Five cellphones stand between me and the compartment door. It's rush hour, and the compartment is packed. The doors slide open, time and time again, and the people standing out on the platform look in and decide to wait. In a few stops, however, I'll have no choice. I'll have to run the gauntlet.
Until then I bide my time, reading this week's Spectator. I have to say, whenever I read book reviews in the Spectator I feel a tad guilty. I really ought to be reading more, making time for the classics, making the most of the Spectator's advice. Instead, intransigent, I continue scouting on my own accord, trying to discover some gems hidden in the muck.
But that's not what today's sketch is about.
In the morning, on my way to the subway station, I watched as Chengguan (City Management) made their rounds. They were checking storefronts, making sure they weren't spilling out onto the pavement -- as shop owners the world over are prone to do. At every shop, one of the Chengguan stops, pulls out his smart phone, and snaps a picture. They've been doing this for years; it's a thankless job.
In America police departments probably still issue special cameras for this sort of thing. China does it on the cheap. Bring your own tools of oppression, comrade.
A curious detail you might overlook is how the chengguan take their pictures. The one snapping shots waits until his partner is in frame. Then and only then does he snap away. Some chengguan somewhere, I suppose, must have got creative, taking a bunch of snaps of storefronts and doctoring the timestamps and submitting them whenever they claimed to make their rounds.
At the station all our bags are x-rayed, and some of us get worked over with wands. Every ticket entrance down to the platform has an x-ray machines and four security guards. Inside the station, somewhere, a police officer prowls, spot checking IDs. They never check foreigners for passports. They never check women. And they never check the elderly. Instead they limit their spot checks to young men. It seems to work.
The devices the police use to perform these checks are a little bulkier than the typical cellphone but not quite the size of a graphing calculator. In a few years, no doubt, such devices will be relics, and the police will just use their smart phones. Progress of a kind.
Down on the platform, a subway worker stands watch, making sure nothing goes amiss. Nothing does. Balloons are banned, but this rule is breached more often than I like.
On the way back home, I imagine what would happen if the trains kept running but the turnstiles stopped turning. It would take only a few trains, ten minutes worth, before we'd have a huge problem. The station is crowded as it is at the best of times. If a sudden blockage developed, some unfortunate would find themselves crushed.
I suppose that's what I get for living in the suburbs. Yes, rent is cheaper, and we have much more house than before, but rush hour is truly something special.
Maybe I should leave earlier.
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