Chapter 13: Making Money Isn't Easy
When it comes to love and relationships, there's a major cultural gap between East and West.
Take sex, for example. In many Eastern cultures, it's considered the final step in a relationship—something that comes only after significant emotional investment, time, and often financial commitment. For some, it's even reserved for marriage. If you sleep together and it turns out you're not compatible, everything you put in before that is just wasted.
But in the West? Sex is often the first step. It's common for people who aren't even in a relationship—or barely know each other—to hook up. If it feels good and there's chemistry, then they might consider taking the next step and discussing an actual relationship.
That's exactly how it was with Fiona and Steve. They met at a bar and ended up sleeping together within three hours of meeting.
Another cultural difference: in the West, people generally don't care much about your past. Unlike in some Eastern cultures—where your dating history, marriage status, and whether you have kids might seriously impact your chances—Westerners tend to have a more "if I like you, that's enough" mentality. You could be divorced with kids, and if someone likes you, they'll still pursue a relationship without overthinking it.
Steve and Tony both knew about Fiona's situation and didn't care that she had dated ninety-four guys before. That number was very real—and they were still head over heels for her.
Now, imagine if this were happening in China. No matter how beautiful Fiona was, with a home situation like Frank's—an unemployed drunk father and five younger siblings—any man would think twice before getting involved. This isn't just a "supporting your brother" situation; this is full-blown "bringing the whole family along."
Put yourself in those shoes. You meet a girl who looks like a goddess—but she dropped out of high school, works odd jobs, loves clubbing with her girlfriends, and by her early twenties has dated over ninety guys. She's also caring for five younger siblings (two in high school, two in elementary, and a toddler under two), supports them all with her own income, and has a drunk, junkie father. Would you still pursue her? Let alone marry her?
When gossip about Fiona's love life started up, she shut it down quickly—and everyone dropped the subject.
That's also part of Western culture: people don't interfere or judge others' lives too much. Even among family, you might offer advice, but unless someone asks for help, you don't interfere. Even if you think they're making a terrible decision, you keep out of it—because what looks wrong to you might feel perfectly right to them.
That's a huge contrast to Eastern families, where someone—usually a relative—will insist on interfering "for your own good." They might even start making decisions for you.
In the West, meddling in someone's private life, even as family, is a big no-no. It's a serious boundary.
---
"Fiona! There's no toilet paper in the bathroom!" Carl shouted.
"I'll grab some from the building's restroom with V in a bit. For now, just use some newspaper. Crumple it up well—it won't scratch your butt as much," Fiona replied, handing him some old newsprint.
"I'm heading back to grab the screwdriver," Veronica said as she went to get her tools.
In some public restrooms—especially in large buildings—the toilet paper rolls are massive, weighing several pounds. If the restroom doesn't get much use, one roll can last an entire month.
Whenever they ran out of toilet paper at home, Fiona and Veronica would "borrow" a roll from those public restrooms. One roll could easily last the family a week, saving them a few bucks—money that really mattered in a poor neighborhood.
Both families were living in the projects, and every penny counted.
"Take care of Liam. If he's hungry, there's bread in the fridge—leftovers from whatever Frank brought home yesterday," Fiona said before she and Veronica left.
"I'm sick of eating bread every day," Carl grumbled.
"You're lucky to even have bread," Ian said, ruffling Carl's hair.
"By the way, have you guys seen Frank lately? Karen's looking for him," Lip asked between spoonfuls of cereal.
"Isn't he at the bar?" Ian asked, sipping his milk.
"Nope. Kevin said he hasn't been in all week," Lip replied.
"Now that you mention it, Frank's been getting up early and coming home every night lately," Ian added.
"And he keeps bringing home tons of bread," Debbie noted. "That's saved us a lot on food."
"I'm gonna puke if I eat more bread," Carl muttered, tearing one apart and tossing it into his milk.
"Carl! Did you even wash your hands after using the bathroom?" Debbie scolded.
As the kids chatted, they all realized—Frank had changed recently.
He used to be practically homeless—either passed out in a bar or God-knows-where. He could sleep drunk on the sidewalk, in the park, even on a curb. He'd only come home when he was out of cash or needed to wash the vomit off himself.
But lately? He was still gone all day, but he always came back at night. And he wasn't stumbling in wasted—just dirty and kind of smelly, but not of booze.
What had Frank been up to all this time?
Simple: he'd been making money.
Every day, Frank took the train to another part of the city. He disguised himself as a homeless man and collected recyclables to sell.
Why not just do it in the South Side? Because too many people there knew who he was. Even in disguise, someone might recognize him.
It wasn't about shame—Frank had no pride left. He didn't care what people thought.
The real issue? He was officially a disabled person collecting government checks. If someone found out he was faking it and working while receiving disability, he could lose everything.
And believe it or not, scavenging could actually earn a decent amount of money.
It also took strategy. In poor neighborhoods like the South Side, you could work all day and barely scrape together a few bucks. That's why Frank went to wealthier areas. The rich tossed out way more valuable trash.
Frank knew—based on his past life experience—that the South Side would eventually be redeveloped. Its coastal location and proximity to downtown made it prime real estate. Someday, it would be gentrified like any outer district, turning locals into overnight millionaires. But that had nothing to do with him—he was broke and deep in debt. Real estate investments were out of the question.
So instead, he focused on scavenging.
There was a lot to learn: unlike in some countries, the U.S. didn't have centralized recycling centers that paid cash. He had to figure out what sold, where to sell it, and how to avoid getting caught.
His first day? He didn't even make three bucks. But thankfully, the internet exists in this world.
After a couple weeks of trial and error, Frank had it down. On good days, he could make dozens of dollars. On lucky days, even over a hundred.
And every night, after the malls closed, Frank would grab the unsold pastries and bread tossed out as waste—and bring them home for the family.