The Black Market

Chanta discovered the Black Market here in Daegu last week. She promised we would go together this weekend.

This morning we caught the bus downtown. We got off at a major department store (the landmark around which my life now revolves, how sad). She walked down a street, turned down an alley, turned down another alley, then grabbed my hand. “Here, in here.” Chanta, where are you taking me? It appeared that we were walking into racks of clothes. There were things hanging as well. Chanta, are you sure…. Several hanging bags brushed the top of my head. I bent lower and followed her. All of the sudden we were in a maze of tiny shops. Small tables packed with goods. Clothes hung, layer upon layer, on the wall. I felt like Alice in the rabbit hole. Everything was packed so closely together, every possible inch of display space was utilized. Which made me feel even more like an Amazon. I bent my head and continued walking. Mostly cosmetics, some clothes, some toiletries. Chanta dashed up a narrow set of stairs. “The good stuff is up here…” We arrived at a makeshift grocery store. We marveled at the products. Products that we knew their purpose. We didn’t have to guess. Familiar brands. Labels we could read. Directions we could understand. “Look, PineSol, oooooohhhhhhhhh.” I responded as if seeing a long lost love, “PineSoooooooool.” I have never fawned over cleaning products before. But seeing that bottle of PineSol made my heart flutter. “It’s lemon fresh scent, tooooooo…” But there was only one bottle. And we both coveted it. Should we rho-sham-bo? Flip a coin? Chanta offered, “I don’t want a whole bottle, maybe you’d want to share?” Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Do you have an extra container at home? Maybe an empty spaghetti sauce jar? “Yes, I do. Perfect. Let’s share.” We made our purchase and wove our way through the warren back to the streets of Daegu.

I scrubbed my floors today. With PineSol. I’m a little scared at the amount of satisfaction I derived from said task.