I, Park Sol, am a man born in 1970. Since it's 1994 now, I'm 25 years old this year.
My family was poor.
I never once wore new clothes I wanted, and I never ate my fill of meat dishes.
However, my parents were kind, my youngest sister, born 10 years after me, was spirited, and although I had a good-for-nothing older brother, we were relatively harmonious.
I ignored the scornful looks from other relatives, and even though my father seemed foolish for handing over my grandfather's entire inheritance to my uncle, I tried to understand.
But being poor was a harsh reality. Every month, rent, utility bills, my good-for-nothing brother's pathetic college living expenses, tuition, and dormitory fees strangled my parents.
I was a much better student and dreamed of entering an engineering college, researching machines, and getting a job at a large corporation, but our family situation was already strained enough with just supporting my brother.
I wanted to go to college, but I couldn't bring myself to ask my parents for help. And right after finishing my military service, I started working construction jobs at 22, thinking it would be better than just playing around and I could earn some pocket money before getting a proper job. It turned out to be more bearable than I thought, and the income wasn't bad either.
It was physically demanding, but the money was better than most companies, so I gave up on getting a regular job early on and lived for the joy of saving money. Around 24, I used the money I saved to get a studio apartment and become independent.
I felt sorry for my mother, who said I should just commute from home to save on rent, but there was no particular reason. I just wanted to live alone. I wanted a free life without interference.
"Hyung, shall we take a break?"
(TL/n - Hyung: older brother, and is used by males to call other males.)
At the words of a close younger colleague, I put down the cement bag and wiped my sweat.
"It's especially tough today. Maru, should we sneak a drink of makgeolli?"
"If the foreman catches us again, how will we handle his nagging? Let's have a drink after work."
Kim Maru was a younger colleague who worked with me at the labor agency doing manual labor. He was an orphan, and the orphanage director gave him his name, he said.
I'm not small myself, but his massive physique, 185 centimeters tall and weighing 120 kilograms, was breathtaking to see, but he was a surprisingly naive guy.
We became close while working construction together and often shared a bowl of makgeolli.
(TL/n - makgeolli: Korean alcoholic drink.)
"Ah, there's no joy. No joy…"
"We live for the joy of making money. Honestly, in our situation, construction is the best, the best."
"What's the point of saving up like this for a hundred days? The rich are living it up while we're stuck down here."
In 1994, South Korea was experiencing its greatest boom.
With outstanding export performance and rosy prospects, the future of South Korea was bright. Not my future, though.
Sigh… I wanted to be rich too. I wanted to buy a luxury foreign car and live in a mansion with a yard.
What would it feel like to sit back in the back seat of a luxury foreign car driven by a chauffeur?
"Is there any good business idea? They say everything is booming these days, and whatever they try, they succeed. Should I try opening a store?"
Maru clicked his tongue and said,
"You're saying that again. Does anyone just start a business? After you take out your deposit, you have about 10 million won saved up, right? Instead of thinking about that, focus on saving money and buying a house."
"Can't I even dream, you punk? If we're going to live, shouldn't we aspire to live a good life? Ah, I want to make money! I want to start a business! I want to shout it out loud and be called 'Boss'!"
Whether I spoke or not, Maru stopped paying attention and started resting with his eyes closed on the floor.
Just then, I saw an old man pulling a cart full of waste paper in front of the construction site. There was a junkyard across from the construction site, and it looked like he was heading there.
"Maru, how much do you think they get for selling that waste paper?"
Maru answered halfheartedly with his eyes closed.
"Well, if they're lucky, they might make 10,000 won a day? They can't work like us, so they probably collect and sell waste paper."
Watching the cart enter the junkyard, I said,
"Do junkyards make a lot of money?"
"I don't know. But they must be making money to do it, right? But still, it's a garbage dump, so what's so special about it?"
"I guess so? Ah, should I save up some more money and open a bar?"
"As if."
"Ah, this kid, I said let's have another drink, but we're running out of alcohol."
It was on my way home after drinking makgeolli with Maru, and I felt like I needed a little more alcohol.
"Should I just buy one more bottle and drink it?"
I headed to my regular supermarket.
As usual, I picked up a bottle of makgeolli from the display and went to the counter when a New Grandeur stopped in front of the supermarket and an old man who looked to be in his 60s got out and entered the supermarket.
I paid for the makgeolli and looked at him enviously.
'Wow, a New Grandeur. How much does that car cost? He must be making good money. I'm so envious.'
Could I buy one if I worked construction for a whole year without taking a day off and without spending a single penny? It would be cool, women would ask for a ride. But the maintenance costs must be high, right?
I was lost in my useless thoughts as I returned home, drank makgeolli with kimchi I brought from home, and fell asleep.
The next day, just like yesterday, Maru and I rode in the labor agency's car to the same construction site.
As expected, drinking one more bottle of makgeolli was too much, and I had a headache, but I endured it and was stretching to start working when a New Grandeur stopped at the junkyard across the street.
