Lines

McDonalds are almost ubiquitous in Beijing and I'm at line in one of them. Well, what passes for a line anyway. It's more like a gathering of folks who have no sense of personal space and are watching a full lunar eclipse. You push your way forward because you are being pushed from behind and not because you know when to move. You just know they serve hot food at the front and when you get there you will pay and take some. I want a big mac, some fries, and a chocolate shake. I will pass on the spicy chicken wings, it's doesn't seem right. I know I can point at these things on the picture menu which is used for foreigners and illiterate laborers, both of which Beijing has plenty of which. The illiterates are slightly more useful. Anyway, like the eclipse, the line move so slow it's fast and before I know it, I'm at the front of the line. I point, grunt, and confirm that yes I only want one of each. I drop a one kuai note on the ground and reach down to pick it up. Without missing a beat the woman behind me orders an ice cream cone right over the top of me. And they serve her, and she's waiting for her change, ice cream in hand, and I can't stand up straight unless I want ice cream all over my back. You come to China because you fall in love with a Chinese woman but that's a far cry from falling in love with the Chinese culture. Lines and lack of personal space are one of those things that drive us foreigners crazy, the only way to deal with it is to find the humor in it. Even if the humor is in ourselves. One day I'm at Starbucks waiting to order. It's been a long day and it seems someone has been in my way all day. Finally, my turn. I take a step toward the counter when a middle aged man comes flying in and squeezes past me and orders. I'm pissed. Here I am in a place comfortable for Americans and even here I get cut in line. I wish I could say I reacted strong and stood my ground. But instead I just tossed my newspaper in front of him. He turned and in perfect English said, "Excuse me, were you in line?" The subway ticket line taught me the skill of using my elbows and the art of knowing when to use them. The skill is how to block people from cutting in on your left or your right and the art is knowing when someone is coming in order to block them. Once you have this down, it's actually quite easy to get a ticket without being cut in front of. The line cutters don't even mind being reminded but the boundary has to be set. Once onto the subway system you face an entirely different set of perils. The two most common, sometimes overlapping are the people with huge boxes of shit and the people who just up and stop moving. I think it's the stoppers who mess things up the most. You will be coming down a flight or three of stairs when someone or two will just up and stop. You practically run over them and it takes some effort to slide around them because there simply isn't space. People move like marbles down these stairs. The people will large boxes of shit I have more respect for but they take up a lot of room and they tend to move slow. I never even consider giving a helping hand. For some expats here the line thing and the personal space thing is a huge issue. The rant and rave and bitch and mown and call people rude and no manners. I feel this way from time to time, sometimes more than from time to time, but I think it's wrong. It is what it is, this line cutting and lack of personal space. I have countless of these stories. At the book store, someone just walking right past the line to the cashier. At the airport a large group moving right past everyone and justifying it because there are so many of them. Watching people get nearly run over during a plane boarding. Watching a otherwise wise looking man try to force his way through everyone during the unloading of a plane. The strange thing is, I'm staring to feel the same way. Lines, they are for wimps.