2011, Kaoshiung, Elevators

February 2011, Kaoshiung
Elevators

As I write this, I sit in a wheel chair at the famous and elegant E Dah hospital with a broken ankle. The B1 floor is a mini-mall with shops, fashion, cosmetics, beauty aids, restaurants, Subway sandwich shop and a 7 – 11. I go out with my wheel chair for a stroll, or roll, 3 times a day. The hallways are wide, marble and granite from the 4 corners of the globe. In the middle of the 1st floor lobby is a performance stage, with an automated self-playing baby grand piano monotonously rolling out renditions of fur Elise, Moonlight Sonata, and selections from Richard Clayderman. Placards on all sides invite people to listen but not to touch.

The elevators talk to you in 4 languages. Each wing on each floor has a “lighting room” with theater seating, large screen cable TV, ultra fast wifi, and spacious windows. This place was very well thought. I can imagine some people actually WANTING to be sick just so they could come here. It is a 5 Star hotel with nurses, also 5 star, I may add.

But one thing about class, it cannot be taught. The hospital is located far from the city on a cross roads of industrial and rural suburbs. The patients are mostly ruddy skinned farm and factory workers in stained, disheveled clothes. Paul Fussel, in his book “CLASS” presents a 5 part definition of class which includes personal wealth, intelligence, social connections, opportunity and last but by no means least, social consciousness.

I was waiting for the elevator with 4 or 5 other people. The door opened and the people barely waited for the others to disembark before elbowing each other to get on, not even yielding for an injured man in a wheel chair and a shriveled old woman on crutches.

While I waited for the next elevator, I recalled an event from years ago. I had a 4 bedroom apartment on Hoping Road in Kaohsiung in 1988. I shared the rooms with local people, hoping to have opportunity to build relationships and to understand more about the local culture, customs, language. One man interviewed for a room. He picked me up to have lunch. On the way out of his parking space, he knocked over an old woman on a bicycle spilling the contents of her basket. I waited a few seconds to see what he would do. He remained in the car and waited for her to get up. I opened the car door to help her. He motioned for me to stay in place and said,” Never mind. She is OK.”
“I'm going to help her.” I replied.
“I will,” he parried, with a sigh of resignation as he reluctantly got out of the car. How absolutely medieval, I thought. If I get out of the car and help her, I contribute to his loosing face. I will assume the posture of a Taiwanese and try to be concerned for his face.
He perfunctorily picked up her things and thrust them into the basket, “How-lah, how – lah. Mei-guan-hsi, mei-guan-hsi.” Never mind, never mind. He was completely without remorse about her bent basket, skinned knee and twisted handlebars and battered groceries.
Getting back in the car, he turned to me and said, “ Dwei buh chi,” I'm sorry. “Why do you apologize to me? You did not apologize to her. I have never seen anything so thoughtless, inconsiderate in a civilized country.“
I got out of the car.
“Where are you going?”
“The room is taken. It would be impossible for me to live under the same roof you. Good bye.”
“Why? What? “
“You have...no class.”
“Dzemme i suh?” What does that mean?
“Ni mei-yo-swei-dzun.” a Chinese language expression which carries the full connotation of a cold slap in the face.


ack in the hospital, the elevator door opened, I began to push my wheelchair into the elevator. The door began to close on my injured leg as the elevator announced in meticulous Japanese,” Doa ga tojite iru.” The door is closing. The thickness of the wall prevented me from reaching the elevator call button. So, I shifted my seat to thrust my hand in to activate the automatic stop. The door opened. I shifted my position to push the chair in. The door closed again. Again I thrust my hand into the door jam. The door opened. I positioned my self once again. I went through this cycle 4 times before a passersby held the call button for me.
"Thanks kindly."


Funny, I laughed, how after 22 years and billions of dollars of 21st century technology we have learned to program elevators to be just as inconsiderate as people.