Q: What’s the first thing people do after stepping onto the escalator that leads to Suguo and upon hearing the instruction not to look at their phone while on the device?
A: Look at their phone.
My teenage daughter has a banana-shaped “squishy thing” attached to her high-school bag.
When squished, it emits a randomly-chosen kind of nonsensical utterance which perplexedly delights the adolescents of today. Among them is one announcement in particular.
“I’m speechless”. If only modern China as a whole held the same belief. For in the Middle Kingdom of today, noise pollution has moved in to a new top gear altogether.
An analysis in to a day of simply existing in Nanjing proves the point. Over and over.
Back in the day, the first Chinese words a foreigner was likely to learn were “hello” or “thank you”. Today though, “success” may be more pertinent. Success at scanning a QR code. Success at paying for something. Success at picking up a delivery.
But my day begins with the “Gong xi fa cai” greeting upon entering and leaving the little convenience store by my front gate that comes at a decibel level defying the tiny size of the device emitting it.
It leads to the announcements generated by our existence meant only for others. Despite product newly in hand, “Payment deposited in Alipay account” serves only to inform the merchant of their increased wealth and how much poorer my spendthrift has left me.
But the most loathed of all announcements are those which were triggered during the dawn of time by having to take a number. In China Mobile, especially-popular dining establishments, or worst of all, a bank.
I can handle being first in a queue, even last, sometimes, provided it’s a short queue. Or coming second in a competition (my town’s junior snooker championship, for example), but 57319? There are convicted felons with shorter inmate numbers.
Toward the end of this interminable experience is the invitation, announced for all to hear of course, to leave a rating as to customer experience. Perhaps fortuitously for the institution concerned, the response shall remain oddly silent.
And just when I thought it was all over as my sojourn to the outside concludes, I am reminded of that which has had me increasingly concerned of late. It’s about my front door, you see. Upon receipt of a biometric, it will naturally announce that I have been successful at opening the door.
With this having become so engrained, my concern relates to the day it stops working. And the very real possibility of me standing there for eternity.
