The imperious foreigner trick

Last night I finished a speaking engagement late at night in the middle of nowhere. Everyone else was still partying. I had no idea how to get home. I quite often find myself in that sort of situation.
A major part of an author's life is talking. It seems as if writing a few books gets you a sort of invisible sticker that stays This Person Can Be Tapped For Speaking Duties. Anyway, writing is such a solitary activity, and public speaking is exactly the opposite -- doing them both must be good for the character.
The event went well -- it was a talk on creativity (I shared the stage with Cedrick "Star Wars" Chan) -- and everyone was so high on red wine and good company that everything we said got a laugh. And it helped that the host, Chris Graves of Ogilvy, is a born comedian.
I was tired and decided to leave as soon as the gig was over. I stepped out, strolled down the road -- and found myself in the middle of nowhere. The restaurant was on a tiny side street which was a cul de sac in a forest. (Sixty per cent of the city in which I live is non-urban, green land.)
What to do? I walked around, but the place was dead. No bus stops, no taxis, no vehicles moving of any kind.
I decided to do the Imperious Foreigner Trick. This works almost anywhere in Asia, and is a marvellous bonus of living in this part of the world. The logic is this: many Asians are mild, polite people, and if a foreigner asks for help in a manner which implies that they deserve it, they will be treated like a king.
I walked into a nearby housing estate, a big, dull upper-middle class cluster of condos. I went up to the guard and politely asked for a taxi. Immediately he and his fellows snapped into action. They led me to their office, and asked me where I wanted to go. Then they summoned the taxi -- they did all the talking, saving me from practicing my clumsy Chinese -- and provided me with a written sheet telling me the registration number of the taxi which would be coming. They tipped their hats and kept me company with polite conversation until the car came. A few minutes later, I was being driven home.
Now can you imagine doing that in the West? Can you imagine a foreigner barging into a condo in upper Manhattan and asking, in Chinese or Hindi or Swahili, for a taxi? And can you imagine all the staff tipping their hats, and running around to organise transport for him?
It wouldn't happen.
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