Rules must be followed.

Rules are made for a reason. They’re for our own good, or the good of society. And so they must be followed at all costs. That’s why I was happy to be stopped by security at the Tianjin train station recently when I was carrying dangerous weapons. My bag had passed through one scanner without incident. But more officers were scrutinizing bags as they passed through a second rank of X-ray equipment. It was there, at this Maginot Line of extra security, that I was caught. In my defense, I didn’t know I was carrying dangerous weapons. But the officers helpfully described them with pictures. They courteously asked me to open my suitcase. Being a law-abiding person who always tries to obey the rules (my mother taught me well) I was glad to show them the offending objects — a wooden-handled ball-peen hammer, not much bigger than what a jeweler might use, and a few pocket tools for home repairs. I didn’t care about the other tools, but my little hammer was a special heirloom with great sentimental value. I didn’t want to lose it. To make this point, I theatrically clutchedit to my heart and tried to make tears. I attempted to argue that certain objects are allowed every day that could be dangerous — belt buckles, sharpened pencils, iPads and guitars, for example. I once boarded a train with an electric fruit juicer, and I’m telling you, that thing could really clobber somebody if used as a weapon. Amid my protests, a pleasant young woman came to help. Patiently yet firmly, she made it clear I could not board the train with my hammer. She suggested I ship it to myself by courier. But I was out of time; the train would leave soon. Here, I’d like to pause and give this woman a medal. She came up with a creative solution: If I agreed to come back in a few days, she would keep the hammer for me, and I could retrieve it then. That way, I’d have more time. I readily agreed. Photos were taken of the tools, along with my passport. A receipt was made. We became WeChat friends, and the woman asked me to please contact her personally when I returned. This was a wonderful example of going the extra mile for a foreigner, and I was happy and grateful as I boarded the train and took my seat. That’s when I looked up. There, lined up along the walls of the carriage, were six red-handled emergency hammers designed for breaking glass windows. They were easily accessible to anyone who wanted to grab one. There must have been at least 20 or 30 of those hammers on this train. Ahh, rules. Just because a rule doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be enforced. And, yes, I got my hammer back.