My first day on the job. 9 o’clock start. I have to be on time. Punctuality is important; have to make a good impression. It’s 7:10 am. Not enough sleep. I rush through my morning shower which for the last month has always been a leisurely experience but today it’s just long enough to get the encrusted sleep off my eyes. Next I try to dress but realise I have no clean shirts so I put on a used one, then gulping down some blueberry yogurt, grab my backpack, pat down my pockets to make sure I have everything and I’m out the door, in the elevator and walking sprightly across the courtyard and out the main gate. 7:45 am.

It takes me half an hour to walk to the Jishuitan subway station, during which time I dodge cars and bicycles that creep up on me silently from behind, scramble up and down sidewalks to overtake the elderly and inhale 3 tons of airborne tree catkins. I pass the stalls selling baozi and egg muffins, the security guards yawning in their grey uniforms, batons hanging lazily at their sides. Beijing’s summer sun is beating down on me and the sweat has already begun to soak into the straps of my backpack. I approach the subway. It’s 8:15 am.

Down the steep concrete steps the air cools as a benevolent ceiling places itself between me and the great ball of fire. I descend into the belly of the subterranean beast, take out my travel card and beep myself in. It begins.

Line 2. The blue line; the line I am about make a noose out of to hang myself with. There are 5 people queuing in front of me and perhaps 15 behind me and I know that within 60 seconds I am going to feel the force of all of them raging against me. It’s time to make a stand. The train arrives. The windows pass by one by one, each with a dozen faces pressed to the glass looking out fearfully at us who are about to try and attempt the impossible; we are about to prove to the scientific world that two pieces of matter can indeed occupy the same space at the same time.

The doors open. “Xian xia, hou shang!” bark the subway workers; a concise and more direct way of saying “Please, be courteous to others by allowing them to alight before ascending the train yourself.” It has no effect. I feel those ruthless urban hands digging into my back and my face suddenly becomes overly intimate with the shoulder of the man in front. I can’t fight it and instead let myself be carried onto the train. I hear a groaning and a straining. The train feels like a balloon filled with too much air; I can imagine the nuts and bolts bursting out as the train explodes all over the platform, but it doesn’t; it just rolls on down the dark tunnel with a jolt. There is no air conditioning and now I’m really starting to pour. Us Brits aren’t designed for this heat and I’m letting those around me know it.

“The next station will be Andingmen. Please prepare for your arrival” the automated voice says over the speakers. What a joker. I can’t move. I am at the mercy of the masses and where the majority get off; well that’s my stop too! The silence is occasionally broken by “Ni xia che ma?” Are you getting off? If the one being interrogated nods his/her head then the interrogator will remain calm and still, but if he/her shakes his head then he will be thrust out of the way as this questioner of commuters pushes and shoves their way to be nearer the door. Now, some of the tunnels in the Beijing subway have been cleverly fitted with numerous TV screens placed side by side which play advertisements over the distance of several hundred meters. While hurtling along in these dark subterranean depths I was reminded by these strange, sporty, purple gummy creatures that the Olympics will soon be upon us.

Luckily I make it 5 more stops to Jianguomen without much difficulty – being only questioned and being shoved once. I have to change to line 1 here and luckily everyone gets off here with me! Things are going smoothly. Just let me go down these stairs here, take a right, queue up here with these lovely fellows, board this train and my next stop should be Yonganli. I smile to myself at how easy this all is. Then: “The next station will be Dongdan.” What?!! Right line, wrong direction. It’s 8:50 am.

I get on the next train going in the right direction and to my delight there aren’t as many people on this one. I approach Jianguomen for the second time and notice that there are a lot more people waiting for this train than there were before. The crowd behind me begins to swell. I’m in trouble. The doors open and I try to squirm my way through the passengers trying to get off but its no use. I’m carried off the train against my will and line up to queue again for the same train that I just got off. However, I still haven’t acquired this no-holds-barred attitude towards public transport and so I remain quiet and orderly; the scratching, punching and yelling erupting around me as the other commuters try to claw their way onto the train. Needless to say I missed that train and had to wait for the next one. It’s 9 am.

We finally pull up to the platform at Guomao. I slide off the train and plod wearily up the stairs. The sun is relentless but anything is better than the rush hour subway. The commercial buildings tower over me glinting with sun and glass, the hammering of construction workers begins and the dust rises up clouding distant buildings. I make my way into the office, broken, dirty, and drenched with sweat and know that in 9 hours I’ll have to do it all over again.
It’s 9:20 am.

“Sorry I’m late.”

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