I saw it yesterday and I see it today, there must be a lot of rich people, I thought to myself, but then I was startled.
It was the same old man I saw yesterday.
The old man unlocked the junkyard, got back in his car, and drove inside.
I nudged Maru next to me and said,
"Maru, did you just see the New Grandeur go into the junkyard?"
Maru shook his head and said,
"No, I didn't. Why?"
"Well, I saw an old man driving a New Grandeur in front of the supermarket near my house yesterday. He just opened the junkyard gate and went inside. What's going on? Is he the owner?"
"He could be the owner, and he could drive a Grandeur. What's the big deal?"
Maru said curtly and told me to go to work.
I said okay, but my eyes were fixed on the junkyard.
Maybe junkyards are more profitable than I thought? And I started observing the junkyard all day long.
The junkyard's walls weren't very high, so I could see inside clearly from the third floor or higher of the building under construction.
What looked like the New Grandeur I saw earlier was covered with a tarp, and inside the junkyard, all sorts of trash overflowed, forming mountains.
No matter how I looked at it, it didn't seem like a job that would allow someone to drive a luxury car like a New Grandeur, but I couldn't help but be curious.
The old man I saw earlier came out wearing work clothes, probably changed in the warehouse, and started handling the trash.
He was turning a screwdriver, hitting things with a hammer, diligently disassembling something, and when old men pulling carts full of waste paper came, he weighed them on a scale and gave them money.
Occasionally, a 1-ton Porter truck would also enter the junkyard, carrying not only waste paper but also appliances and scrap metal, and the old man would pay them and they would leave.
"If they're bringing in truckloads, it means they're making a profit even after deducting fuel costs, right? Is this really profitable?"
I don't know. I've seen many successful professions while working construction for several years.
Lawyers making money and building buildings, or super popular restaurant owners expanding and buying land to build new buildings.
When Koreans make a lot of money, the first thing they do is build buildings.
Anyway, when I saw those professions, I had a lot of negative thoughts like, 'I can't do that because it requires a lot of capital,' 'I can't cook,' 'There's no day or night in that job,' but something about this felt different, and my intuition was constantly tingling.
I've had good intuition since I was young. It was especially strong when I had to make choices, and I often felt a kind of excitement that dominated my mind, making me focus on one thing.
And those choices often benefited me. Thanks to that, I trusted my intuition quite a bit, and right now, my intuition was going off like never before.
"I can't help it. I have to take a day off tomorrow and go check it out. Why am I like this? It feels good, though?"
Strike while the iron is hot, as they say. I told the labor agency that I would take a day off, told Maru it was nothing when he asked what was going on, and headed to the junkyard, clutching my heart that had been pounding since yesterday.
It was a very old and shabby-looking exterior with flimsy iron panels all around and a makeshift gate made of wood and panels. I knocked, and a voice came from inside.
"Come in."
I carefully opened the door and went in, and the old man was still hammering away at something. He turned his head while hammering and said,
"Welcome. What brings you here?"
"Hello. I came to ask you something…"
"Yes, go ahead."
"Uh… well…"
I felt like I was at a loss for words.
What should I say? I couldn't just ask if it was profitable, and it would be weird to ask if he drove a New Grandeur. I hesitated for a long time before saying,
"Are you the owner here?"
"Yes, I am. Are you here to sell something or buy something?"
"Ah… Do you sell things too?"
"There's all sorts of stuff piled up over there, so take a look and bring it over."
I hesitantly went to where the junkyard owner pointed. There really was all kinds of junk mixed together and rolling around on the floor.
Toys, chairs, shoes, pots, tires, even a walkie-talkie.
"It can't possibly work, can it?"
I didn't want to leave empty-handed, so I was looking around when I saw a very clean-looking folding dining table.
There were no major flaws on the outside, it looked sturdy, and it was a fairly well-known brand. Since I didn't have a dining table at home, I thought I'd take this one.
I carried it over to the owner and asked,
"Sir, how much is this dining table?"
The owner glanced at the table and said,
"You can have it for 5,000 won."
"5,000 won?"
If I bought this new, it would cost at least tens of thousands of won, but even though it was used and had been lying around in a junkyard, 5,000 won felt like a steal. I took out 5,000 won and handed it to him.
While the owner was pocketing the 5,000 won, the junkyard gate opened, and a Porter truck loaded with stuff came in. The man in the driver's seat raised his hand in greeting and said,
"Kim, take these!"
"What is it? Did you find anything good?"
"They left some furniture out in the residential area up there. It's bulky and takes up a lot of space, so I'm going to clear it out and come back. Two wardrobes, four chairs, two dining tables."
The owner silently weighed the load and said,
"It's 20 won per kg, and it's 200 kg, so 4,000 won. You want it now, or all at once in the evening?"
"That's not much. Ah, I'll come back in the evening and get paid all at once. I'll be going then."
And then I saw it. One of the dining tables on the truck looked exactly like the one I just bought for 5,000 won. All that for 4,000 won?
"Huh?"