Everyone's busy hating on Chinese but I suppose things can work both ways. Some years back after a night of hard drinking and screwing around in downtown Osaka, I got back to the JR station and was drunk and exhausted enough that it seemed like a good idea to wander into a massage shop to ask them to massage my thighs and ass. Found your run-of-the-mill looking shady neon sign with a 6k special package and caught the elevator upstairs. The second the doors opened that stench of Chinatown incense hit my nostrils like a rickshaw full of opium so I knew what I was walking into. Got buzzed into the shop and it was your average shithole reception area festooned in Chinese decoration and the young guy sitting at the counter, I swear, could've been on the label of a Tsingtao Beer bottle. Real Fu-Manchu looking prick.
Anyhow, like I said, I'd been hitting the drinks hard that night I suppose I appeared intoxicated. Probably worse than that, because homeboy Fu-Manchu had this look of concern on his face, bordering on disgust, and in his shitty Japanese actually started trying to get me to leave the shop. Now, I was in my work clothes so I obviously wasn't getting booted because he thought I was a foreigner. I start firing back in my almost-as-shitty Japanese (which he didn't notice, obviously) that I just want a leg massage, he continues directing me out of the shop. Then, in a flash of brilliance, I decide to ask: "ARE YOU CHINESE?"
He nods, suspiciously. I launch into this incoherent tirade about how glad I am that he's Chinese because I'm "Asian American" and I hate Japanese people, they're all stupid, I prefer Chinese businesses etc. I think I might've actually switched to English and told him we were brothers and tried to shake his hand (like I said, I was fucking drunk). Anyhow, this seems to hit all the right zither notes cuz Fu-Manchu takes my 6k and escorts me into a room and then a few moments later shoves this scared young thing through the door just as I'm done taking off my trousers. She could've easily been underage and obviously didn't want to be there, so imagine her surprise when I tell her that I was serious--I want my thighs and ass massaged. And for a good thirty minutes, that's exactly what she did. Or attempted to do. As drunk and sore as I was, it actually felt great.
After she was done, the poor thing just sat there looking scared. I asked her what we were supposed to do next, and she timidly replies something along the lines of "whatever you want." It dawns on me that she expects me to try for the deluxe package and she hadn't even asked me for more money. So I put my hand on her thigh and asked, "ANYTHING I WANT?" She nods, looking sad. I pride myself on being a fucking asshole but I actually felt bad for the kid. I put my pants on, tell her she's pretty, give her an extra 1-man and walk out feeling awesome and magnanimous. Thanked Fu-Manchu, reaffirmed my hatred for Japanese and promised I'd be back again. I was still on my high when I got home, feeling like the yellow Oskar Schindler, so I had a few nightcaps and rubbed one out to end the night on a high note.
But a for the shop, not sure what you'd call this. Reverse racism? Reverse double racism, maybe?