T.I.C.

We, as expats in Shanghai, have a saying that explains any otherwise inexplicable happenings.

T.I.C.

Translation: This Is China

The mere reminder that This Is China tends to explain away any ridiculous problem, and although it doesn't make you feel any better about your situation, it does allow you to let it go with the knowledge that you can't do anything to change it.

For example, I called the doctor this afternoon. S-- needs a routine blood test, so I made an appointment. I asked to pick up our medical records at that time, as we'll be visiting our reliable pediatrician while we're in the states. After making the appointment, I requested our family's medical records. The woman on the phone clarified how many people I needed records for. Just the two girls - so that's two people. She informed me that I will be charged for each set of medical records, coming to a total of 300 RMB. That's about $50 in U.S. currency to receive a photocopy of two young children's medical records. I would otherwise call it unnecessary, pledging to commit their medical history to memory. Except that S-- has received immunizations while in Shanghai, and will need a positive record of those shots. It is absurd to pay nearly $50 simply to receive the immunization records of my own two children. How is this possible? How is this acceptable? Simple - T.I.C.

Later in the day, the girls and I took the Metro to visit Daddy for dinner. In his new role, Dave works on projects which cumulate in a few intense weeks. In the midst of these times, he struggles to make it home for dinner and bedtime. So tonight, we brought dinner to him and will do bedtime on our own. This means I brought two short little people onto the Shanghai Metro during rush hour. We only had to make it 4 stops, with no line changes - no problem. I stood my ground, using muscles I didn't know I had to resist being pushed into L-- as she stood in front of me. S-- sat in a backpack behind me, and sadly received the brunt of the pushing. With her face in most people's line of vision, she was mainly spared. As we exited the train, I set L-- directly in front of me and used my elbows to push my way out. We made it out without L-- noticing what a crowded place she had exited, but I felt wildly frustrated at a mass of people's inability to watch out for the needs of others. Especially others who are shorter than 3 feet tall. T.I.C.

We reached the restaurant. Situated inside a department store crowded with sale seeking shoppers, this is hardly fine dining. The seats are long benches in an uneven shade of brown which is almost certainly darkened by time and filthy bodies. Still, the staff balked at the girls walking down the benches and made them sit down and take off their shoes. T.I.C.

As I was losing my patience with my surroundings, L-- exclaimed that she had to pee. We sought out a bathroom, and found it with little trouble. Very sweet staff ladies led us straight to it - T.I.C. certainly also refers to the sweet people will go out of their way to help, and who make life in China more than bearable. But these sweet ladies were not the bathroom attendants. In China, bathroom stalls are not individually stocked with toilet paper. Fancy department stores hang their roll of toilet paper outside the bathroom door, where people are expected to think ahead and measure appropriately. Apparently, too many pee-ers overestimated and the roll was empty. But no problem, I thought. A bathroom worker is standing right here - he must not realize the problem. The conversation which ensued made no sense to me, as the man spoke no English.

Lynne (pointing to the empty paper roll): Mei you. There is none.

Worker (leaning on his mop): Something in Mandarin about how he agrees that there is no paper.

Lynne: Mei you. Bu hao. There is none. This is a problem.

Worker (smiling): Something in Mandarin about who knows what, which began to really piss me off, because can there be a good reason for a department store to offer no toilet paper to any of their toilet goers?

At this point, I began yelling at the poor man in English. Maybe not yelling - I don't think I raised my voice. But my tone was certainly not one of the four in Mandarin. He stood smiling, that ever-present Chinese smile which can mean one of many things, but here probably meant one of two things. A: This woman is making me really uncomfortable; or B: I can't wait to tell the guys about this crazy white lady going off about the lack of toilet paper! I mean, what does she expect? This Is China!