(LI SHIGONG )

At Xinjiekou Subway Station, there is a great maze spreading under the center of Nanjing that holds many little shops and stands. Making your way in this subterranean bazaar can easily become confusing for all passing through.

You can get hot dogs anywhere in Nanjing, but they serve them kebab like, on sticks, with a spicy sauce brushed over them. While tasty and cheap, I was looking for the American variety, served in a bun with something close to the toppings you can find back home. As far as I know, around here, there's only one place to get this particular kind of quick delicacy: somewhere in the maze.

Getting off the train, I followed a sign for the "underground shopping street" and walked into a narrow, neon-lit, claustrophobically crowded tunnel reverberating with music and the shouted conversations of those around me. Was this new?

It seemed to have no end. And, in what might or might not have been its middle, I had to get out. I saw a sign with an arrow and a running stick figure on it and followed it up the stairs outside to the big shopping plaza that I recognized but didn't really know that well.

I backtracked and crossed the street, making my way downstairs at another entrance. No neon this time. A little more room. Not quite as loud. I passed kiosks, all anonymously familiar and unfamiliar.

Hot dogs on sticks. Hot dogs on sticks. Hot dogs in…Here it is.

At this stand, there are three different wax hot dogs in buns (much like wax fruit) sitting on the counter to make it easy for unintelligible foreigners and uninitiated Chinese to order.

I was glad for this and, when asked what I wanted, pointed at the middle one, which looked pretty good, and said, "Wo xiang liangge. (I would like two.)"

In the rapid fire Chinese that immediately followed--way too much Chinese for me, considering the transaction--I couldn't figure out what was going on so I pointed again at the middle one and said, "Zhege. (This one.)"

A blur. "Liangge." Holding two fingers up this time. Another blur, followed by an uncertain, "Two?" All three workers had stopped everything and were staring blankly at me over the wax display.

"What is so difficult about this? Liange kaochang. (Two hot dogs.)"

Hurried, low murmurs amongst themselves. "Shisan kuai qian. (13 yuan ($2).)"

I handed it over and stood back, leaning on a support beam and watching as one of them began to prepare my order, hoping that the gist of what I thought I'd heard had been wrong. When I saw one bun come out and two hot dogs go into it, I knew that I hadn't been.

"Shi wo de? (This mine?)"

"Dui. (Right.)"

"Budui. (Wrong.)"

"Wo yao liangge." A confused look.

"Ni keyi kan zhege ma? Dui? (You can see this? Right?)"

I was pointing at the bun and the two hot dogs one by one. "Wo yao yige he yige. Wo hai yao yige he yige. (I want one (hot dog) with one (bun) and I also want one (hot dog) with one (bun).)"

The Gang of Three had huddled again, listening and watching, following my gesticulations. More hushed, hurried words.

"Shiba kuai qian. (18 yuan ($2.6).)"

I handed over five more yuan and got my hot dogs one at a time--they'd very kindly waited for me to finish my first before handing over the second. With this hot dog now in hand, I moved on, finding some open wall space that looked across toward a tunnel entrance flashing neon and blasting music and people out of it.

As I bit into the rest of my lunch, bemused, I considered the situation. Had this experience been a microcosm of China? Buying a hot dog here should have been idiotically simple. Point at wax hot dog. Hold up fingers. Pay money. Eat. Yet somehow, things had become unbelievably complicated. Had they ever served two hot dogs in one bun before? Probably not--they had to make up a new price for this because it wasn't on the menu. Yet they had immediately changed the rules in order to accommodate me with as little fuss as possible…and because of this were well on their way to screwing everything, and everyone, up in the process.

And as I stood there, now dabbing the mayonnaise from the corners of my mouth with a paper napkin, I'm sure they were complaining about me screwing everything up for them. So maybe, yes, this whole thing had, in fact, been a microcosm of larger aspects of life here. However, I will say this: Those hot dogs were worth the aggravation.

The writer is an American living in Nanjing, Jiangsu Province