Seven Jobs for You

The basement smelled even more musty now, mixed with the sharp saltiness of pickled vegetables, creeping into my nose with a familiar dull ache. I broke the steamed bun I'd just warmed in half, handing one piece to Janice and clutching the other in my hand. She frowned at the cracked old mobile phone; its screen lit up, showing an ad for the newest model. "Frozen up again?" I bit into the steamed bun; the dry, hard starch rubbed against my mouth, and I had to wash it down with warm water to swallow it. Janice Salk looked up and shot me a glare, her eyelashes still smudged with mascara she hadn't wiped off. "Certainly. Look at Vera's phone—the pictures come out so clear." I didn't say anything, just pushed the cup of water toward her. This was our third year living in the basement. The paint on the walls kept peeling, the floor was always damp during the rainy season, and at night you could hear the rustling of mice running around. Janice Salk cried once when she first got here, saying she'd never lived in a place this rough before. I gripped her hand and said, "Just hold on a little longer. I promise I'll make sure she lives a good life." Back then, I'd just graduated and was working as a clerk in a small company, with a salary barely enough to scrape by. It's different now. I've taken on a few more jobs, so I can finally save enough to get her a new mobile phone. "I'm heading out to work now." I washed the dishes and put them away, then slung that faded canvas bag over my shoulder. Inside the bag are tools for various side gigs — the delivery box key, the foldable electric bike key for driving jobs, and gloves for moving bricks at night on the construction site. "Come back early, don't work too hard." Janice Salk's voice softened as she reached out to smooth my collar. I smiled and ruffled her hair, "Don't worry, I'll have a surprise for you this weekend." When I left, the motion-sensor light in the stairwell was broken; I felt my way down in the dark, stepping carefully with every step. My first job was at a breakfast shop from 4 a.m. to 7 a.m.—kneading dough, making buns, running the register—I was so busy my feet barely touched the ground. The boss's wife always said I was hardworking and slipped me two extra hot buns for breakfast. I couldn't bring myself to eat it, so I wrapped it carefully in clean oil paper and hid it at the bottom of my canvas bag, thinking Janice would want it as a snack when she woke up. At seven-thirty, I rushed to the office building to do cleaning, wearing blue work clothes and pushing the cleaning cart, weaving through all the offices. Once, I ran into a nasty white-collar woman who complained that the sound of my mopping was disturbing her phone call and scolded me, pointing her finger right at my nose. I gripped the mop handle so tight my nails dug into my palms, thinking about the mobile phone Janice wanted, forcing myself to hold back my anger. Shift change at noon, no time to eat, so I rode my electric bike to deliver food. The midday sun made me dizzy, my shirt kept drying and getting soaked again, leaving circles of white stains. One time, rushing to make it on time, I was almost hit by a car. The food spilled everywhere; I paid out of pocket and even got a bad review from the customer. At six in the evening, I worked as a waiter at a restaurant—carrying plates, wiping tables, busy until ten before I could get off. After work, I went to the construction site to carry bricks for two more hours, dragging my exhausted body back to the basement past midnight. Janice Salk was already asleep, her brows furrowed as if she were having a bad dream. I quietly washed up, took out the change I had saved that day, spread out the bills one by one, and put them into the metal box under the bed. I bought that metal box right after graduating, and now it's stuffed with crumpled bills and coins. The happiest moment each day was counting the money—watching the total inch closer to the price of the mobile phone made my heart feel warm, like it had been soaked in hot water. One night, after lugging bricks, my ankle was swollen like a steamed bun, the pain stabbing deep. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my foot. Janice woke up and groggily asked me what was wrong. "It's nothing, I just twisted it a little by accident." I pulled my foot back under the bed. She didn't ask any more, turned over, and fell back asleep.