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China is a master in the art of megaconstructions, to the point where it holds some unusual records, such as the tallest abandoned skyscraper on the planet. The thing is, no one really anticipated the everyday problems caused by these giants of concrete and steel. In some towers, taking the lift has become a real headache, so much so that a whole new (small) profession has had to be invented to deal with it.
A “gig economy” at the top of the towers
The New York Times tells the story of Shenzhen. A symbol of China’s economic openness, Shenzhen is now a bustling metropolis with a population of 18 million. Here, in the bowels of a skyscraper like the 70-storey SEG Plaza, getting a food order delivered is hell. At peak times, the wait for a lift can easily reach half an hour. For traditional delivery drivers, it’s a monumental waste of time and a drain on their bottom line.
Faced with this problem, a spontaneous solution has emerged: delivery drivers… for delivery drivers. These are usually teenagers or retired people offering their services. You’ve probably already grasped the concept: the idea is to collect the meals from the entrance to the building and, for a small commission, take care of the final delivery to the customer.
An ultra-precarious instant job
The case of Li Linxing, a young man of 16, is a perfect illustration of this new micro-economy. He spends his days outside SEG Plaza earning around 100 yuan a day (around $13). For just 28 cents per order, Li makes his way through dozens of competitors, waiting in front of crowded lifts and wandering endless corridors to deliver meals. This job is neither stable nor well-paid, but it’s all that the city’s most precarious sections of the population can find to scrape together a few coins quickly. In Shenzhen, these 100 yuan a day are enough to attract students on holiday as well as senior citizens struggling to make ends meet.
How does it all work in practice? The official delivery person arrives on a scooter, hands over the bag, scans a QR code to validate the first stage, and leaves straight away. He thus delegates the slowest and most frustrating part of the race to the “replacement”. Some, like Shao Ziyou, have even professionalized the activity. Known for being the first to set up in front of the SEG Plaza, he has set up a small network of assistants whom he subtracts, keeping a fraction of each delivery. On busy days, he can coordinate between 600 and 700 orders!
Fierce competition on the borderline of legality
The increase in the number of these new-style couriers has naturally led to fierce rivalry and regular disputes. A delivery error can be costly: the platforms penalize the official deliverers for any delay, and the latter pass on the pressure to their intermediaries. According to the Times, street fights over the wrong address have become commonplace, although everything is often sorted out in the end. This competition has also led to tougher conditions, with some building delivery firms slashing their prices even further to attract customers.
The totally informal nature of this work obviously raises questions. None of these couriers has a contract, insurance or social rights. It’s a tolerated activity, but one that operates in a complete legal vacuum. This vagueness has even allowed children, sometimes of primary school age, to try their luck, attracted by viral videos on social networks. Such was the controversy that the local authorities finally intervened! Since then, only those over 16 like Li have been able to continue, but the precariousness remains the same for everyone.
What is happening at the foot of SEG Plaza is a concentration of the soul of Shenzhen. This “gig economy within the gig economy” is typical of the new megacities. Here, millions of vulnerable people are struggling to get by as best they can
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