Security is tight at the gated compound where I rent my apartment. By tight, I mean that there is indeed a gate, and a guard who is responsible for ensuring that nobody gets in except those who swipe their keys, or that the guard lets pass.
This is a problem for me, as I still don’t have my community ID to get through the gate. This means I live a dangerous life on the edge, where every time I want to get into the complex, I have to stroll up to the little pillbox where the security guard stays and stick my head in the window.
“Could you open the gate? I need to get in.”
He squints from beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed cap. The cap looks exactly like a police cap, but without the badge of the police at the top. There is much to be compensated for. His eyes meet mine. We both know what will happen next. There will be a test, and if I pass, then I can enter.
He leans in. The Beijing air is thick with tension and Sulfur Dioxide. “What building are you in?”
Instantly, my mind begins to fire off answers. Circle! Fish! But I choke back these incriminating thoughts. Those kinds of thoughts are only going to give me away. “Nine,” I say.
He glares at me for several seconds, and then presses a button and the yellow gate rises. You win this time, his eyes say as I pass through the entryway.
Another victory for me, and another night I sleep soundly knowing Beijing’s top men are ensuring no strange people without credentials enter the compound.