little things

Several weeks ago, I was on the subway looking out the window, and it suddenly occurred to me that I no longer felt like a tourist. I felt like I'd traveled that section of the track countless times before, and it, like everything else, was now familiar and routine.
I know I've only just scratched the surface of all the things to be discovered and learned here. And I know that it will take some time to adjust to the more abstract and intangible differences. But somehow, in a matter of weeks, I've found a niche. I feel as if I've completely absorbed everything - at least everything superficial - that makes Shanghai unlike Austin. Very few things come as a shock to me anymore. And now it requires some effort to remember the little things that used to feel so big.

• People go to the grocery store in their pajamas: two-piece matching flannel sets and cushy slippers. The first time I saw somebody at the supermarket in that outfit, I thought he was sick and had come downstairs to grab something to eat. The next time I saw someone out and about in her pajamas, I thought maybe it was some fashionable trend, the new big thing. But he wasn't sick, and she wasn't trendy. They were just people in their pajamas at E-mart.
• People stare. I look like everybody else, so I'm sure that people aren't just staring at me. They stare from their sidewalk chairs as you walk down the street. They stare as you ride your bicycle past them on the road. They stare at you and even examine the contents of your grocery cart as you roll it down the produce aisle. It's more innocuous than vulgar gawking, but it's more critical than a mere gaze. I don't quite understand it yet.

There are, of course, still some things that I cannot get used to, though I don't know that it's culture shock any more than personal distaste.

• People spit. A lot. Everywhere you go, you'll hear it. It's not an I-just-ate-something-that-left-a-funny-taste-in-my-mouth spit. It's a juicy, deep-down-to-the-bottom-of-the-chest, phlegm-removing spit. And everywhere you look you see globs of said phlegm - on the sidewalk, on the stairs leading down to the subway, even on the floor of the bus.
• People do not wait. They do not wait for you to reach the elevator, though they saw you running before they hit the Close button. They do not wait in line. And as they cut in front of you, pushing you with their full body weight, they impatiently tell you to wait your turn. They do not wait their turn. They see you waiting for a taxi, walk two feet in front of you, and hail the next cab that comes. They also do not wait to eat; when their food comes, they dig in, though your food might come long after they're done with their meal. I don't mind this last one so much. That I see as a pure cultural difference, a difference of table manners. The rest of it, though, I see as inconsiderateness, and such behavior - as well as my annoyance at it - goes far beyond cultural differences.

More little things, crumbs if you will, to be shared as they come to mind...