So I lived in mainland China for a while (southwestern part, "real China"). Being a white guy, I stuck out pretty bad. That sucked sometimes. But other times being a white guy got me out of some interesting situations because frankly many folks didn't know how to deal with a foreigner.
I could never find canned air anywhere. There were these "computer cities", basically 3-10 floors of a large building with nothing but little shops selling anything you could think of having to do with computers (and some not. like sex.). I looked high and low and could never find any canned air. It was maddening. When I asked what they used to clean the insides of their computers, they said "I don't know we haven't had them that long". They tried to sell me little brushes. Also crappy little USB powered vacuums. None of that worked. So I just used my home vacuum for a long time.
So I had to go to Hong Kong for some meeting. Flying into HK airport was crazy expensive (and also dangerous in the days of the old airport with the approach path between buildings!). So I would fly into Shenzhen, then catch a bus or train across the border to Hong Kong. Ended up being approx 1/3 the price. While I was in HK I went to some of their computer cities. They had some cool stuff. Mech keyboards, high-end servers, etc. Lots of stuff you didn't see in my end of the Middle Kingdom. And then I found it...canned air.
I grabbed 4 cans. Paid the shopkeeper whatever crazy price he wanted. They were imported from Singapore, 3M brand. Not cheap. But I didn't care. I ran out of the shop with a maniacal laugh reminiscient of Newman and his precious Soup Nazi soup. People looked and people stared. But they did that anyway.
So, fast forward a few days, I'm in the Shenzhen airport. The meeting is over and I've just gotten off the bus from Hong Kong. Checking in my luggage to head back to my city. The guy behind the counter takes my bags and sends them through the conveyor to the Magical X-Beam Dangerous Goods Finder (English name on it, I kid you not). Poor guy didn't speak English, but he totally freaks out when the alarm bells start going off. He tries to pantomime that he needs to open my luggage, I tell him "no problem" in Chinese. You could see the color return to his poor face when he realized that he didn't have to continue Pictionary with the foreigner.
He rummages through my bag, and with a squeal of delight (like Yoda finding Luke's light) he victoriously pulls out My Precious...the canned air. He tells me it's dangerous. I tell him, "how is it dangerous, it's just air". He says, "the Magical X-Beam Dangerous Goods Finder says it's dangerous". I said, you sir are smarter than the machine you don't need to listen to it. We go back and forth for about 15 minutes. He's saying no. I'm spraying the canned air in my face saying "no problem"! I'm used to talking my way out of stuff, figured this time was no different. Line behind me gets longer and longer. Natives getting restless. Thankfully it was the days before cell phone cameras!
So finally he is exasperated. Enough is enough. He pops off the top of one of the cans of air. He pulls out his lighter, and proceeds to light the stream of gas jetting from this full (and full pressure) can of air. A fireball blasts out over the heads of the angry mob in line, flames glistening off of our sweaty brows and singeing our stray hairs. I bet it shot 10-15 feet. The whole terminal went silent in wonder. You could hear a pin drop. He says flatly, "Dangerous. Have a nice flight." I was defeated.
