Plus, many work units offer their employees housing prices below market value or provide subsidized housing as part of their employee benefits package. This creates an environment where it is more reasonable to buy a home than to rent. Lulu, for example, bought her flat for only one-tenth of the marketing price. And while cars also serve the practical purpose of providing transportation, their ability to display their owners' social status is even more powerful than that of a house. Public transportation and taxis prove to be much more affordable than owning a car in China, especially if your taxi fares can be reimbursed by your workplace. My friends Beibei and Lulu often collect receipts for reimbursement as a method of supplementing their income. Of course, there is clearly no status in taking buses and taxis. So, both Beibei and Lulu still keep personal cars for the status.
The sixth dilemma is should you join the Communist Party? It's no longer a question of ideology; it's simply a matter of convenience. More and more young people join the Communist Party these days in order to get a good job or a promotion. High Mountain has his own theory: "The only difference between a party member and a non-party member is that, if you do something wrong, as a party member you are disciplined within the party system first. But if you're not a party member, you are subject to direct legal punishment." For him, joining the Communist Party is like taking out an insurance policy.
Finally, the seventh dilemma is a dilemma that Chinese men have wrestled with since the days of the Yellow Emperor: Should you listen to your wife or to your mother? As a Buddhist, I personally encourage Chinese men to listen to the teachings of Buddha.
IRON RICE BOWL: The Iron Rice Bowl refers to guaranteed lifetime employment in state enterprises, which was the central theme in Mao's socialist economy.
92 Gods and Goblins
It is Monday morning. I am at my desk preparing for a new story on successful executives. I reserve Monday morning – the traditional day of dread – for routine tasks such as setting up appointments for interviews and booking hotel and flight reservations. As I thumb through my Rolodex, I come across the names of several of my former high school classmates. One of them, Xia, is vice president at a Swiss investment banking firm. Hoping he might give me some quotes for my story, I dial his number.
When Xia's secretary explains that Xia is not in, I leave a message saying that I would like to get together for lunch. One hour later, his secretary calls back to say that Xia's driver will pick me up at my office at noon.
Promptly at noon, Xia's personal assistant rings my desk to say that a car is waiting for me outside my office. I step outside and am quickly whisked into the open door of the waiting limousine.
"Mr. Xia has had an urgent business emergency," the driver explains. "He will meet up with us at the restaurant. I hope that is okay."
I sit back in the broad leather seat of the limousine, silently gazing through the smoked glass of the passenger window and contemplating what it must be like to have a personal driver. Or an assistant. Or a secretary.
At the restaurant, I sit alone at a table for two. The driver, who escorted me in, stands off to one side, refusing to sit down even when I invite him to do so.
"I'm sorry. I won't be able to join you. Mr. Xia should be with you very soon. I apologize."
About ten minutes later, a woman walks up to the driver, says a few words to dismiss him, and then approaches the table.
"I'm Ms. Yi," she says. "I'm Mr. Xia's executive assistant. I'm so sorry to inform you that Mr. Xia won't be able to come to lunch today. A very important matter has come up. He has requested that I keep you company. If you don't mind, may I take his place?"
Since when did my classmate become so insulated by a personal army of loyal guards? I clearly remember a day when we shared class notes, when I bought him lunch, when I lent him my bicycle. Now, I was being bumped for "important business." And he couldn't even deliver his own message.
This incident reminds me of my class reunion. In as little as seven years since graduation, the difference in levels of success between my classmates has become almost immeasurable. While some were arriving in chauffeured limousines bragging about their designer suits and the quality of their personal chefs, others were busy patting down their hair, so obviously blown askew from the wind as they rode their bicycles to the party. And this in a society that once championed mass conformity over individuality and personal achievement.
For a brief moment, I feel oddly nostalgic for the days when I could leave my apartment without concern for whether my shoes matched my bag. Once, a person's wealth was measured by the size of his bag of watermelon seeds, not the number of servants at his side. Now, simply getting some face time with an old friend requires one to penetrate a strong line of defense. And laborers work for such low wages that China 's social elite have even taken to hiring them for no other reason than to impress their neighbors and friends.
I recall the Chinese expression that says, "The god of death is easier dealt with than the goblins." For now, I think, I would have to make do, dining with the goblin sitting across from me.
As I try to make idle conversation with Xia's assistant, my cell phone rings. It is Xia.
"Niuniu, I'm so sorry about this," says Xia. "Did my assistant explain to you what happened?"
"Well, she said that something important came up," I say. "I'm sure you are very busy."
"Yes, my son has come down with a fever and his mother is away on holiday. I had to pick him up from kindergarten myself. Can I make it up to you?"
Then I recognize the sound of children playing in the background – unmistakably the sound of a kindergarten at recess. And I realize that things aren't always as they seem: Xia has his own little goblin to deal with.
"Sure," I say. "Don't think twice about it. Call me when your son is well."
93 Putting the Fat in Fat Choy
I am having dinner with Lisa, who is visiting from the United States and complains to me about the sluggish American economy.
"Times of fortune yield to times of hardship, which later yield to more times of fortune," I say. "Ask any person who has lived through a couple of these cycles and they will tell you that a bear market is nothing to get worked up over."
It is common knowledge that consumption is a key factor in driving economic growth. Consumer demand leads to increases in manufacturing, leads to more jobs, leads to more money to satisfy the demand for more consumer goods. Perhaps not coincidentally, consumption is also the key to an expanding waistline.
By the end of last year, between all the parties I attended and a temporary bout of depression – brought on by the on- screen jilting of one of my favorite prime-time TV drama stars – I added nearly eleven pounds to my slight frame. It took me six weeks of cardio kickboxing and denying myself such comforts as Sichuan noodles and onion pancakes to recover. This year, however, I have vowed to engage in a proactive battle with the yearly trend. I have begun my diet early.
"Do you want dessert?" asks Lisa.
"No, I can't. I'm dieting," I say.
"Dieting?" asks Lisa. "You're crazy! You're so thin! You don't need to diet."
This was a common problem when I lived in the United States. I was always told I was too thin. Any time I complained about my own weight gain, I only offended whomever I was talking to, making them more conscious of their weight problem.
"When I lived in the United States," I say with a frown, "all I wanted was to have sexy curves. I did aerobics. I even ate more ice cream to add something to my figure. I felt so inferior to all the curvaceous women around me. But when I went back home to visit, my family told me I was getting too fat. My grandmother even took me to her acupuncturist. She was afraid I would never find a good husband if I didn't lose the weight."