My era, 1979!

Chapter 33 The Ticket Buying Story

The setting sun cast long shadows on Tongcheng Road as Xu Chengjun clutched his neatly folded draft recommendation and walked toward the alley entrance.

"and many more!"

Liu Zuci suddenly chased after them from the courtyard, waving a brown paper package in her hand.

"Your teacher Su secretly slipped it to you, saying it was to 'fill your stomach' on the way."

Xu Chengjun took it and touched it; it was hard and stiff—a thread-bound copy of "Selected Short Stories of Chekhov".

"Remember to bring Editor-in-Chief Li a packet of tea when you get to Shanghai,"

Su Zhong leaned against the doorframe and shouted, the sparks from his pipe reflecting his smile, "Don't be like that old geezer Zhou Ming, his writing is just a laughing stock. You have potential in short stories!"

Xu Chengjun turned around and waved with a smile.

"Thanks, Teacher Su and Teacher Liu!"

"I'll come back and mooch a meal from you guys!"

The last petal of the pomegranate tree at the alley entrance fell and stuck to his trouser leg.

"correct!"

Liu Zuci seemed to remember something else.

"If Harvest rejects your manuscript, submit it to Contemporary. I know someone on their editorial board, but I bet you won't get a chance!"

The wind carried the sound of cicadas past my ears, and the pages of the draft were warmed by my body heat.
-
Ticket hall at Hefei Railway Station.

The gray lime wall was cracked with spiderweb-like patterns from top to bottom.

The base of the wall was covered with years of black grime, and a red-painted slogan read "Grasp revolution and promote production."

Three ticket windows were set in a mottled wooden frame, each window was blocked by a waist-high iron railing with several rusty wires wrapped around it.

The queue in front of the window can stretch from dawn till dusk.

The man in the lead rested his elbows on the fence, his knuckles tapping on the weathered wooden windowsill, clutching a sweat-soaked letter of introduction from his employer.

The people in the back row were carrying blue cloth bags filled with crumpled small bills, national grain coupons, and coins wrapped in three layers of handkerchiefs.

Occasionally, someone in the group would take out an enamel mug to drink some water; the gold lettering on the mug that read "Labor is the most glorious" was worn down to a blurry outline.

Xu Chengjun wiped his sweat, stood in the middle of the line, looked at the scene, and gave a wry smile.

I've been queuing here for almost half an hour, and Chimelong is still nowhere in sight.

I only experienced this scene at a train station in the early 2000s in my past life.

It was even worse than it is now.

What a pain!

These days, even queuing isn't peaceful; arguments frequently erupt in the line.

You cut in line!

“I lined up here yesterday!”

Police officers in dark blue uniforms walked over carrying guns, the brass buckles on their holsters jingling. The crowd immediately shrank, leaving only the rustling sound of footsteps.

The ticket seller at the window was buried in a mountain of hardboard tickets, and the blue cloth sleeves were worn and frayed.

She held a red and blue pencil in her left hand and moved the abacus beads in her right. After completing a calculation, she would pull out a beige cardboard ticket from her ticket holder, quickly draw the itinerary and date on it with the tip of her pencil, and then press a stamp with red ink.

The horseshoe-shaped clock on the windowsill ticked away, its crystal cracked, and the hands were stuck at 10:15.

The lady next to me said her watch had been broken for half a year, and no one had time to fix it.

Suddenly a steam locomotive passed by the station, shaking the entire ticket hall and causing dust to fall. People in line looked up at the ceiling.

The young man in his work clothes took the opportunity to move forward half a step, but was immediately pulled back by the middle-aged woman behind him: "Young man, behave yourself!"

The loudspeaker in the corner crackled to life, blaring a static-like announcement: "Train 143 from Hefei to Nanjing is now boarding..."

Someone in the crowd straightened up and counted the letters of introduction again.

Air conditioning is such a great invention!
Xu Chengjun's shirt was soaked with sweat, but thank goodness it was finally his turn.

He smiled and handed the letter of introduction issued by the Provincial Department of Education through the iron-framed window.

"Comrade, buy a ticket to Shanghai."

