“I’ll do four hundred,” Matt offers, holding up four fingers. Four hundred NT (New Taiwan Dollars) is about $13 USD.

The man behind the counter at the New Balance store shakes his head and taps the calculator reading ‘480’. It’s Matt’s second day in the country, but it’s already obvious that Taiwan isn’t big on haggling.

Matt whines a bit, feigning indecision on the purchase, but the salesman knows he’s won. Matt’s fabric sandals, the pair he’d bought in Chiang Mai, Thailand, already started disintegrating a few weeks ago. He needs a new set. And the ones in this store are not only plastic and more durable, but bright red with a lime green streak down the sole. He specifically chose these, the gaudiest pair available in his size, so he’ll have no trouble finding them in the foyers of hostels where local customs dictated everyone leaves their shoes before coming inside.

“Ah, alright.” And the American fishes in his pockets for his wallet.

* * *

The delicate clicking of a computer keyboard is the only sound in the ‘office area’, a small common room off of the hostel’s main room. Matt stares at the wall wondering what to write about. Posters for events and tours cover the painted drywall. Funny how it already feels like The Meeting Place is ‘his’ place, though it’s only been ten days since he’s been here, two weeks in Taipei in total. Ten days is a long time in one place when you’ve been city-hopping for just over three months.

Dave is the only other person in the room. He’s a Taiwan local and the co-owner of the hostel. ‘Dave’ is certainly not his real name, but many Taiwanese follow the habit of assuming a more Western-friendly name. Cultural exchange and whatnot. Dave, too, is working on a laptop in the quieter side room of his establishment. It’s the place to be for this; there’s not as much hustle and bustle as the main common room just by the front desk.

A few nights earlier, Matt had used the projector in that same common room to make a pitch to the part owner about folding some origami for a display for The Meeting Place in exchange for a few nights free accommodation. After a lot of questions and nodding (Dave’s English is very smooth), he’d said he was pretty sure he would do it, he just needed to decide on what pieces he’d choose. And the next evening, he’d pulled Matt aside to suggest a counter proposal.

“Maybe instead of origami, you paint the walls and clean the bathrooms?”

“Uhhh, no thanks. You’d offered that yesterday. If it’s between doing some chores and paying, I’d rather just pay the eight dollars a night.”

From there the deal fell apart, with Dave wasting more time with hemming and hawing about maybe this, or maybe that, but always coming back to chores instead of art. A waste of time.

Matt’s gaze drifts to the owner now, only slightly miffed at the recollection. The man swings his feet and–

That’s strange. Dave’s flip-flops are bright red, too. The same color as those the American bought two weeks ago.

Then Matt remembers.

“Oh he’s just a local and they have different customs,” Sam, one of the travelers working for his room at board at The Meeting Place had explained when Matt complained about Dave’s strange negotiation tactics. “Dave’s not so bad, though he’s pretty strict and passive aggressive about some of the chores and stuff. Oh, and watch out about your shoes. I’ve seen him wearing some that look a lot like the ones I’ve ‘lost’ from the shoe rack. And he lives in his own room back there,” Sam points to the door marked ‘Manager’, “and once they’re in there, you’ll never get ‘em back.”

The bright-eyed kid from Phoenix keeps staring at the door, while his eyes lose some of their luster. “I’ve lost three pairs of shoes already…” He snaps back to the present, hoisting the shallow basket from his hip to his chest. “Anyways! I gotta get this laundry done or he’ll be on my case tomorrow!”

With lines appearing on his forehead at this recollection, Matt slinks up and out of the room to check the shoe rack by the front door. He looks, but can’t find his obviously-colored flip-flops. He goes back to the side room.

“Hey Dave, could I… have my shoes back?”

“Hmmm?” the thirty-something owner looks up from his typing.

“Those are my shoes, the red ones.” Matt prefers aggressive over passive-aggressive wherever possible. “Can I have them back?”

“Ohhh! These sandals? Yes, I found these in the shoe rack and didn’t know whose they were.” Dave hasn’t moved.

“Right on. They’re mine.”

A pause, only a moment, but the thief, realizing he’s been caught red-footed, decides to give up any pretense of keeping them. “Oh, yes, yes, they are very nice. Very good quality.” He leans over, taking the shoes off and handing them over with care. “Very strong,” he continues to murmur.

“Yeah… thanks…”

A few minutes later, after the shoes return to the rack, Dave packs up his computer and pauses to make amends. “Do you like soda?” He’s smiling.

Matt doesn’t look up from relaying the incident to his friends back home via Gchat. “Soda? Not really.”

“Here, you can have this.” The man produces a half-pint can of 7-Up from his bag and leaves it on the table. “For free, is yours.”

“I don’t–” he sees the distress in Dave’s eyes at the rejection of his apology soft drink. “Alright, fine, sure. Thanks.”

Dave bows quickly, several times, before shuffling out.

Matt watches him leave, wondering where he ‘found’ the can of soda.

A ‘lunchbox’ place which offers the opportunity to put together your own buffet-box and pay by estimated value. Quite literally the best deal in Taipei I’ve ever found (and it was a block from my hostel!).

A sample lunchbox from said establishment. The soup is free and unlimited (though you take it away in plastic bags instead of a hard container), as is a side of spicy pickles. This whole feast is 40NT or $1.28. I miss it.