I envy the water of the West River and once came down to Jingling City.
Wang Feng, born in 1979, is from Baihu Village, Jingtan Township, Tianmen, Hubei Province, and a member of the Wuhan East and West Lake Writers Association. He has a deep love for literature. After graduating from high school, I studied and worked in Wuhan. I like to write works on various subjects since I was a child. When I was a student, I wrote a collection of poems and published them in school magazines and local magazines. He is currently engaged in hotel management and engineering construction.
Father’s life in setting up a stall
A few days ago, I read a novel about setting up a stall. I felt aroused in my heart, sighing that life is not easy! I couldn't help but remember the years when my father first arrived in Wuhan, he was deceived, collected things by the urban management, drove him everywhere, and was tortured by unruly customers.
is in his early sixties. Because I have a child, I need my mother's care. My father cannot farm in the rural area of Tianmen . So he also came to Wuhan together. When he first came, he was walking around where I lived, trying to find something to do.
was introduced by a friend to a pickle factory, helping to cut, wash vegetables, transport salt, sprinkle salt, etc.; after half a year, because the inside tasted strong and the was heavy in moisture, my body gave up because it couldn't bear it.
and then went to the nearby Huangjintang Farmers Wholesale Market to wander around. A few days later, he came back and told us that he was going to sell cooked corn.
is very fast, and a set of guys is ready in the rudder market: a pedal tricycle, a three-core coal stove, a large aluminum pot, a few packs of plastic bags, and some seasonings. Finally, I found several corn wholesalers.
My father cooked a stove in the open space downstairs every morning, boiled boiling water; he set off on a tricycle. Walk around the streets and shout all the way.
At that time, there were not so many cars on the streets and alleys in Wuhan, and there were few new communities. There were urban villages everywhere, old communities, and full of fireworks. There are also some factory areas scattered near some living areas, such as the garment factory street in Changfeng, the wood and stone processing factory near Hanxi 3rd Road, and some factories in Gutian 5th Road. Various nearby schools are also his source of customers.
After several days of hawking attempts along the street, adjustments to several lines, and summary of hawking rhetoric, the stall business also began to improve.
My father read some books when he was young and liked to read books. When working in rural farming, chatting with villagers is also a good idea, so you are good at making some rumors during sales to attract attention or summarizing some corn selling points to get more opportunities for transactions.
, and his handwriting is particularly neat and beautiful. Sometimes he writes a rumor with a small card and hangs it on a tricycle, which can also attract some people who have a respect for knowledge to come and buy it.
At that time, at two or three noon every day, the business hours of the day ended, and counting money was the happiest thing for him.
At that time, the daily operating income was higher than that of ordinary young people's work income.
so he enjoys himself.
Although there are many difficulties and many bitter things to encounter in the streets.
It is very troublesome if the tricycle breaks. When the tires are nailed, the bearings are broken and the chain is broken.
is full of a truck, and there are about ten honeycomb coals to be burned, one or two boxes of corn, and a few pots of water.
The father had to unload all the goods, put them in a regular customer, and then push the car to the repair shop.
Over the past few years, he has been familiar with the location of the repair shop within the sales scope and the boss’s attitude.
Many times, at the moment of sale, I would encounter urban management. In the past few years, I was in the stage of barbaric law enforcement, and even had fishing law enforcement.
So the old father was very worried about it.
My father told me that he had encountered urban management several times.
One morning, at the entrance of the living area, several mother-in-law were waiting to buy their father's corn.
He focuses on packing, collecting money, and finding money. Several young men from the urban management team went up, picked up uncooked corn and the large aluminum pot that was being cooked, and walked towards the law enforcement car.
The father was suddenly confused and didn't notice that they broke out. Several old ladies were also confused. They gave the money and the corn was taken by the urban management.
Father quickly stepped forward to argue, his face full of anger mixed with a little panic, his steps were a little messy, his originally straight waist was also a little curved due to tension, and his stubborn short hair seemed to be about to stand up.
He quickly chased and stopped the urban management law enforcement vehicle from leaving.
A little boss got off the co-pilot, dressed in neat clothes and hat. After getting off the car, he still pulled his belt.
