Nap time was at 1. My whole team would pull cots out from under their desks, tuck in their blankets (one woman even brought a stuffed pig) and sleep until 1:30, when the mournful arpeggios of Richard Clayderman’s easy-listening piano masterpiece “A Comme Amour” signaled the start of the second work period.

Sometimes, in the seconds before I regained consciousness, I would forget where I was; I would look out my window, see the rows of identical blue glass office buildings and feel a deep, existential panic. But then I’d open my Lenovo ThinkPad laptop and drink a Nescafé instant coffee, and I’d be back in the anesthetic glow of Microsoft Office, where everything had a purpose. At 5:30, Kenny G’s “Going Home” announced the end of the day.

I enjoyed being a professional foreigner on top of my usual responsibilities. Since I was the lone American in the office, some saw in me an opportunity to provide an international flavor. I appeared in a corporate recruitment video shaking hands and conducting fake meetings. At different times, I also served as an M.C., translator and singer. At the peak of my foreigner career, I sang for 2,000 factory workers at a Chinese New Year gala organized by the Communist Party.

The first friend I made was Jack, a nerdy but self-confident product manager. On Saturdays, he would pick me up in his car, a Chinese-made Chery QQ, and we would drive to the public swimming pool. We would do a few laps, though the pool was so full that we could never swim in a straight line. Afterward we would drive to an outdoor seafood restaurant, order some fish and beer, pull up plastic stools and talk.

Jack complained about China, but not about censorship, pollution or human rights. What bothered him were housing prices. Jack had a good job, but to be successful you needed a wife, and to get a wife you needed a house. But a two-bedroom condominium cost $300,000 to $2 million, and prices kept rising, fueled by real estate speculation. So Jack simmered in his cubicle for years, saving for his ticket to marital happiness that remained just out of reach.