Daily Operations
Carrying an ice box, I climbed into the one-ton truck, and the captain started driving. Crossing the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, and even the Atlantic, he parked right in front of the Yeonpyeong police station. For a split second Pohang Police Station flashed through my mind and my face went pale, but our captain’s singing only grew louder. Then he grabbed me and dragged me into the crab soup restaurant next door. I ate without even knowing whether the crab soup actually contained crab and nearly burst into tears. “Save me.” The captain laughed so hard the whole place shook, then said the last boat leaving for the mainland was about to depart, so hurry up and eat. He led me straight to the terminal. “Enjoy the crab and keep your spirits up with that reporter life!” he bellowed loud enough for everyone to hear.
Back home, my head still hadn’t cleared, but the unseen face of the Vietnamese hyung who was waiting so desperately came to mind, so I got to work. Since I’d brought back Yeonpyeong’s famous crab, I figured I should prepare Hwaseong’s famous ginseng and deliver it to the US military hyung as well.
That way I could finally grant the Vietnamese hyung’s wish. The US military hyung asked me to handle deliveries, and I asked the US military hyung for introductions. Winter arrived and I turned into a hibernating bear, barely moving—except for the Itaewon deliveries, of course.
In the meantime our blueandgreen hyung kept expanding as if he wanted to become the landlord of the industrial complex. The Vietnamese hyung, using his superior alchemy, turned the stock I had risked my life to bring in into gold and began selling. Our grower Yangcho hyung became a hermit. The farm had originally been near Yeongcheon town, but after the expansion and relocation it moved deep into the Taebaek Mountains—at my request. Weed comes in indoor and outdoor varieties, each with its own advantages and disadvantages. To enjoy both, I asked him to grow both. But you can’t grow indoor varieties in the middle of a city, so he headed for the mountains.
While our team ran smoothly, the world seemed to be running smoothly as well. Around the time the plum blossoms bloomed, I returned to Itaewon, my old territory, after a long absence. Somehow I felt that if I visited my main clients they would recognize me, so I went nowhere except on the US military hyung’s requests. The sudden drop in volume had actually brought me out for market research. Familiar shop signs appeared one after another. Whether the clients had some kind of community or not, I was introduced to about five more places, and when the US military hyung contacted me to handle some work, two more were added. Now I was supplying roughly twenty locations. A company that hadn’t been on the original list reached out; when I asked the US military hyung if it was all right, he told me to work hard.
Passing a pub-like place on the street, I saw customers standing out front exhaling smoke. Up close it was shisha. That’s it! The answer really had been on site.
The drop in demand was ultimately seasonal. As the weather turned cold, shisha—which you could enjoy sitting in a corner—seemed to sell better than the original stuff. The problem was I knew nothing about that side of the business. That’s the advantage of having an organization: if you don’t know, you can just ask.
So I contacted the Vietnamese hyung last—the one who would know best.
It took an hour to get those two sentences. God is fair. I was introduced to another technician.
The man who asked to be called Ali was from Pakistan and had come to work at the shipyard. He kept whining about how hard welding was, so he clearly needed a bit more business sense. The shisha he made had good reviews, and there was a reason: it was a prestigious brand with history and tradition. In other words, shisha made the traditional way from his hometown had a unique aroma and was popular among his compatriots—so much so that even the Vietnamese hyung had heard of it.
Drawing on the knowledge I’d been force-fed, I made my request.
But a problem arose—exactly the same one as with the Vietnamese hyung. No ingredients. He could source the other sub-ingredients himself, but there was no weed, the main ingredient. And it had to be high quality. Just like hashish, poor quality meant you needed a lot of quantity, but shisha required dilution, so without solid base quality there was no marketability. Fortunately, I had Yangcho hyung. He was farming diligently in the region where the Taebaek and Sobaek Mountains split. Since the Vietnamese hyung’s hashish was a holiday special, I also sent the US military hyung’s stock that would otherwise become surplus.
Here A was Yangcho hyung’s and B was the US military hyung’s. Damn. What to do with the US military hyung’s stock?
Nice! I launched full-scale sales. I distributed samples, and the reviews from the Itaewon owners and staff were excellent. They said it had a nice umami flavor. Excited, I sent Ali hyung five hundred grams of US military origin and three hundred grams of Yeongcheon origin. After selling for about a week, the US military hyung contacted me.
Damn. Reprimanded. The forty-degree hyungs were terrifying. It felt like some kind of force was emanating from the phone. Whining, I contacted my mentor and pioneer, Flashmob hyung, to complain about the situation.
According to Flashmob hyung, the US military hyung probably had several proxies like me running around. But since I had entered the market without permission, he had a reason to reprimand me and figured I would listen, so he spoke up.
That damn “well.” If I had done well I wouldn’t have needed to ask the senior.
Still, I whined one more time. Choke on squid while eating.
Damn. I had no connections, no money, and no power.
After finishing the conversation with Flashmob hyung, my worries deepened. My life was gradually moving away from the pocket-picking days, but getting caught like the Pohang Police Station incident was something I hated—more than hated, I loathed it. So I decided to give a warning.
Without naming Flashmob hyung, I told him to be careful with business expansion. I also thanked him for his hard work so far and encouraged him to keep doing well. I advised him to find a reliable friend to act as a proxy for anything except important deals—in other words, to take one more step back from the front lines. I gave up on the Vietnamese hyung; his Korean was simply too poor.
Now, as the general of winter retreated and forsythia bloomed, a late spring cold arrived, almost as if jealous. What was funny about this business was that last year there had been chaos because there was nothing to sell, yet now surplus stock had become a serious problem. Yangcho hyung and the US military hyung kept sending steady shipments from Yeongcheon, but they weren’t being absorbed and kept piling up. Of course, during Chuseok or vacation season the Vietnamese hyung might still take a certain amount, but the inventory management risk was too great. Typhoon hyung suddenly taking everything was one risk, but crackdowns, seizures, and delivery accidents also had to be considered. In short, turnover rate was crucial. The conclusion was to create many more customers and supply them quickly. So I logged into Skylight and started shouting “Hello?” over and over. Of course, every single one was a miss.