Hey, Teacher!

Chengdu seems to have this custom: anyone who knows a bit of technology can be called “Teacher” or “Master,” or abbreviated as “X Shi.” Our company used to have a designer surnamed Jiang, so naturally everyone called him “Jiang Shi,” and with people saying “Jiang Shi” (sounding like “zombie”) all day, I almost forgot his real name. Compared to him, I got lucky. Ever since the girl at the print shop on the fifth floor started calling me “Teacher,” everyone else in the company seemed to have finally found the perfect catch-all term, and one by one they switched to calling me “Teacher” too. This sudden change caught me off guard—I hadn’t even prepared any tipping money for the name change, let alone red envelopes.

I can’t help getting a bit literary here, thinking back to the days in college when I helped classmates install operating systems. Back then, I never imagined I’d still be a jack-of-all-trades. People can’t escape the momentum of fate—the state you were in years ago already determined who you’d become now. The only slight differences are that the stubble on my face is thicker and the oil on my forehead shines brighter. But I’m still doing roughly the same things. Computer problems? Find the Teacher! Phone problems? Find the Teacher! Packaging issues? Find the Teacher! Need to build a website? Still find the Teacher! Rumor has it the Teacher has countless resources of all kinds, with terabytes of torrents in his Baidu cloud drive!

But here’s the truth, everyone, and it’s something you might not fully understand: your network is actually pretty low-tier, and I’m part of your low-tier circle too. The reality is I don’t really know anything. When you bring me a problem, I just search for answers online and relay them to you. When I get tired, too lazy to think, too lazy to tinker, I know nothing at all. At that point, what you need is a connection, or you need a skill—specifically, the ability to become a creator.