shrimp, which I avoided because of the whole shell problem.

These rolls were wrapped in what I believe was a kind of dried tofu but I’m not sure what was in the middle.

Beef short ribs.

Vegetables.

A monstrous whole baiyu, literally “white fish,” but I don’t know what species that is.

This red braised spicy lamb was so tender and fatty that it didn’t taste a thing like lamb. Brandon went right for the brains.

And for dessert, these buttery durian-filled pastries.

Nothing says ‘dessert’ like a fruit that smells like vomited rubber!

The van took us home after dinner and I gave directions to the driver in Chinese. “Wow!” Apple said. “You really can speak Chinese!”

Don’t let the putonghua coming out of my mouth fool you–I don’t know what I’m saying.