I try to befriend those who work to keep my life clean and safe, including 服务员 (servers), 保安 (security guards), and cleaning ladies. They have interesting stories and share nuanced viewpoints you cannot get from Chinese students or books. I am unsure how many Americans living in China know how underpaid and overworked they are, but I try to make it so that their job is more bearable. The last thing they need is another douche expat to deal with.
We live in a pretty upscale building, and I have made it my goal to befriend the security guard, named 杨远益 (Yang Yuanyi), who works from 3 p.m. until 11 p.m. every day of the week. He stands all afternoon and evening, because he is not allowed to sit. A draft usually pours through the double doors as residents flow in and out, drenching the first floor with a bone-chilling cold. He wears an oversized guard coat and guard hat, that, despite his young age and the obvious ill-fitting, still manage to look incredibly flattering on him. While his co-workers wear sneakers, he even has sleek black shoes to match his outfit.
One evening, Julia and I baked brownies and brought them down with glasses of milk to share with him. He responded that he could not eat, so he just drank the milk. Our conversations always fall dead after a few minutes, not from running out of things to say to each other, just because it gets so awkward that it becomes too uncomfortable to continue. We left two pieces of brownies with him, though we never knew if he liked them. He never said anything.
* * *
Most of the time I speak to him, he is so shy he cannot even look me in the eye. One day we were talking, and he asked if I’ve ever been to 紫禁城–Forbidden City. I replied no, and Julia and I proposed we all go together sometime. I gave him my phone number and we started to text each other. I told him we wanted to play with him. From what I got in his text, he seemed happy, excited, even.
The next morning I received a call asking if we’d like to go to a market. I hadn’t woken up by then, and neither had Julia. We declined.
The guards who went to the market got in trouble. They weren’t supposed to freely walk around, even though they weren’t working at the time. I deeply regretted turning him down that morning.
* * *
He’s a different person in his texts, on the phone. His voice is more animated and he speaks with confidence. His texts are more truthful than anything he ever says to me face-to-face.
Yang: 土豆白菜 (Potatoes and cabbage)
Me: 是你最喜欢的菜吗？(Is that your favorite dish?)
Yang: 不是，是我最讨厌的两个菜，因为我天天都吃那两个菜吗！(No, they are two of my most hated vegetables, because I only eat these two things every day)
Me: 有天我们一起吃别的菜吧 (One day we’ll eat different dishes together)
Yang: 好吧！希望我能等到那么一天 (Okay! I hope I can wait until that day)
Julia, Yang, and myself after setting off sparklers for the Lunar New Year (25 January 2009)
About to set off more fireworks (30 January 2009)
* * *
Our friendship has, relatively speaking, grown leaps and bounds since the last week of January. Yang (and a few of his co-workers) has been up to our apartment a few times, and stayed for a while to watch TV or log on to QQ (a chat program similar to MSN or gchat)–a luxury they haven’t been able to enjoy. They’ve eaten curry, rice, northeastern Chinese sausages, and dumplings at our place. We even try to hang out after they get off work at 11 p.m. by making plans to go to the local noodle stand and eat a steaming bowl of 刀削面 （dao xiao mian, knife-shaved noodles).
* * *
He’s clearly unhappy, and it’s readily apparent in his expressions and texts. He can’t do anything; he’s sheltered in a small living community when there’s the whole world to discover. He’s leaving on the 15th to go to home before he finds another job in the south.
I wish him the best. I hope he finds happiness.
