America: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 27 Scrap Metal Recycling Station

Recycling station No. 156, Block 16, Aitou Street.

Dominic arrived at the scrap yard carrying large and small bags of cans, and Zhang Ailun also helped him carry several large bags, weighing at least twenty pounds.

Walking on the street, you're almost completely submerged in garbage bags; you can't see anyone at all.

After arriving at the recycling station, I glanced at the recycling price displayed on the electronic screen.

Clear beverage bottle, $1.4 per pound.

Aluminum cans, $1.7 per pound.

Cardboard, $0.01 per pound.

Glass bottles, $0.20 per pound.

Zhang Ailun also noticed that the prices for recyclables at this small scrap metal recycling station were slightly higher.

Perhaps because it's located right next to a bustling area, there are many recycling stations of all sizes, making the competition quite fierce.

This recycling station is only about half the size of a basketball court. It's an old building with rusty iron railings. Outside the door, there are broken pickup trucks with peeling paint and patched-up surfaces. There are no employees at the recycling station, only an elderly, short, stout white man.

The other party seemed to be quite familiar with Dominic, having been a long-time customer for two and a half years.

He came out of the house and greeted us warmly, "Hey, Dominic, you're finally here. Let me see how many pounds of those jars you've been saving up for days weigh."

Dominic responded warmly, "Carl, how have you been lately?"

"Of course, I've always been fine, everything is fine except for business."

Old Carl chuckled and replied humorously, "I even had the energy to call two pretty homeless girls from the street to drink with me at night. We had a great night, you know! At my age, it's really not easy to take on two at once."

Dominic gave an awkward smile.

You're over seventy years old, your grandchildren are old enough to run errands, and you're still thinking about that kind of thing all the time?

Old Carl also noticed Zhang Ailun beside him. Seeing this unfamiliar face for the first time, he seemed somewhat surprised. "Your friend?"

"This is my friend and business partner, Alun. Allen, and this is Carl Alfred, the owner of this scrap metal yard that has been in business for over thirty years."

Dominic, acting as an intermediary, introduced the two to each other and explained to Zhang Ailun, "Two years ago, I ran away from home and was wandering the streets. I didn't know anything, I was homeless, hungry, and bullied. Thanks to Carl, I learned how to survive on the streets and where to collect cans to exchange for money."

It turns out he was the mentor of the wandering god!

Zhang Ailun immediately extended his hand, showing a friendly attitude to the vigorous white man, "Hello, Carl, you can just call me Ailun. I'm currently living with Dominic at Camp 19."

"I can tell you're a spirited young man." Old Karl smiled, shook his hand, patted him on the shoulder, and then suddenly realized something was amiss.

She pinched his arm, surprised, and said, "Dude, you put a steel plate in your clothes?"

"Haha, you figured that out!" Zhang Ailun laughed.

He replied humorously, "If my fists weren't a bit harder than others, how could someone of my skin color survive on the streets?"

Old Karl nodded in deep agreement.

On the street, regardless of whether you are black or white, if your fists aren't strong enough, you'll be bullied every now and then.

He was a man of wide experience and had been involved in street fights in his early years. He could tell at a glance that his opponent was a ruthless character who could kill someone with a single punch.

The Dragon has crossed the river, who are you?

Old Carl turned around and carried out the weighing basket from the junkyard. Dominic also lent a hand, emptying all the cans he had painstakingly collected into it.

"Although recent earnings haven't been great and competition is fierce, I've been saving up the cans instead of selling them at other junkyards. The quantity is definitely not disappointing. I can make at least $210!"

Dominic looked at the numbers displayed on the weighing basket and said confidently.

He usually saves up the jars he handles in three or four days before selling them, but this time he saved them up for a week, so he knows the exact number of each jar he's handled.

Old Karl chuckled. "Alright, it's rare that you still remember this old codger. Your mind is still sharp!"

After weighing all the items, a suitable price was calculated.

A 76-pound can costs $122.

A 52-pound clear beverage bottle costs $72.8.

