Prior to moving to Shanghai, I once came across a memorable quote from an old China hand, fellow Englishman Graham Earnshaw, who sagaciously said "The true genius of China's love of the gray - in contrast to the black and white of the West - is that everything is possible. Nothing is allowed but everything is possible. It's just a matter of finding the right way to explain what you're doing."



Indeed, Earnshaw’s words rang true last week as I walked right into one of the most security-conscious buildings in Shanghai, the HSBC building in Lujiazui, and gained access to its most high-profile office – all just by flashing my worthless UK driver’s license and a fake phone number.



Using some of my J-school training, I looked at the young lobby-receptionist firmly in the eye and attempted to project a confident demeanor. My training told me that receptionists are more likely to let you go where you want to go if you tell them what to do, so I told this young lady that I wanted to visit the 12th floor. Without questioning, she gave me a visitor's pass and I gave her a wry smile in return. Media offices pride themselves on being open to the general public (though, discouragingly, less open to receiving freelance submissions), but this was ridiculous.



Perhaps the reason for my success was that I was wearing a suit. Perhaps it was my standard expat expression, one of arrogance and contempt. My whole body was projecting one simple, troublesome message: "How dare you stop me, you silly people. Don't you know who I am?"



Illicit access



I could have been anyone and, frankly, I probably should not have been let into a major international office without some kind of clearance. But I'd be willing to bet one crisp, red renminbi with any reader that I could repeat this experience at almost any other office building in Shanghai.



Within several seconds of arriving at said office, I was face-to-face with the bureau chief of a major media outlet. Following my unexpected introduction, he unhesitatingly led me into a meeting room where I was interviewed for a job. I won't name and shame this particular bureau because I'm still hopeful for a callback, but I can say that it's one of the largest in the world.



It wasn't the first office that I had gained illicit access to that day, however. As a budding reporter fresh out of a London journalism college with a new master's degree in hand, I knew that I needed to be wily, underhand even, if I were ever to get an interview for my dream job. I knew which bureaus I wanted to work at, so I decided I would gain access to those editors via any means necessary in order to personally hand over my resume, because underpaid secretaries and gatekeepers simply can't be trusted with the future of my career.



My first port of call that day was located in a building of a major media group in Shanghai. To get through their security I tailgated a young lady through the turnstile before it closed after her. I then bee-lined toward the service lift, as opposed to the normal elevators that have closed-circuit cameras, before the security guard could register what had just happened. In seconds I was out of sight.



Chinese service lifts are where rules go to die, so it seemed appropriate that I should use this route at the beginning of my venture. I entered this particular lift, which stank of cigarette smoke, with a rather dour take-away delivery man. We ascended together in silence; we both were obviously determined to fulfill our objectives.



Fake it till you make it



Throughout that long day, I walked through three different other offices without one person questioning what I was doing or where I was going. I learned many lessons, but the one that lingered longest in my mind was this: People will never question you if you look like you know where you are going. As many an expat in China must have said: fake it till you make it.



Chancing upon an open office door at the said building, I finally found a friendly, yet distinctly puzzled, managerial type, whom I addressed in my poshest British accent - for I, kind sir, was looking for a job. This led to an interview the same day, three hours later.



My next line of attack was a glossy expat magazine near metro Line 10. I estimate the whole process of entering their office and getting a sit-down interview with the editor took all of 5 minutes. I maintained my most staid "reporter look," but inwardly I was giggling at my astonishing success.



With two interviews in the bag, my confidence levels were reaching their peak and I felt I could do anything, go anywhere. I set off by metro to Lujiazui, Shanghai's financial area, to the more difficult buildings on my bucket list: the AZIA Center and the HSBC building. I used to work in similar skyscrapers in London and so I knew that there would be badges to collect (and half-truths to be told) if I were ever to be able to rise, literally and metaphorically, to the top.



But not so in Shanghai. The AZIA Center is a 32-storey skyscraper that houses a number of prominent security-conscious financial institutions safeguarding the accumulated riches of China's and world's wealthiest residents, including Deutsche Bank, Lloyds Bank and Bank of America Merrill Lynch. I walked straight through their nonexistent security and into a lift up to my intended international news agency.



Their front door was smartly locked, but it should be considered public knowledge that almost every office in China has a toilet outside, as opposed to in, the main office. I strolled around the corridor and waited near my porcelain portal to employment. Within minutes someone hurriedly exited the back door on their way to go pee and kindly held the door open for me.



Hazy shade of gray



I'm not sure of the legality of my entrance, but like they teach us in journalism school, all that matters was that I was in. Ocean's Eleven would have been proud. Was I breaking and entering? Was it legal? Could they have pressed charges and had me arrested for trespassing? I'm not sure because things in China are a hazy shade of gray. And it really doesn't matter because, once again, I achieved my objective: personally hand-delivering my CV to the managing editor then leaving before he or anyone else raised an eyebrow.



I'm sure that one of the reasons for my success, on four different occasions, was that absolutely no one I encountered in the front lobbies spoke English. Even though this is Shanghai, which has a very long history of hosting expatriate residents and is home to one of the largest foreign populations in China, English still is not a common second language here. It seemed awkward for the Chinese, embarrassing even, to attempt to engage me; easier just to wave the laowai in; I'm sure he's not here to rob us.



Would I recommend this strategy to other job-seekers in China? Definitely. To walk through a closed door, one needs to find a way to open it. You can either wait outside the door like a lemon, or you can knock on it with confidence and have the owner open it for you. Excuse me, you're coming through.



The difficulties young Chinese university graduates have had finding a job in recent years has made international headlines as the rapidly rising number of college students in China surpasses the number of available jobs.



In Shanghai alone, the number of university graduates predicted this year is 183,000, 6,000 more than in 2015. According to China's Ministry of Education, unemployment among recent university graduates remains around 15 percent after six months of graduation and is believed to be over 30 percent when including unemployed graduates from the preceding years.



In Shanghai, finding work is as competitive for an expat as it is for locals. So, you know, what does an unemployed grad like me have to lose by breaking and entering...except maybe a little face if security ever caught me.





Robert Cusack (left) interviewing Ben Howlett, the Conservative MP for Bath in the UK



Photo: Courtesy of Robert Cusack





