A question of physics: How a city moves

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.

Lifts 16 September 2013

A white icon pops up on the electric blue display.  It is a round gauge with the letters "kg" underneath.  No one moves.  When the doors close, we go nowhere.  The elevator is stalled.  Someone jabs the button with the two arrows moving away from each other and the doors open.  We're still on the 7th floor, and there's an annoying, high-pitched beeeeeep! in our ears.

I briefly eye the ceiling of the elevator and take a deep breath.  I got on at B1, work is on 9, and an elevator trip that should've taken a few short minutes is turning into a story.

Two people, a couple of about 40, steps off, then back on, the elevator, giggling.  The beeping stops briefly, then resumes, with the reappearance of the kilogram icon.  Beeeeeep! 

I want to scream like the Australian pilot in "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome":  "We're overloaded!"  Don't they see the icon? I wonder.  Surely they can hear beeeeeep...

The couple stands together like stone statues.  No one says anything to them.  No one tells them to leave.  The elevator doors close.  We sit motionless for a whole minute.  The beeping stops again; the icon remains.  There are at least 15 people in here and it's getting stuffy.  I want to shift my weight, but I'm pressed against the back of the lift, and there's pretty much nowhere to shift to.  Somehow, though, half the passengers are managing to check their Weixing and QQ accounts (like Facebook) on their Samsungs or iPhones.

Finally, someone opens the doors again.  Beeeeeep!  Two different people, shaking their heads, push from the center of the elevator out.  If this was NYC, I thought, one of them would, at the very least, be cursing under their breath.  I want to cheer when the doors close and the elevator resumes its upward trek.  There's a tiny dip downwards first, though, which is common when there are this many live bodies in a lift.

"Ba lou dao le," a mechanically scratch female voice announces.  Eighth floor.  Five people push out; simultaneously, eight or nine are pushing their way in.  In the jostling, I find myself moved toward the front, and I squeeze myself to the right, bicep to wall, sucking in.  Elevator capacity is 21, and just as I'm thinking this...

Beeeeeep! 

No one moves.  Finally, the doors slide closed on their own.  We are motionless.  Again.

The girl in front of me pushes the door open button.  We are still on the 8th floor.  Beeeeeep!  The kilo icon reappears.  No one moves.

I exhale loudly.  This is an almost weekly occurrence, and today, I've had enough.  I know I'm being the typical "ugly American", but I can't help it.  I reach over the girl's shoulder, tap the kg icon, and let it out, albeit in a level voice:  "We're overloaded.  Someone has to get out."  No one even looks at me, which is surprising, since I'm speaking a foreign language--in more ways than one, I think to myself.

No one moves.  The doors remain open.  Beeeeeep!  I laugh and shake my head.  Finally, two whole agonizing minutes later, a mother and father pull a small girl out with them, looking like they'd been  voted off a life raft.

I sigh, inwardly this time.  The doors close.  A slight dip, and then a rising--ascending above 8 and heading, gloriously, toward 9.