Posts Tagged ‘day worker

17
Aug
10

The Transaction

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

* Simply refresh page if slideshow fails to come on. Ta-da!

** For those still unable to view the slideshow, the photos are available in sequence after the jump.

In the afternoon that I have been hanging out at a scrapyard along Huoshan Lu (霍山路), I noticed an old man shuffling quietly through with a small bag in hand. He was shirtless given the sweltering heat, and his age showed through his liver-spotted and saggy skin which hung loosely on his person.

I followed him across to another scrapyard by Liaoyang Lu (辽阳路) and discovered him tidying up a large tarpaulin bag filled with plastic bottles. He had an odd movement about him. Upon closer examination, I noticed his shaking hands.

He had Parkinson’s disease.

His right hand shaking more than his left, he stared at his wares and mentally calculated its costs. I thought it made sense he collected plastic bottles, it’s light and portable, but you only earn about RMB 0.20 (USD 0.03) to one jin (斤) which is about 500 grams.

I was standing amidst a group of men in charge of collecting recycled goods – wood, steel, plastic, rubber, junk. They bought scrap from individuals to sell in bulk to recycling plants.

A young man sauntered over to assess the voluminous heap of plastic. A transaction was made with a modest sum exchanged. I could not help noticing the old man’s shaking hands while he waited for his payment. I wondered if he was being medically treated.

The old man then shuffled off counting his money, dragging his dust encrusted feet and slippers.

“He’s about 60, maybe 70.” One of the managers said in response to my question. “We try to give him a fair deal each time.” A look of pity flashed across his eyes as quickly as it disappeared. He then distractedly turned back to jousting with his buddies.

August 2010

Continue reading ‘The Transaction’

Advertisements
27
Jul
10

A day of rest

He was sitting alone, surrounded by concrete sand and mud, reading a newspaper on top of a tiny table. Behind him was his home, a large blue storage container which served as temporary accommodations for workers on that construction site.

I greeted him good day. “No work today, sir?” I asked, motioning my camera for permission.

He smiled, his crow’s feet pressed together to form a startling handsome face. I was so struck, not just by his genial disposition but by how perfectly framed his face was by his beard and hair, colored evenly with grey, black and white.

For a moment, I knelt there, mesmerized by his features while he stared back, not so much at me but past my shoulder at something else. I repeated myself, asking if he was enjoying his day off.

Suddenly, a voice boomed out from the side. “Today’s Sunday! We’re not working. What are you doing here anyway?” A large and portly middle-aged man, in nothing but a pair of bright red briefs, was in mid stride to the container when he spotted me. Standing firm with his legs apart and hands on hips, he waited for an explanation while I tried very hard to look anywhere but his underwear.

I didn’t recall what I stammered in response, only the image of the smiling old man who quietly acknowledged my departure.

July 2010

14
May
10

Shanghai’s scrapers

The other day, a woman fell out of the sky and missed me by an inch.

You think I’m making this up?

I was hurriedly striding along the pavement when suddenly, a middle-aged peasant woman from above pounced in front of me and instinctively grabbed me for balance. I did the same but she fell to the ground anyway.

I cursed irrately, my heart still racing from the shock. Was this just a bad accident or was I an unsuspecting support stoop? Bad enough I have to deal with tourists who stop in the middle of human traffic to gawk at the Pearl Tower, and the occasional shovers with nary an apology to be heard. Now, falling human bodies?

The peasant woman had long greasy hair tied neatly in a pony tail and wore a clashing outfit of a red office jacket and jeans, paired with dusty heels. She brushed herself off without a word. That was when I noticed a pile of scrap metal scattered on the floor. I realized she had scaled the wall of a construction site to pick scrap metal for sale. Where profits were concerned, it was a mine field.

Suddenly, I heard a loud clang followed by a thunderous bellow.

Another scraper had thrown a large piece of scrap over the wall without even looking. It barely missed another pedestrian, who was so angry he began hurling verbal abuse at the pair of them. Clearly used to this (disturbingly), they merely picked up their wares and walked away.

I notice them everday now, hanging outside the construction site, occassionally in mid-climb. I’ve stopped walking on that side of the street. Lest more falling metal and women rain on my way home.

The photo above was taken in March 2010 of scrapers in Dongjiadu.

For more stories and news on China’s scrapping industry, I heartily recommend you check out Adam Minter’s work.

28
Apr
10

The gentleman who does construction

In his paint-speckled work jacket, he had a laizzare-faire air about him that was striking yet charming at the same time.

A profile shot was irresistible. Yet at the sight of my camera, he was unfazed. Rather, a lazy grin spread across his face as he fingered around in his pocket for a cigarette. Keeping a steady gaze at my camera, he whipped out a pack of cheap ciggies and even offered me a teasing stick which I politely declined.

A lit cigarette in his hand, a breakfast omelet in another, he raised his left hand to toast me and ambled away to a corner to enjoy his breakfast. No doubt whatever hard labor that laid ahead of him that busy day, he seemed like a man who would take everything in stride.

October 2009

07
Apr
10

Hello Kitty keeps his ears warm

Judging from his blue uniform with yellow reflector stripes, he was a sanitary work or the likes. We were both standing in line for some hot flat bread when I noticed his earmuffs.

I had a silly grin plastered on my face which he clearly noticed. His hand automatically reached for his ears and blushed. It appeared it wasn’t the first time someone had pointed it out. 

Flat bread in hand, he chuckled abashedly and walked off.

It was then I felt a tingling in my ear lobes as the wind picked up.

Seemed I needed a pair myself.

December 2009

24
Jan
10

Watch where you cross

He had a hard look, the kind that resented people on sight which was only sharpened by his menacing tattoo.

He appeared as if he had the world on his shoulders and carried fatigue like any other hot and bothered day-worker, with the heavy eyebags to prove it.

I was in his way, standing in the middle of the road taking a photo. Bracing myself for a barking, the corner of my lips lifted for a brief moment in apology.

Then, his eyes dropped to the floor, and he heaved just a little harder on his pedals.

No longer was he the muscular and tattooed day-worker, but just a tired man on his way to another delivery.

September 2009




All rights reserved

Please do not use content from this website without the author's permission.

Archives

Twitter Updates

October 2017
M T W T F S S
« Sep    
 1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031