If you want to know the problems that beset elevator riding in China, just look at what is prohibited. There are a still a couple missing. It would be nice to see “no spitting” and “no farting” prohibitions added to the list.
I don’t think I’m the only one to find myself an involuntary audience to a terrifying yet somehow awesome phlegm-laden throat solo, only to hear the soloist conclude the performance by expectorating in the back corner of the elevator. On one occasion, performance concluded, the instrumentalist gave me a grin and said “ni hao?”
On another elevator ride, this one at the Park Hyatt in Beijing in the express elevator from the ground floor to the 61st floor lobby, one fellow (who clearly was not in complete control of his bowels) delivered a paint peeler that made the most noxious elevator smoker seem like a Samaritan by comparison. I felt bad for the guy, but I did go straight to the loo after disembarking, checking to make sure that I wasn’t carrying the scent with me into a client meeting.
I’ve also been on a couple of rides when it seemed like the perp had floated an air biscuit immediately prior to disembarking, thus leaving the rest of us frantically pressing our floor buttons, hoping to speed the car on its way. This, I have found, happens most often in office buildings, usually after lunch.
So yes, please don’t smoke, jump, loiter, futz with the buttons, or mess with the door, keep your sprogs under control, and don’t damage your elevator. But most important, let passengers off first: you have no idea what we might be running from.
I am getting ready to dive into the short stories of Faulkner and O’Connor. Before I do, one question:
Is there such a thing as the “shallow South?”
It is amazing how many kids today think “Fleetwood Mac” is a fancy variety of cheesy pasta.
Monday morning at 10:00am at the Marriott in Shanghai, and there is a small crowd of foreign guys sitting in the lobby bar watching a curling match on television.
I am torn between pity and envy as a shuffle into the long taxi queue and head to the office. I was never much of a curling fan, but I have of late become a great admirer of leisure.
UPDATE: took one look at the taxi queue and turned around and went back into the lobby and ordered a double espresso. I am 13 years and 4 months away from Social Security, but I am definitely too old to stand in any hotel taxi queue with more than four people ahead of me and no cabs in the rank.
Quaker Apple Walnut Medley, a tiny croissant, scrambled eggs, English Breakfast tea, 16 oz ice water. 500 calories and I’m stuffed.
I’m obviously in training for the Senior Menu phase of my life.
Nothing should debunk more perfectly any claims that a smartphone can replace an SLR camera than the thousands of fuzzy max-zoom photos of last week’s lunar eclipse.