Chapter 88: A Model in the District

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So, after a whole day of hustle and bustle, the two little shops were finally ready, but still couldn’t open for business. Grandpa insisted on picking an auspicious day. After flipping through the calendar for a long while, he finally pointed to a date and decided: the grand opening would be the day after tomorrow!

Originally, Grandpa and Hongtao thought they would just open quietly, perhaps buy some candy to hand out to the neighbors—after all, it was a happy occasion. But Uncle said the street leaders had specifically asked to be notified before the opening. As the first private business to open on the street, the leadership insisted on coming to offer congratulations. Actually, only the tailor shop was officially opening; the salon’s license hadn’t come through yet, but they planned to fudge things a bit—so long as no one from the street office complained, they could start operating anyway. It was more or less registered; all that was left was the paperwork.

Since the leaders were coming, they couldn’t half-heartedly go about it. It wouldn’t do to have a cold, empty scene and embarrass the officials. So, that morning, Grandpa called every neighbor in the courtyard and alley who had a good relationship with them. Young and old, several dozen people clustered densely outside the shop. Children cried, adults shouted—it was as lively as could be. People passing by on their way to work, not knowing what was happening, thought there was a fight and stopped to take a look.

Officials in this era certainly had it rough. Just past eight, a procession came marching out of the alley opposite, complete with drums and gongs, and arrived at the little shop in grand style. Uncle was among them, walking at the front alongside a middle-aged man dressed in gray trousers, a white shirt, and shiny three-stitched leather shoes—it was obvious this was the leader from the street office.

Naturally, Grandpa and Uncle accompanied the leader, while Hongtao, still just a kid, could only stand with the crowd and listen to the speech. The leader talked for half an hour, starting from the global situation, moving on to national policies, then from the whole country to the city and finally to their own street in Dongcheng District, before at last mentioning Grandpa’s family. Still, he didn’t come empty-handed; he presented a large red silk flower and a banner. The red flower was pinned to Grandma’s chest, and the leader took the confused old lady by the hand to pose for several photos, before finally leaving, satisfied.

“Uncle, that guy’s speech was good enough for a district chief—how come he’s still at the street office? Did he offend someone?” Once the leader was gone, Hongtao whispered to Uncle.

“Hey, don’t say that! He is the deputy district chief. The heads of the street office are all workers by background—they can’t string together five minutes of coherent speech, let alone talk like that!” Uncle quickly corrected Hongtao’s misunderstanding.

“Deputy district chief! Hey, Auntie, don’t throw that banner away—hang it somewhere prominent and high up!” As soon as Hongtao heard it was from the deputy district chief, he dashed into the tailor shop. Auntie had just asked where to put the banner and he’d absentmindedly told her to toss it in a corner. He’d thought it was just something the street office scribbled down, but a banner from the deputy district chief was different. Maybe it didn’t mean much elsewhere, but here at the street level, it could still keep the authorities in check—they definitely wouldn’t dare to cause trouble.

After a while, the onlookers gradually dispersed, and the old neighbors, having done their duty, drifted away in groups back down the alley. Originally, Little Uncle and Big Uncle wanted to stick around longer—the new decor was quite novel—but Grandpa waved his hand and sent them all home. According to the old man’s logic, business is business; the fewer outsiders involved, the better, and best not to drop in without a reason. That’s just the way things had to be.

In the end, only Uncle, Auntie, and Big Sister Ling stayed behind. Big Sister Ling busied herself in the salon, organizing the hairdressing supplies. She was already able to set curls on her own, though she still needed to learn how to cut and blow-dry—she was far from proficient. Auntie was familiarizing herself with the new machines. She’d only ever used treadle sewing machines before, and these electric ones, which whirred to life at the press of a pedal, were a challenge. She tried sewing on several scraps, but the tension in the upper and lower threads was inconsistent, and sometimes the machine ate the fabric.

“You can’t just keep your foot down. Tap the pedal and lift off, then tap again. Also, you’d best hold an awl in one hand, use the tip to guide the fabric in, and use your other hand to pull the bottom layer back. That way, the machine won’t eat the cloth. Try it a few times—you’ll get the hang of it. It’s not hard,” Hongtao said, seeing Auntie struggling. He demonstrated how to use the electric machine smoothly. It was all a matter of experience; nothing to it, really.

