The Sluice of a Cement Mixer

I set out for the train with just under two hours to go. The station’s is on the completely other side of my rather large metropolis.  An hour down there in the afternoon, when I’d normally left at 5:00AM turned out to be quite a bit longer than the morning’s affair.  I considered myself lucky to pull into the station with twenty minutes to spare, one hundred minutes after leaving home. Efficient pass through security, nice, a not insignificant line for ticket pick up but mine proceeded effortlessly and I was at the ticket counter, securing my ticket by 4:50PM for my 5:00PM train.  As I was buying my ticket a guy came up beside me and positioned himself to ask the ticket lady a question, saying to someone behind me that his train was at 5:00PM.  I turned to him and said: “Don’t waste her time.  I’m also on a 5:00PM train.”  Yeah.  

But I knew I was good as I took my ticket and headed across the station floor and over to consider the big-boards to discern where my train gate would be. Hendrix “Hey Baby” was on up in the ears and I necessarily glided through all the people like a knowing fish. Requisite crowds to navigate, requisite squinting up at the big board that isn’t big enough for my eyes.  You’re train’s on track sixteen.  I eyed the Starbucks but erred on the conservative side and figured I’d get whatever food I needed on the train. Play it safe, for once, big guy.  Once you’re in, you’re in, and I exhaled riding down the escalator, turned and made my way all the way back to car three.  Not much time left but now I could dart in a door, whenever I heard the bell, if necessary. 

I reached my seat but was confused.  I’d gotten a biz class ticket and this was an economy section.  Over by the open door was a young stewardess and I trotted over to speak with her about this. She asked where I was heading.  “Huh?”  “Shanghai.”  “This train is going to Tianjin.” She said flatly.  “But. What?”  “You are supposed to be on that train.”  She said, pointing to the train on the other side of the platform that was now rapidly pulling out of the station . . .

This all hit me like the sluice of a cement mixer, fixing me in place, as the train I was supposed to be on picked up speed.  Fortunately, I had just been looking at Plan B’s as I had almost arrived too late for the train.  After a few calls that didn’t work to CTRIP I was told that the ticket I wanted, from Beijing Southern Airport would need to be bought on line.  Adventure or predictability?  I chose adventure and standing there in the horrible Beijing cab queue I bought myself a ticket online for the 8:45PM flight to Shanghai from the Beijing Southern Airport, the former air force facility which had recently opened to commercial traffic, and from which I’d never flown before.

We headed over quickly enough and soon I was in the airport’s only restaurant, slurping noodles, charging my computer, ingratiating myself to the staff.  This neighborhood of Beijing reminded me of the musty Beijing’s of my youth.  In the nineties, Beijing was content to be more “magnificent” than any other Chinese city save Shanghai, which set the bar rather low.

With plenty of time before the departure I headed over to the check-in at China United Airlines.  (nothing shanzhai’d there, certainly.)  You’re on a flight from Beijing capital airport sir.  Huh?  I checked my receipt and sure enough, inexplicably the ticket I’d bought had me leaving from the northern part of the city, a two and half hour drive from where I was.  I thought back to my purchase standing there in line.  I can't see how that happened.  Reluctantly, very reluctantly, I bought one more ticket with the young ladies help and secured myself a ticket on the flight I’m now writing you from.  Sometimes intercity commuting is all rather enervating. 

Wednesday, 08/23/18