chinatroll

Our building is the round one.

Today, on my way back from a sanity-restoring trip to our local Starbucks, I stopped in the lobby of my building and opened my mailbox. As I fitted the key into the lock, turned it, opened the little metal door, and took out the junk mail that was lying in wait there, a joie de vivre washed over me. Only a week ago, I could only retrieve mail by snaking my hand into the box through the uncomfortably small gap between the door and the top of the box, pressing the mail against the IKEA catalogue that defied removal, and slowly sliding it towards the door. Then I would painstakingly slip a finger under the edge of one or two envelopes at a time and work it out through the gap. I was unable to do any of this prior to the delivery of the IKEA catalogue. On our first night in Shenzhen, the woman at my school who is (rather reluctantly) in charge of helping us manage daily life in China showed Athena and I into our one bedroom apartment, gave me the key to the exterior metal door of my apartment and a key card for the building. She admonished me to not lose the key, turned on the air conditioner and left us to our own devices. I quickly discovered my inability to access my mailbox, and started asking her for the key. After more than two months of asking after the key, she finally contacted my landlord, who helpfully suggested I get the lock on the mailbox changed as he didn’t have a key for it either.

Just before the seven-day National Day break, Athena and I hired the Amazing Ayi (ayi means “auntie”). She works for another family at the school, and had time in her schedule to fit in taking care of Athena on Saturday mornings. When she arrived at my apartment on that first Saturday, things were an absolute mess. As any of you who have ever stepped into a room I’ve inhabited for longer than a day, or a car I’ve been driving for more than 4 or 5 hours knows, my ability to keep anything clean is pretty much nonexistent. There should have been the sound of heavenly arpeggios being strummed on a harp after she entered the apartment. Within a matter of minutes, the dishes were clean, the bed was made, and the laundry was started. This was all before I managed to make it out the door to work. The woman is a miracle worker.

She is about my age, very intent on improving her English, and determined that I will learn Chinese. While I am only improving in comprehension, her speaking and comprehension seem to improve in leaps and bounds; her efforts to learn English and teach me Chinese facilitate our communication nicely. When faced with the problem of having the lock on my mailbox changed— “Maybe you can ask the guards at your building,” the woman from the school nonchalantly suggested before quickly disappearing out the open door of the International Section office—I decided that the Amazing Ayi was my best bet. The guards are legion in China, manning various booths and desks in pretty much every apartment complex, school, department store, etc., and sporting spiffy police-like uniforms and red armbands emblazoned with bright yellow characters asserting their authority. The Amazing Ayi spoke with the one of the guards at my building’s front entrance, and then called around to some locksmiths, gleefully haggling with people. It turned out that my building has a deal with a locksmith, and I was able to hire him, with the Amazing Ayi’s assistance, for a fraction of  the price of the rest of the locksmiths. Of course, one is only able to find out about the existence of this competitively priced locksmith if one pesters the guards for a few days running, as I believe the Amazing Ayi did.

The locksmith put on a grand performance in the same vein as the watch repairman, and the hair stylist. There were two guards on duty when he showed up, and they both abandoned their post at the front door to smoke and watch the locksmith artfully pop the old lock out of my mailbox and install the new one. One of the guards, who is rather toad-like in physique but very friendly in disposition, ran an appreciative hand over the removed lock, and made impressed noises at the quick work that was made of the job. I made appreciative noises, handed over what amounted to a little over $2 US, and cleaned out about 9 months of mail from my now accessible mailbox. I guess the key has been missing for quite some time.