“Hey, buddy, is your shop open yet? We want to get a couple pairs of trousers made!” Just then, two young men swaggered in, all loose-limbed and slouching, and called Uncle “buddy” right off the bat.

“Hey!... Uncle, why don’t you go help Big Sister Ling in the other room? I’ll handle things here. When you open for business, you meet all sorts—just bear with it,” Hongtao quickly intervened, grabbing Uncle before he could lose his temper. He repeated Grandpa’s earlier advice word for word.

“What, you don’t like to be called buddy? Listen, it was Sister Xue who sent us, and she told us to be polite. If you saw me on the street and dared to stare, I’d mess you up!” The two young men weren’t pleased; they thought they’d been polite enough, but still weren’t getting respect. Clearly, they wanted to stir things up.

“Gentlemen! Since Han Xue sent you, let’s not quibble. You want trousers? Please, come in. Who wants to be measured first?” Hongtao saw that tempers were flaring and hurried over to smooth things out.

“Hey, you’re that kid Sister Xue mentioned, aren’t you? All right, for your sake, I’ll go first. Don’t go easy on me, make them as tight as possible, but the legs must be wide—the wider the better. I don’t mind if they flap!” The first young man, who’d just been cursing, looked down at Hongtao, grinned, patted his head, hiked up his shirt to show his belly, and stood in front of Auntie’s sewing machine, his legs trembling.

Auntie picked up the measuring tape and began taking his measurements. These two weren’t too unruly, for in those days, street punks rarely bothered ordinary people. At most, they’d whistle or make a scene, but if a girl wasn’t part of their crowd, they wouldn’t dare harass her. Back then, that sort of behavior could get you convicted right away.

“Sister Xue told us you sell more than clothes here—you do perms too. How about giving me one?” The first punk, after being measured, bent over and pointed to his own head.

“Brother, your hair’s a bit short! There’s nothing to curl it around. How am I supposed to perm this?” Hongtao nearly laughed out loud—the guy’s hair was barely two inches long. He’d need chopsticks to curl it.

“Yeah, it is a bit short. Actually, I used to have long hair, but a couple of months ago I got hauled off to the station and they shaved it all off. Otherwise, my locks would be just as long as any girl’s, you believe that?” The punk didn’t blame Hongtao for turning him down. He knew his hair was too short, so he just grumbled to himself.

“But just because you can’t get a perm doesn’t mean you can’t get a haircut. How about I give you a style that’s even cooler? Short hair can be sharp, long hair can be dashing. It’s all about personality!” Hongtao wasn’t about to let a prospective customer slip away, even if he was a street punk.

“Personality? Kid, you’ve got a way with words. All right, design one of those... what did you call it? ‘Jinggan’?” The punk was clearly swayed, rubbing his head and realizing he couldn’t wait for his hair to grow. He decided to take the plunge.

“You’re such an idiot! ‘Jinggan’? Who could resist that? It’s ‘sharp’—means neat and stylish, right, kid?” The other punk interjected, cursing as he corrected his friend’s vocabulary.

“Both are right! When you’re in a fight, you need to be tough and take a few hits like a man,” Hongtao said glibly. He’d always had the gift of the gab; in his previous life, he could talk someone planning a vacation in Yunnan into going to South Africa instead.

“Damn! You hear that? I’m sharp! You don’t even know as much as I do—what do you know! Come on, design me a sharp style and let’s show him!” The first punk, pleased as punch, didn’t care which was the correct term. As long as someone was on his side, he was happy, and he dragged Hongtao into the salon.

“Hey there, Uncle, still here?” The punk greeted Uncle, then plopped down in a chair.

“Maybe I should sketch out a rough idea for you first, just to see if you like it, before I start cutting,” Hongtao offered cautiously, wanting to give himself an out. He wasn’t worried about his skill, just unsure if the latest styles would suit the tastes of the time.

“No need! If your perming skills were good enough for Sister Xue, you’ll do fine. Just go for it! Worst case, I’ll shave it all off and say I just got out. Don’t hold back!” The punk was straightforward. Seeing Hongtao treat him with respect, he relaxed and promised to accept whatever haircut resulted.

“All right, if you’re willing to risk it, I’m willing to try. Big Sister Ling, give me a stool and watch carefully—I’ll show you how to use the clippers!” Hongtao thought to himself, this guy was easy to please. As long as you talked him up, he’d give you his last penny—a real character.