The father argued loudly with him, as if it was reasonable and well-founded.
At this time, the old ladies who had just paid and who had not paid came to help their father ask for something.
An old lady said: "This old man lives in the same place with us. He is idle and does something business. You don't let him put it here, just don't put it on others. Others used to be a people's teacher, and it's not good to make others beat people. You often sway here in the future, and it's not good to meet them."
Father often acts very educated and well-educated, so some people often treat him as a retired teacher.
They said something and I made several urban management workers stop talking. The little head said, "I will give you the things back, don't put them on the side of the road."
Then climbed into the co-pilot and told the driver to drive away.
Another time, probably because the superiors suddenly checked the work and they took collective action against mobile vendors on a street.
All the vendors on that street were more or less collected, and my father was collected a very nice and beautiful scale and a box of corn.
, especially the scale, I remember it very clearly that the portion of the stuffed bun underneath is very delicate and sturdy. My father often looked at it and stroked it. After
was taken away by the urban management, he was furious and blocked the urban management door with several similar small vendor bosses and asked to see the urban management leader.
It may be a young urban management man (maybe a temporary worker again), pushing his father and another small boss, so they make the most trouble.
didn't seem to have gotten back the last thing.
My father couldn't swallow this for a while and often nagged for the next few days. My mother and I comforted me, and it took me a lot of days to get better.
There are many good people like old ladies, and bad people who even street vendors cheat on old people.
One day, it was almost two o'clock when it was noon. At this moment, the sun was getting strong and my father was on the way home on a tricycle. Let the beads of sweat drip down unscrupulously, because I had to stabilize my handle, I didn’t have time to wipe my sweat with a towel on my shoulder. The eyes on the dark cheeks also narrowed down due to sweat.
and a few cooked corns were not sold. A black sedan on the left stopped, honked the horn, then poked his head out of the co-pilot, and a sound came from: "Old man, are there still corn?"
"Yes." My father happened to be worried about how many people had not sold it.
"Five ten yuan, all for you."
The father quickly packed the corn and saw a hundred yuan red ticket stretching out. Then he quickly counted ninety yuan and handed it to the person in the car.
As soon as I got the red ticket, the black car rushed away with a roar.
When his father's hand was about to put the money in his pocket, he felt something was wrong with the Hong Piaopiao, so he hurriedly took it out and looked at it, it was fake. Looking at the taillights of the black car in the distance, he said that he had the heart to rush up and beat the co-pilot to death.
not only gave away a few cooked corn for free, but also lost ninety yuan. At first glance, it was a premeditation.
In those years, my father would collect about 1,000 yuan of fake money every year. Some scammers are just trying to attack the elderly, which is indeed some unethical things. At first, he was still full of righteous indignation, but later he gradually became accustomed to it and became much calmer.
In the next few years, my father rented a fixed stall at the turn of spring and summer, and started a corn wholesale business with several vendors who had been able to negotiate. In this way, there is no need to go through the streets and alleys, and there is no need to worry. Although the single profit is low, the volume is large and the absolute profit is also high.
When my father talked to me, there was also great knowledge in it. Sometimes, when he sees the farmers' cars, the appearance of the farmers, and the piles in the cars, he can basically determine the quality. Sometimes I can’t get it right, so I pull some corn out of the pile.
is also very experienced in valuation. You can basically give a price by looking, touching, and biting (biting corn). After working on
for a long time, I also know some farmers. They will reach a tacit understanding between them and how much the transaction is, it will be almost the same.
Sometimes, three or five of them monopolize all single products in the entire market, and one farmer will collect one. Then wholesale it to small vendors traveling around the streets.
has been done for a long time and encounters more pitfalls, which will lead to experience and courage.
As my father grows older, the market is moving out of the city, and his residence changes. My father started to do something for the nearby property and save his salary in case some favors and his health is not in good health.
The tricycle and coal stove that he followed him for many years were also lying in the corner of the community, quietly, with dust all over his body. Sometimes, in his spare time, he wiped the dust and cleaned up the stolen goods from the car.
My father has been in Wuhan for more than ten years now, and he has basically adapted to life here.
This is a series of stalls of my father, a story of a farmer who transformed from a rural mud land standard in his sixties.
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