It ain't rocket science; rather, simple physics: two bodies cannot occupy the same space at
the same time. Physicists would agree--check
out Einstein or Pauli.
But the laws of physics do not apply in Shanghai, arguably
the largest city in the world. Countless
experiences with subways and elevators have taught me (and many other ex-pats)
that Shanghainese do not believe in physics.
Let me elucidate. Imagine
it's the tail end of the morning rush, and you are on subway line 10, heading
south to East Nanjing Road. As the
subway pulls in, you see people in single file lines, five deep, on either side
of the sliding doors. Ah, queues! To most Westerners, an orderly line is
probably one of the highest benchmarks of what we consider developed
civilization. And for two seconds after
the doors open, the illusion holds. Your
right foot crosses the gap between subway car and station platform, but before
it makes contact, you are suddenly pummeled backward, carried by the oncoming
rush of 5'2" Asians, their families, their suitcases, backpacks, and
trolleys. But...but...what happened to the queues? you wonder, fighting (as politely as you can
at first) to get out at your stop. The
queues had scattered into chaos, like a platoon in the face of an enemy
grenade. Because, you see, this is China.
People don't do lines
here. When the train arrives, it's every
person for themselves.
This is understandable if you look at the history of this
nation. Not even 50 years ago people
queued up for rice, or whatever was on their ration ticket, or queued up for
the train. But tickets guaranteed you nothing,
and neither did waiting in line. It was
always first come, first served. You
wanna eat today? Push to the front.
I saw the train phenomena for myself in late 1980s
Qinghai. As foreigners, my family paid
double or triple what a local would pay and secured a soft sleeper cabin--four
bunks for the four of us. We were lucky. Our expensive tickets and foreigness seemed
to let us escape some of the pandemonium.
For the Chinese, a ticket with a seat didn't mean the 30 people cutting
in front of you respected that at all.
People pushed each other in through open windows, forgoing the line at
the door once 50 bodies mashed together trying to get in.
To be fair, my mom lived in Florence, Italy for a year in
the late 60s and said the Italians were just as bad. So I'm not saying the aversion to lining up
is strictly a Chinese thing. But it does
happen to be true for the 23 million Chinese people I move with every day.
The same anti-physics illogic applies to elevators and
escalators as well. With escalators, I'd
always taken it for granted that people walk on the left, ride on the
right. And there are a few places where people follow this seemingly obvious
logic. But mostly people rush and shove
to get on the escalator, and then they all stand there sedately until it
reaches the top. What was all the rushing for?
I always wonder, if you're just
going to stand there? The Chinese
logic appears to be this: Why take one minute going a flight of stairs when
you can wait five minutes for the
elevator to descend from the 26th floor to the first and then take it one floor
up? Why wait for people to exit, kindly
leaving you ample space, when you can elbow, squeeze, shuffle, or cigarette
burn your way in NOW?
Well, I can't beat 23 million people! So I've joined them, to some extent. I'm not afraid to shove past an elderly
couple (I jostle, I don't plow!) in order to exit the subway at my stop, and
I've gotten over my friendly "I'm just a foreigner" ways when some
granny tries to cut in line at the grocery store. As a second in line, I've actually put out an
arm past the person in front of me to the counter and said "No
way!" I don't care if they don't
understand English. My glittering eyes and
body language say it all. The longer I
wait in line, the more protective I am of my place in it.
People in China are extremely kind if they know you. If they don't, you're just the 20 millionth
piece of meat they've pushed past today to get home.
No comments:
Post a Comment