The ticket seller was a middle-aged woman wearing a blue cloth hat. She didn't even lift her eyelids, and her pencil tapped loudly on the registration book: "Which day? Hard seat is 8.4 yuan, sleeper is an extra 6 yuan, and you need a certificate from a county-level or higher unit for a sleeper."

"Hard seat, for tomorrow."

Xu Chengjun took out his wallet, the money and food coupons inside neatly folded. These days, buying a ticket was like passing through checkpoints; without a letter of introduction, there was no way to get a ticket. Want a sleeper berth?
Unless it's for official business, don't even think about it.

In particular, the sleeper carriages are key security areas, and ordinary passengers can't even see them.

The older sister took the letter of introduction, examined it against the light for a long time, then pulled out a thick notebook to check it before slowly using a metal clip to take out a cardboard ticket.

The "Hefei-Shanghai" printed on the ticket is blurry, and the date column is filled in with "July 16" in pen, the ink still fresh.

"Thanks."

In 1979, there were few direct trains from Hefei to Shanghai. Many trains required a transfer in Bengbu, via the Huainan line to Bengbu, and then a transfer to the Beijing-Shanghai line.

Being able to buy a direct ticket is truly a matter of luck.

He was quite pleased with himself, having found a way to amuse himself.

On the way out, I saw an old man selling tea eggs carrying a bamboo basket weaving through the queue.

The clinking of porcelain bowls, the crying of children, the clattering of abacus beads, all mingled together with the distant whistle of a train.

闹。

Yet it carries the vibrant atmosphere of the 1970s.
-
After leaving the station, Xu Chengjun headed straight for the grain depot across the street.

Traveling was very inconvenient in those days; train tickets were expensive and required a letter of introduction, not to mention...

Most importantly, local grain coupons are useless in other places.

It's all waste paper.

According to regulations, employees on business trips must bring a letter of introduction from their work unit to the grain depot to exchange grain coupons at a rate of 1 jin of local grain coupons for 0.9 jin of national grain coupons.

A blackboard hung at the window of the grain depot, with the words "Local grain coupons can be exchanged for national grain coupons, with a price difference of three cents per jin" written in chalk.

"Comrade, exchange this for ten jin of national grain coupons."

He pulled out Anhui Province local grain coupons, which are worthless outside the province.

"Add three cents."

The ticket seller was a plump middle-aged woman. "Rice coupons are very valuable across the country now, and many people are exchanging them."

Xu Chengjun felt a pang of heartache when he took out the money.

Money is the courage of heroes!
Three cents is enough to buy six corn tortillas, enough for him to eat two meals on the train!

State-run restaurants in Shanghai only accepted national grain coupons. Just think of the fifty silver dollars I had just received!

Okay, pay up.
-
At the tea counter of the supply and marketing cooperative, the salesperson was using tweezers to put tea leaves into paper packages.

In 1979, tea prices were determined by the national price department, and supply and marketing cooperatives strictly implemented the "clearly marked price" policy, with significant price differences between different grades.

The small blackboard read:

The lowest grade, second-level tea, costs about 0.6-0.8 yuan per jin (500g), while third-level tea costs 0.4-0.5 yuan per jin (500g).

Mid-range grade 1 green tea and jasmine tea are priced at 1.0-1.5 yuan per jin (500g), and each person is limited to purchasing 1 jin.

The best grade Longjing and Qimen black tea are priced at 2.0-3.0 yuan per jin (500g).

Of course, this was a sought-after commodity at the time!

It's fortunate that this is in the provincial capital; if it were in a supply and marketing cooperative below the county level, even third- or second-grade tea would be rare.

You can't just have money to buy tea; you also need industrial coupons.

As an educated youth, he earned work points. The industrial coupons were something he had converted into "work point coupons" before he came, just in case, and then exchanged for industrial coupons through the commune's supply and marketing cooperative!

He went to ask someone for help and got some good tea. He smiled and said to the salesperson, "Give me a pound of Qishan black tea, and please wrap it up for me."

He appeared exceptionally confident when he spoke.

After all, these days, getting a pound of Qishan black tea is much more impressive than getting a Xiaomi SU7 in later generations.

Money gives heroes courage!

"3 yuan, plus two industrial coupons."

The saleswoman smiled; these days, not many people buy tea.

Xu Chengjun smiled too.

wry smile.jpg.

(End of this chapter)