Full of People Rising

My phone has had its power drain precipitously.  It’s been getting worse. The battery was no longer able to hold a charge for very long.  And recently there’s been a new issue, which has happened to me before with iPhones.  The charger port gets loose and it becomes ever more difficult to find the fit to even draw a charge.  “It’s charging!  It’s not.  It’s been charging.  Good.  It hasn’t been.”    My friend had helped me get this “kou” problem fixed the last time.  “‘Ta-da.’”  It’s fixed.”  “How much?”  “Just two hundred RMB.”  (About thirty dollars)  “Really?’  Apple would have wanted five hundred dollars.  My friend quoted me something similarly modest for this latest excursion.  But this time, I would visit the place, by myself. 

“Just head to Ke Mao Dian Zi Cheng.”  So I did.  Arriving the cab driver was very confident that this building I didn’t recognize, was indeed my destination.  I had memories of another shopping tower, and so I entered through the gateway, reluctantly.  This suspicion grew, as I considered the first floor, from where I was supposed to call this person.  Not only were there few people to be seen but the entire first floor was recently vacated.  Oddly, looking up the escalators were full of people rising and descending, just like in “Metropolis”, up above the beehive had more activity.

Calling my contact I faked it, as if I knew him.  My friend introduced us.  You know.  “Of course.  Where are you?  I’ll be right down.”  He called me back in three minutes, as I suspected he would. “Where are you.”  “I’m . . . well, I'm on the first floor but frankly I’m not sure if it’s the right building.  Let me go outside."  How did anyone ever meet anyone before used cell phones?

I think I do recognize this gentleman.  It's his smile.  We headed up to the second and then the third floor.  He was from Xian.  I was from New York.  This was established.   Soon he had met and squared off with a young lady at a counter pinching a micro screwdriver with her forefingers.  “It will be twenty buck to replace the battery and twenty bucks to fix the charging port.  It's loose.  And the cracks in the glass?  That's just this screen you have.  She peeled off the broken shell and laid it on the counter.  It looked like a snake skin.  I’d forgotten that I’d had that thick shell added two month’s back.   

My handler hinted he'd take me out to lunch.  I pretended to be busy.  But I decided certainly to give him some sort of tip.  Sipping our bottled waters, considering must-see’s of Xian, the battery swap, port replacer duet were soon finished.  Pleasure doing business with you.  

Another counter to follow.  I need a new screen protector put on.  This lady is from Shandong.  “Hezi?  Nice.  That’s where the First Lady’s from, right?” This gal suggested that business had not been very good lately.  She charged me three dollars for the new screen protector, plus installation.  I tipped them.  My handler walked me down the way to the connecting walk way between, this with the neighbouring mall.  Rough Fritz Lang-like pathways jutted out at odd angles.  I was determined to provide my escort with some recognition for his efforts but he backed away physically, flashing a gap tooth grin and shaking his head. “No.  No, no.  I won’t.  We’re friends.”  I made a bit more effort and threw in the towel.  OK. OK.  I’ll keep this money. 

On the ride home I had the rare Beijing cabbie who wasn't from Beijing.  I could tell quickly by his accent.  When I asked he mentioned that he was married to a Beijing resident and had rights to live here.  But he was, he explained, from Chongqing. He wanted to discuss why automatic weapons were legal in the United States.  I suggested this was all rather unfortunate.  “Yes.  I agree.  It’s insane that someone can buy and use an automatic weapon.  Yes.  In China crazy people grab axes.  You can only kill so many people with an axe.”  I tried to explain the Minute Men and how some people felt it was their freedom, but it all sounded obligatory and unconvincing.