The Phone I Didn’t Think I Needed

YoYo was waiting downstairs with breakfast.

There were two tea eggs, a vegetable baozi and soy milk. I wasn’t sure how much of it I liked yet, but she was determined that I should eat. The breakfast I had found so unfamiliar in Shanghai was becoming part of my morning.

Afterwards, she led me through what felt like a secret passage beneath the shopping mall and into a lift. We went up to the fourth floor, where I would be working.

Andy, my new manager, was Italian and rather handsome. The centre was modern, with glass teaching rooms, larger classrooms, an informal seating area and rows of computers for online learning.

The office was at the back, shared by the teaching and sales teams. Computers, printers, lockers and cabinets filled the room. Conversations moved around me while I tried to remember everyone’s name.

There was Dan, an American teacher; Chris, an experienced local teacher who was leaving; and other colleagues who had studied and worked abroad.

‘It’s a girl!’ someone called from the back of the office.

The Chinese staff seemed pleased to have a woman joining the foreign teaching team. It was a warmer welcome than I had known how to expect.

Andy asked me to sit beside him. I glanced at the departing teacher’s timetable and counted twenty-seven classes.

Twenty-seven.

I felt overwhelmed. This was my first real job, and even reading the schedule made me nervous. Surely I wouldn’t be expected to do all that straight away?

My own timetable was gentler: about eight sessions the following week, all observations. I wouldn’t be teaching yet. That was a relief, although even starting to observe felt remarkably soon.

Then Andy asked about WeChat.

I explained that I still didn’t have a phone. I hadn’t felt much need for one at home, and I couldn’t understand why it mattered so much now. Who was going to message me?

Andy made it clear that I needed one, particularly for work.

My resistance had reached its limit.

YoYo took me to the Vivo shop beside the centre. Worried about the cost of an apartment and everything else still ahead of me, I chose the cheapest suitable phone I could find. It cost eight hundred yuan.

Soon I had WeChat and Alipay. Andy helped me set up mobile payments, and I watched, impressed, as paying could involve a code on a screen rather than the cash or cards I was used to carrying.

I didn’t understand how the security worked. There was quite a lot I was learning to use before I understood it.

Then I began adding the WeChat IDs people had written down for me. Those scraps of paper became actual contacts. I joined the groups from Shanghai and discovered just how many plans had been made without me.

There was a section called Moments, where people shared photographs and updates. Suddenly, I could see something of the lives of people I had met only briefly.

Over time, I would discover how much else could happen through the same app: arranging journeys, making payments, contacting businesses and sorting out everyday problems. People I might once have needed several different ways to reach were all there together.

Including my manager.

That convenience had another side. When work and friendships lived in the same place, opening the app on a day off could also mean seeing a message from the office.

I had finally understood why everyone wanted me on WeChat. I could join in, keep in touch and get things done.

Learning how to stay connected was the easy part. Learning when to switch off would be another matter.