42 pounds of glass bottle, $8.4.

Total: $210.4.

Old Karl handed the money to Dominic, adding, "Keep a close eye on it, kid. Don't let it get robbed again as soon as you step outside."

Dominic had also experienced something terrible before, and in the past he would have been terrified and avoided it, but this time he wasn't afraid at all.

"Don't worry. My friends are really good fighters! If anyone dares to steal from me, they've really messed with me! Allen will teach them a lesson!!"

Dominic was even more confident than Zhang Ailun himself.

Old Karl neither confirmed nor denied this, shrugging his shoulders. "Okay, you know what you're doing, as long as you're confident you can hold onto this money."

He wasn't too worried, because very few people would be so foolish as to rob a junkyard.

The money is all locked in the safe, and the cash prepared each day is very limited. There's also a gun in the house. What kind of reckless thug would come here to rob the trash?

Dominic also took out two $20 bills and handed them to Zhang Allen.

Zhang Ailun also accepted the offer.

He received a $40 bonus simply for accompanying Dominic on a trip.

It's like a donut working itself to the bone all day delivering food, only to have it all snatched up by a black guy fishing.

This was all before Dominic took over Wapson Street, when a person could only earn a small amount by collecting cans.

If he really took over dozens of streets, opened a scrap metal collection station, took over the recycling work in the wealthy area, and gathered dozens or even hundreds of people, selling directly to resource recycling companies without middlemen taking a cut, Zhang Ailun couldn't even imagine how much money he could make in a day while lying down.

As long as you find the right direction to work towards and have sufficient personal skills, making money is relatively easy.

Indeed, no matter what industry you're in, you have to build a platform and be someone who can provide job opportunities and resources for others.

Those Mexicans and South American workers who work for Chinese bosses in overseas warehouses can't even speak English. If you ask them what they can do, they can't do anything. If you ask them what they have, they can't do anything. They just bury themselves in piecework, huffing and puffing as they go about their business with the metal boxes.

Even so, they still think they've gotten a great deal, that they're working for themselves and being their own boss!

Because the more you do, the more you earn.

The person who invented piecework was a genius.

Zhang Ailun only takes a small share of the profits, allocates the street-level positions, and then even more people will be willing to do it.

I've already decided to recruit soldiers and horses, to gather a team of scavengers to join the Beggars' Sect, and have them work for me... oh no, I mean, work for myself!

Strive for freedom and a better tomorrow!

Dominic said goodbye to old Carl, and the two left the scrap yard.

Zhang Ailun also shared his constructive ideas and development plans with Dominic on the way.

Dominic was somewhat surprised. "You want to take over all the streets around here? Man, you're dreaming. Are you trying to turn this into a gang operation?"

"I just can't stand those homeless people fighting over a can, getting their heads bruised and bloodied. The strong ones gang up on the lone ones."

Zhang Ailun shook his head. "We are completely different from the gangs on the street. Scrap metal recycling has nothing to do with drug trafficking or smuggling. Have you ever seen any gang members rummaging through trash cans? I just want to find more people to cooperate with so that each of them can make money, have a stable income, and be able to eat their fill, and we can also earn more dividends."

Dominic thought for a moment, "Isn't this just the same old gang thing? Only the business they do is different."

But the essence of the world is actually just collecting and paying protection money.

From a single street to various industries, and even an entire country.

"Okay, I'll tell your idea to those lone scavengers on the streets." Dominic thought about it for a moment and felt that there was no harm in doing so, so it wouldn't hurt to give it a try.

Those groups of scavengers occupying the streets might resist, but lone scavengers will definitely join in.

After all, having someone to protect you and not having anyone to protect you are completely different treatments on the street.

If no one is there to protect you when you go to collect relief meals, you'll be at the very back of the line, and you won't even get a hot meal.

With someone protecting you, you can cut in line without anyone daring to say you're rude.

However, most of the people who cut in line were Black.

Or you could say the homeless people on the West Coast are really rude.

(End of this chapter)