Weekends are funny times to be in Chinese elevators. People are busily coming and going. Kids slouch off to extra-curricular lessons, workmen carry tools upstairs to continue unfinished work, oldies return from riverside walks, grandparents take toddlers to the playground, and newcomers visit Block Six relatives and struggle with the swipe-card floor access. I see all this and more on my journeys to and from lessons.

At 11:30 on Saturday morning, Miss K (my older daughter) and I were waiting for a lift to take us to the underground carpark. Lift A (it’s always Lift A darn it) arrived from the 45th floor already carrying Ms Tall and her two miniature versions of mummy. We exchanged pleasantries and she was surprised to learn after six months of polite conversation that I teach. Oh good I thought, perhaps I can drum up some extra business – her kids were my in target market segment.

The lift stopped at the 29th floor.

The doors opened but the floor appeared to be empty. Seconds passed and we attempted to shut the doors before an elderly couple muscled their way in with no apologies offered for the slow entry.

Ah, Mrs Battle-axe and her beleaguered husband. I’ve seen her before, the purple hair dye masking an undergrowth of grey roots. She’s short, compact, and forever grumpy.  I smiled and offered a “Ni hao” greeting. No response. The husband carried a pretty box with a transparent top revealing a roast suckling inside. It was not apparent whether this piglet was their lunch or something to be offered up at an elaborate ancestor worship activity in the city outskirts.

“Have you got the keys?” She barked in Cantonese.

“Um no, I forgot” he replied while unsuccessfully trying to reopen the doors of the now- moving lift.

“You bl–dy b—–d!”  She roared, spittle flowing forth like lava from an erupting volcano. The kids (both Ms Tall’s and mine) hid behind the taller adults. The lecture continued: “You’ll have to head upstairs and get them you useless loser!  You’re a  #$%$#% moron!”

The roast piglet looked on.

With public humiliation complete, the husband mumbled something rude about his wife’s sterling personality before they (plus suckling) alighted on level one. Presumably they were going to take another elevator back upstairs.

Ms Tall, visibly shaken, and with the topic of education long-forgotten, attempted to clear the air by remarking on what wonderful weather we were having. They trailed the unhappy couple out to the lobby leaving Miss K and I in the lift. As we continued our ride to the basement level I asked what she made of the terse exchange (she is fluent in Cantonese and very used to the boisterous nature of Canto-speak). She said simply:

“That old woman was very rude but that roast chicken looked nice!”

(To the tune of “This Old Man”)

Neighbours are big, neighbours are small,

Neighbours like jogging and basketball,

Neighbours are cute, neighbours are tall,

I like my neighbours one and all!

(lyrics lifted and altered from a local English primary school textbook)

There are 46 floors in Block Six. Each floor has four apartments. If you do the math then that’s 184 apartments in the building. If an average dwelling houses four people, then that’s well over 700 people residing in our tower. Gee, that’s the size of a small New Zealand settlement right there.

During the course of time, I hope to introduce you some of our neighbours. There’s Mr. Optimist (46th floor) who is always smiling and happy. The dear Old Dears, both retired teachers, well into their 80s who do everything together (27th floor), Mr. Liang on the 19th floor. He used to be a principal at a school I worked at until he retired. He’s having heart trouble nowadays which is a shame considering his love for biking and swimming. There’s an earnest young man on level three. I’ve named him Ernest as everything is said   with such conviction:

“I go to the Guangzhou Business Vocational School” or “I am now going to my violin lesson yes.”

There’s a factory of kindergarten kids (five of them) that periodically appear and stir up trouble. My heart sinks when the lift stops at the 29th floor. It’ll be a long ride down with the pushing and general naughtiness being displayed by this quintet.

A few foreigners live here too. Some Iraqis, Yemenis (unfailing polite people), and a mysterious tall blonde woman. She only appears on occasion, usually at night. Who is she and where is she going?

An honourable mention goes to the family living directly above us (36th floor). It’s great fun dragging heavy wooden furniture around the living room at 3am most days isn’t it?  Please drop your mahjong chips on the floor again, it makes quite the sound.

To end today’s post, I’ve included one of the advertisements from Lift C. This is clearly aimed at all the supermothers living in Block Six.

 

 

Hi there!  Welcome to my blog about life in lifts (a.k.a elevators). Life is one of ups and downs in the Block 6 lifts. We’re on the 35th floor but there are many living above us and  even more living below. The confined space of a lift is a great opportunity to converse with neighbours, delivery guys, security guards, cleaners, or even the maintenance man.

There are three lifts, each with its own distinct personality. For the purpose of this blog, I’ve named them (from left to right as you face them) A, B, and C. No cute names here. Lift A is a stinker. It’s the cargo elevator and carries the heavy goods (furniture, bricks, plants, household refuse, workmen) to and from the apartments. It sometimes smells bad. I’ve included a photo below:

This blog aims to explore a micro-cosm of contemporary Chinese society.  It’s not limited to elevators, human interaction (lift rides can be solitary endeavours) or Chinese culture. No, it’s limited to the musings and worldview of a lift passenger who often thinks silly things on many levels – both figuratively and literally. I’ll try to post my observations a few times a week.

Enjoy the ride!

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton