Snow

It’s November 14, 2007 and I’m in Shenyang, China. I looked out of my window at work and its snowing. I’m the only one in the office that’s excited. No one else even glances out of the window. I smile and stare outside at the little snow flakes. It’s freezing in my office, but for now, I don’t mind because the snow is new and exciting for me.

Yesterday, I complained about my TV and my wobbly dining room table to my mobility coordinator at work. In the evening, my landlord called me. My landlord is responsible for furnishing my apartment, and the fate of my comfort lies in his hands. He told me that he couldn’t afford a new TV, but that he and his wife could take me out around the city to make up for it. He wanted to take me out today to a comedy show by one of the most famous comedians in China: Zhao Ben San, who is from Shenyang. But at the end of the phone conversation, he asked that I not tell my mobility coordinator about our conversation.

After thinking it through, I called him back today and told him that I couldn’t go. I’m confused by the interactions here. What does it mean for my landlord to call me and ask me not to tell my mobility coordinator? And there’s a very slim chance that he doesn't have the money for a TV, because he owns several flats in the nicest area in Shenyang, when most families cannot even afford one normal flat. Furthermore, he has his own car, property in Shanghai, and just had his second child, which you have to pay an arm and leg for in China because of the one-child policy. My conclusion: he’s trying to buy me out so he doesn’t have to buy a new TV. I don’t think an expat who doesn’t speak Chinese would have encountered something like this. However, I am a young girl who happens to speak Chinese who has the unfortunate luck of renting from a cheap landlord, and I’m stuck because I can’t switch landlords.

The cool thing about living in my apartment is that I can have groceries delivered to me. No not just pizza, groceries! The cost of services is so low here. I can have nearly anything my heart desires brought to my door for free. I have a doorman downstairs that calls me to ask me if he can let strangers up. Sometimes he tells me, “theres’s a lao wai here wanting to see you.” “Lao wai” literally means old outsider. It's a common Chinese term for foreigners, which can be used in an endearing or hateful manner. Usually it's the prior and not the latter. I’m also not used to the lack of tipping. There is no tipping here: not for hairdressers, bartenders, taxi drivers, restaurant servers, people who bring you TVs, groceries, and everything else you can imagine.

The public restrooms, a.k.a. holes in the ground, also take some getting used to. I seem to have a mental block that prevents me from adapting to this style of restroom. Me and these restrooms go way back. During previous visits to Shanghai or Beijing, I drastically reduced the amount of water I drank while in public places, and I successfully avoided the use of these dark, dank and smelly holes for weeks at a time. For the last two weeks, Project Dehydration has been in full effect. Unfortunately, I don’t think it is sustainable for 2 more years, particularly at work where I am for 10 hours a day. How I envy the opposite gender in this department. I will, however, keep you updated on PD’s progress.