72 posts tagged with "Society"

Jean-Pierre, before his retirement, was a sonar operator on a submarine. Now, he runs a small café by the Seine. He enjoys observing the passersby, just like he used to listen to the various sounds from the deep sea while on the submarine. His daily routine, besides preparing coffee for his regular customers, is to open his old smartphone and check the daily records on his pedometer app.

This app, called "Healthy Life," was a gift from his son, who said it was to encourage him to exercise more and live longer. Jean-Pierre doesn't pay much attention to it. He walks the same route every day, from the café to the nearby park and back, monotonous like his submarine patrols before retirement. What really interests him are the colorful charts and data on the app's interface. They inexplicably make him feel at ease, as if he still possesses some quantifiable presence in the vast sea of humanity.

The cold wind howled, and police dog Fu Zai shook off his wet fur, his ears drooping like two withered leaves battered by rain. Today was the day the team was handing out year-end bonuses, and also the day his bonus was deducted.

Fu Zai was an excellent police dog, at least in the first two years after he joined the force. He had a keen sense of smell, fast pursuit speed, precise biting skills, and had assisted in solving many cases, earning him numerous awards. However, in the past year, Fu Zai had changed, becoming full of "office vibes."

Old Wang had worked at the "Bleaching" Center for twenty years. His job was monotonous and mechanical: to thoroughly bleach various items delivered daily through complex procedures. These items varied widely, from old clothes and old furniture to broken electronics and even some "domestic waste" of unknown origin.

The Bleaching Center was located on the edge of the city, surrounded by endless white factories. Everything here was white: the walls, the floors, the work clothes, even the air was filled with a faint smell of bleach. Old Wang wore a white uniform every day, numbly operating the machines, his world gradually turning into a monotonous white.

Before retiring, the old soldier Pierre’s greatest pleasure was taking daily walks by the sea. He had an old-fashioned step counter that recorded his daily walking mileage. He used to be a radio operator on a nuclear submarine, but now, he just wanted to live a quiet life, like the calm sea he saw every morning when he opened his window.

After retirement, besides walking, Pierre also became fond of bragging with his old buddies in cafes. Their topics always revolved around those “thrilling” years of service. Pierre always smiled silently, feeling that those so-called thrills now seemed to have a layer of boring gray. Until one day, a young reporter came running to him with a newspaper, asking, "Sir, were you once stationed on the 'Triomphant'?"

Li Mei pushed open the heavy glass door of the bank. A blast of cool air hit her, dissipating some of the heat from outside. She clutched the bank card tightly in her hand. It held the 800,000 yuan she and her husband had worked so hard to save. Originally, they planned to use this money to pay a down payment for their son, but now, the money seemed to have turned into an unreachable number.

The "fastest" mayor, Zhou Zhengtou, is in trouble. Not on a marathon course, but in the office of the Municipal Commission for Discipline Inspection. The news spread like a gust of wind, instantly dissipating his former aura. Citizens discussed it heatedly, scrutinizing everything from the reflections on his office building's glass to his brisk strides during site visits.

Zhou Zhengtou was indeed fast. During his tenure, he was known for his "efficiency," never dilly-dallying in meetings and always being the first to arrive on project sites. In his office, a huge city planning map was displayed, with red marker circles highlighting the projects he personally oversaw. He enjoyed running in the early mornings, reportedly able to complete the entire ring road in one go, and then promptly appear in the office to start his day. He ran faster than anyone else, as if he could catch up with time, with the tide of development.

Li Mei, in her small nail salon, worked like a precise machine. Every day, she repeated the motions of filing, painting, and drying, the smell of nail polish filling the cramped space. She was used to the endless chatter of customers and their pickiness about new styles and colors. She knew that in this city, no one really cared about her, except her landlord, the old man who came to collect rent on time every month.

Her biggest dream was to save enough money to renovate her old home in her hometown, providing her parents with a more comfortable retirement. And everything she painstakingly did each day seemed only to satisfy the fleeting vanity of these fashionable city girls.

"My luck has been terrible lately, I can't even grab a prize from a claw machine," Xiao Ai muttered to herself, carefully examining her newly done nails in the mirror. The tips glittered like tiny, unreal jewels. She had just been promoted at work, and being the “rolling king” of her department, this was a small treat for herself.

  Zhang Xiaowei’s nail salon was located on the second basement floor of an office building. The store was not big, but business was fairly brisk. She had great skills, fair prices, and most importantly, she always managed to accurately capture the deepest desires of her customers. For example, a white-collar worker who was mentally exhausted by PPTs could have their nails transformed into a beautiful starry sky, as if carrying her away from this oppressive reality.

At six o'clock in the morning, the sun has not yet completely dispelled the fog on the edge of the city. In the "Starlight Hotel" near the university town, the laundry room on the first floor is already bustling. There are no business people in suits and ties, nor are there tired travelers, just a group of plainly dressed college students. They skillfully operate the coin-operated washing machines, stuffing bags of dirty clothes inside.

Li Ming is one of them. His movements are smooth, obviously not his first time here. He wears black-rimmed glasses, and his eyes show a tiredness that doesn't match his age. He expertly operates his phone, paying for the laundry, his actions carrying a sense of mechanical repetition. Today, he's wearing a light blue T-shirt with a small line of text printed on the front: "Reject Internal Competition, Starting with Me." This line seems particularly ironic in this setting.