The People’s Republic of Desire

34 Lining Up in China

Ask any Chinese and they'll tell you that China is undergoing sweeping changes at an incredibly fast rate. Building construction, highways, and new goods for sale in new shopping centers have changed the face of Beijing and Shanghai. But some things never change.

Take lines. For practical reasons, lines are not part of the Chinese psyche. And far be it for me to suggest that they should be. If you want to line up for something, let's say movie tickets, then be my guest. And while you're at it, feel free to politely yield to those who seem to be in a bigger hurry than you. After all, it's the civilized thing to do. But don't expect to see your movie. Not that day, anyway.

It just isn't practical to line up because you'll only be beaten out by anyone with fewer scruples, and sharper elbows than you.

When I'm with foreign guests, I refuse to engage in such tactics, so I often feel embarrassed because I am the last to be seated in the restaurant, last to get a cab, and first to be turned away at the ticket window. However, when I'm not entertaining foreign guests, I can be as rough and rowdy as anyone. I love to come away from a ticket window proudly clutching the spoils of the ticket war and leaving a wake of disappointed people.

Today, I am pushing my way toward the ticket window of the Beijing Fine Arts Museum. Tickets to the popular exhibition of European expressionism are limited. I am packed in a throng of winter-coated bodies reeking of garlic and boiled cabbage – and I am having the time of my life. But, suddenly, I am attacked from behind. I am being pushed and poked at by a squat old woman who has obviously been part of a mob before. I feel a fleeting sense of compassion: I remember the "silver seats" on public buses in California, and how people would yield a seat to a senior out of either kindness or fear of legal action. "But this is China," I think. "I must stick to my guns. If I yield, I will only be taken advantage of by every other nasty old woman in this horde."

I feel the rush of competition brewing. I face forward, ignoring the woman ramming me from behind. I have about three meters to go before I reach the window, and even then my position is not guaranteed.

I'll need to have my money out and on the counter before the others and hope the cashier chooses my offer first.

I take out some crumpled bills from my pocket and make one last surge toward the window. I push hard, and the way in front momentarily opens up when a young girl stumbles to the side – rookies! But I am not moving forward. I am being held back. I can't believe it. The old woman is holding me by the belt of my coat. That isn't in the rulebook.

Now, you might ask, isn't patience rewarded in Chinese culture? Didn't Hu Jintao wait fourteen years before becoming president? Yes – but keep in mind that Hu wasn't waiting in line for tickets to the European expressionism exhibition.

"You feisty old lady!" I scream, more out of awe than anger.

"Ay! Wait! I want to buy tickets!" the old woman is screaming along with the others in the crowd. I decide to unleash some Three Kingdoms – style war strategy, pitting two forces against each other by a third force, a tactic used after the fall of the Han dynasty, when China was divided into warring factions. I think this strategy is valid in a line for art museum tickets as well. I subtly push my opponent into a woman standing next to us, and as the two begin to quarrel, I make a triumphant rush to the ticket window.

I force my arm into the window and am now waving my bills feverishly at the cashier. I have made it. The cashier reaches for the money – but not swiftly enough. The woman is back at my side and, this time, tugs at my coat sleeve, pulling my arm – and, more important, my money – out of reach of the ticket seller.

"This is unprecedented," I think. I turn round – only to discover that the woman is my parents' neighbor, Grandma Liu. The atmosphere changes all of a sudden. In public, when we treat each other as strangers, we ignore how rude we act toward each other. But once we realize we know each other, the hostility melts away. We yield and help each other.

"Why'd you have to step on my toe, you brat," Grandma Liu says, smiling. "I ought to tell your father. Never mind. Let's go have tea first. I'm paying!"

"Let me help you get our tickets first," I say with a smile.

As I clutch the tickets just placed in my hand, I think, "Chivalry is alive and well in China. You just have to know where to look amid the rudeness."

Changes are evident everywhere. Just look at the skyline here. Indeed. I ponder that for a moment before making a note to remember Grandma Liu's patented coat-belt tug and arm pull for the next time I'm in a line.