I watch the lady who sells mylar children's balloons on the sidewalk. She has them tied to the bike she transported them on, and I wish I could have seen the trip from home. That would have been a great picture. She sells one each to two young Chinese women, and as they walk off with their purchases, a young Chinese man walks behind them smirking at their childish fun.
Locals pass on their bikes. Their children sit in wire seats behind them. On the motorized bikes, children stand between the handle bars and the parents legs. Others have sandwiched a child between two adult riders on the seat. Age is no concern. No helmets are worn. Some with ponchos on, some without. It is not raining hard yet, so no one is in a hurry.
The armored car arrives to load up what has to be one of the most used money machines in Shanghai. Two security guards get out dressed in bullet proof vests, helmets, and carrying what look to me like machine guns, followed by two money handlers. They move in to the building with one security guard in front and one in back. The one in back must feel pretty cool, as he has a swagger to his walk. I have been at the ATM when this entourage arrives and it is pretty unnerving.
When they are done they return to the truck. The swaggering man ditches the machine gun and helmet, but leaves on the vest and returns to the building. The other security guard takes off the vest, helmet, and the gun, and returns in black street clothes. They come out minutes later without anything in hand. Must have been a bathroom break. I can tell they are young. This must feel like a very powerful job.
By the time I have scheduled for Mr. Tao to return, it is pouring outside. There are several silver Buick minivans parked out front, but it is a 25 meter walk across the courtyard to the street, and I have forgotten my umbrella. I call him to try and figure out which one he may be, but it is lost in translation. His English is limited. I see a police car in the area, and bet on the fact that he has seen this and parked around the corner. They don't like it when drivers sit there. Luckily, if you call Mr. Tao and he doesn't understand you, he will usually assume he has to come to the pickup location. A minivan pulls up and I decide to run for it. The automatic door opens and I jump inside (Generally, if the door opens when you walk up, it must be your driver). With tinted windows, it is hard to see inside until you are right next to the car. One day I will get into a car and it won't be him, but the rightful car owners will be right behind me. The door being opened for them.
On Wednesday, Bill and I planned our vacation for the October holiday. The kids have a week off of school and we will be meeting friends in Saipan. It is one of the Mariana Islands in the Pacific, and is a US territory. We will be at an all-inclusive resort which is very family-friendly, and has endless activities. This is another one of those surreal things that we can do, due to our ISP assignment. We are middle class Americans that can live the life of the rich in China. It is a very bizarre feeling. An extreme contrast to the lives of the local Chinese who endear me every day.
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