By Rui Bingyou

Turns out all the jokes my Chinese friends and colleagues made about my beard being a liability during the Olympics were rooted in reality.

I've been racially profiled by police near my office: "The foreigner that looks like he's from Xinjiang needs to bring us photocopies of his documentation," an employee at the newspaper was told.

Though I'm quite used to having to register with the police where I live in China, I've never once heard of someone having to register near their job.

The newspaper is located in a gated community guarded by well-scrubbed olympic volunteers. I'm convinced that it was their immutable sentry that caught me: upon deciding that my exotic tongues and trappings brought risk to their tranquil kingdom, they likely reported me to their handlers.

In response, I've taken measures to ensure I don't distract Beijing's protectors from the real threats. Measures include: Wearing flamboyantly-colored counterfeit polos and campy XXL Beijing map t-shirts, diligently shaving off all exposed body hair, faking boisterous English conversations on my cell phone, and in emergencies, brandishing Olympic paraphernalia (preferably McDonalds/Coke/Budweiser).

Well, it's lunch time now. Looks like I'll have to pass on my favorite Turkish chuan restaurant again...

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