The problem with domestic help these days is that you have to do quite a bit of work yourself in order to get things done. Expats often ruminate about the good old days when help was, well, helpful. And we would do so usually after adjourning to the drawing room with a couple of brandies and cigars. You see, over here we're still partying like it's 1899.
Part of the China experience is to employ a local lady (always a lady, as the equality espoused by Mao didn't quite make it all the way to the domestic living room) to clean up after your incompetently messy self. They're all called Ayi, or 'aunty', supposedly to make it sound family-like but without a name there's still a degree of impersonal interchangeability in the title. I personally prefer to just call her 'servant'.
Oh, and by the way, when I say they're local I don't necessarily mean Shanghai local as not a lot of Shanghainese would like to be seen to be someone's domestic help. Instead, they're usually sourced from the nearby province of Anhui – which I suspect as being Ayi capital of of China, would be a pretty tidy place. So they come to the big smoke to make their money and for most, live a simple life here while sending money for their family back home.
Everyone seems to have an Ayi story and you usually hear the negative ones first. The stories of the ones who steal and move in when you're away. Or better yet, let in migrant workers to shower in your bathroom and help themselves to your products while the Ayi turns a profits. Well, that explains why I was going through so much shampoo last month.
So this usually requires a vetting process of recommendations and connections. Friends help you, through their own Ayi needing extra work or even if they know of someone back in the home province they can recommend. Yes, the Ayi network runs just like the mafia with members vouching for one another in order to join the family.
You can also inherit an Ayi when the revolving door of Shanghai life calls a friend back home or to other lands. I'm off, so here's my fake DVD collection, my lamp, satellite dish... and I tell you what, I'll even throw in my Ayi. As a matter of fact, that's how my household came to have an Ayi to call our very own.
A friend was leaving and wanted to find work for the sweet lady who had been with her for two years. And as she was already working for two other friends it seemed she was trustworthy enough to leave the house keys with. She was fine with cleaning but felt she couldn't deliver to the needs of western palates. Fine. So a deal was struck.
Since those sepia-tinted glory days when Shanghai had an outdoor market and a house move later, she's still there. It's a relatively easy job for her: two neat foreigners who never really see her and communicate via the odd note or phone call. Generally things run in automatic clockwork (not German precision clockwork mind you but clockwork of a sorts) but the calls and notes are for the bigger messages, when we've veered off our designated paths. Those are the times when a bit more clarity and understanding is needed.
There was one recent episode when a note was required due to the mystery of the missing crockery. From time to time a plate or glass would vanish, only to be realised at the time of need – you know, like you want to eat and there's no plate to set in front of you. Not a huge fan of eating directly off the table so an Ikea run (the necessary stopping station for all foreigners who need a few simple things after deciding to stay for a year to 'see how it goes' and end up anchored for a million years) was needed. Glasses replaced; plates replaced; bowls replaced; the odd tea spoon, and all was once again peaceful with the world.
However the following week, what was proudly once again six plates became five. My usual zen-like philosophical reaction to these sorts of situations is to fire Ayi – obviously after a couple of lashes – but a note in Chinese usually suffices.
So this is where the reliance on Chinese co-workers and friends comes in. Situations such as these expose the inadequacies of my existence here and the amount of incompetence I have chosen to take on living in this society. It does emasculate when a task that I would be usually more than competent (well, debatable) of performing becomes beyond my ability. Humility checked, a reliance on others does seem to make for a more neighbourly existence.
Of course, a little might be lost in translation from time to time but I suppose that's the price you pay. Let's take my situation with the missing plate for instance; yes, let's.
A chummy message of a bumbling polite reminder, something in the vein of: Sorry to bother you... You know, just wanted to let you know that on the odd occasion something kinda, sorta breaks (obviously not your fault of course). So if something like that should happen, please let us know and we'll do a spot of replacing even before you know it's gone :)
This somehow translated to something like: You're a liar! You've always been one and we have no doubt, will continue to be one! You're always breaking stuff with your clumsy sausage fingers and keeping it hidden. We know! We have eyes everywhere... like the enlightened government, and we see you... like that eye villain in Lord of the Rings. Stop lying and come clean! Admit you break everything so we know what to replace. Oh, and by the way, don't think you're not beyond a good flogging.
Kind of the same – just a little deviation on a couple of the details. And you know, as odd as you may think, a note such as this may not have been the right thing to pass on to a lady with a cheery smile and an ability to polish the floor to a mirrory lustre. A rewrite was required.
This was a toned down version of the previous one but contained just enough menace to have her resign in tears. This was message writing from a peace loving, veggie eating, karma believing Buddhist by the way. My go-to message writer. But even I was getting scared by these translations of warmth and kindness.
A third rewrite and I was feeling like a difficult client. It seems like we still couldn't shake all those allegations of lying. What was that about? Perhaps an ancient vegetarian vow of hatred and vengeance. Anyway, it became apparent that when you want something done get someone else to do it wasn't working, so I wrote the message myself.
I probably scribbled: Don't listen to my hands and you are fired for smiling. Have more money and I'll replace it but stop lying!
As that would explain the way she looks at me now.
