The Pentium Era - South to North

After everyone dispersed, Ding Baigou picked up the bag on the table and prepared to go back. The pile of rubbish on the ground was still piled there. Teacher Li was still sitting opposite. When Ding Baigou passed by the pile of rubbish, he kicked it. Feet, cursed: "Garbage!"

I don’t know if he was cursing people or really cursing the pile of rubbish. Anyway, Teacher Li heard something in his words and looked up at his back with dissatisfaction.

Ding Baigou walked out of the office, walked under the tallow tree, unlocked the car, pushed forward two steps, and found that both tires were out of air. He looked down and discovered that the valve core had been damaged by someone. Unplugged.

He looked into the door and saw the figures of several little ghosts, laughing and running upstairs.

Ding Baigou sighed and pushed his bicycle down the semicircular ramp.

The next morning, Ding Baigou gritted his teeth and went to work in the theater troupe again. He pushed the car under the tallow tree and was about to lock the car. After thinking about it, he continued to push it. He pushed it to the gate and put it He carried him up the steps to the door and pushed him along the corridor towards the office.

He looked up at the sign "Leader's Office" and felt a little awkward. When he got closer, he saw that someone had used red paint to add a head on top of the word "Tuan", a tail underneath, and two licks on each side. Legs, the word "Tuan" turned into a turtle.

Ding Baigou was so angry that he parked his bicycle in the corridor in front of the office, raised his hand and waved hard, and the sign fell to the ground with a click.

In the office, several people exclaimed "Ah".

Ding Baigou walked into the office and saw four or five old ladies sitting inside. After asking, he found out that they were either retirees from the troupe or their family members. They all came to the new troupe leader to ask about their salary, saying that they were at home. I really can't hold on any longer and am about to go to the streets to beg for food.

Teacher Li didn't know where he was hiding. He didn't show up all morning. Several old ladies surrounded Captain Ding and took turns complaining. In order to deepen their impression, they repeated the complaints over and over again. Captain Ding was extremely annoyed, but He had to smile and don't dare to get angry. He knew that as soon as he got angry, these old women who were still sitting on the stools would immediately sit on the ground.

Beating the ground, beating the chest, and beating the sky, five energetic old ladies came together, Ding Baigou shuddered just thinking about it.

It was finally eleven o'clock, and the five of them still had no intention of going back. Ding Baigou stood up, carried his bag and walked out.

Before the old ladies could react, he had already pushed the bicycle out. When the old ladies chased him to the gate, they saw the upper half of Captain Ding's figure getting smaller step by step on the ramp.

Ding Baigou's career as captain was over after two days. He made up his mind, I will never come to this wretched place. Whoever you love will come.

Ding Baigou did not go to the troupe, but sat in the bureau office every day. What was strange was that several directors walked in and out, and no one mentioned it. They seemed to have made an appointment and forgot about the troupe.

Ding Baigou was cautious at first, afraid that people would mention this matter, but later he was eager for someone to mention it.

Someone asked him jokingly: "Old Ding, where is your troupe?"

Ding Baigou saw Deputy Director Rao passing by the door. Ding Baigou replied loudly:

"I put the troupe to rest!"

Deputy Director Rao pretended not to hear, and thought to himself, you are forcing yourself to tell me this, do you think you can get away with it if you just let it go?

This matter has entered a funny situation. The Yongcheng Wu Opera Troupe already has a leader in name, but the members cannot see their leader. Several directors of the Cultural Bureau clearly know that the current Wu Opera Troupe has a leader. The leader is in name only, but everyone unanimously believes that everything is normal in the Wu Opera Troupe and the leader is performing his duties.

The biggest advantage of this kind of tacit understanding is that at least there are not so many troubles in front of us. Anyway, neither the county nor the bureau has long expected the troupe to bring any political achievements to them. It is actually worse than useless, useless. It's a pity to abandon it, the troupe is simply a ball of dog-skin plaster that sticks to the body and cannot be shaken off, unless you want to have the experience of disbanding the Yue Opera troupe all over again.

The directors also want to understand that the biggest advantage of the current situation is that if anything happens to the troupe, now there is at least one person who will take the blame, and the blame cannot be directly hit on themselves, or even the leadership's responsibility. The Propaganda Department of the County Party Committee, the superior unit of the Cultural Bureau, could also share some of the burden for itself. Ding Baigou also served as the group leader. The comrades in the Propaganda Department at the time also agreed.

Of course Ding Baigou, the scapegoat, knew the secret. He was shouting because he wanted everyone in the group to know that he had already given up on this leader, but the leaders refused to change. So what can I do?

No matter what, let Ding Baigou sit in that smelly office again, surrounded by a bunch of old men and old ladies, and talk about the history of blood and tears painfully, Ding Baigou will not do it even if he is killed. The worst is for himself. This director is not good enough. If he goes to the theater entrance, he can't sell his art, but he can sell popsicles.

In any case, the fact is that the Yongcheng Wu Troupe has really been freed since then. It used to be a fort piled on the sand, but now it has completely fallen into a pool of loose sand.

No one was practicing in the practice room. After a while, the young students also secretly fled home. There was no one to teach them here anyway. They were still hungry. At least they had enough to eat when they went home.

Teacher Li was invited by several state-owned enterprises to serve as a guide. They also organized cultural performances and competitions in the province, ministry, and system. While Teacher Li served as a guide himself, he also brought along pianists and drummers from the troupe to provide guidance. Those amateur actors with thick eyebrows and big eyes accompanied them, and later brought the stage manager with them, along with the troupe's costumes and props, as well as the sets painted by Zhang Chen.

The Yongcheng Wu Troupe is not large in scale, but it has a long history after all. Their costumes, from Lin Daiyu and Bao Gong to those of the New Fourth Army and the Japanese Japs, are all complete, including those box cannons, grenades and 38 caps made of foam. Complete, this is left over from the rehearsal of "Gunshots on the Plains".

If you ask those companies to look for these things, they really can’t find them.

Therefore, Teacher Li and the others have become even busier than in the theater troupe. Xiao Zao, who works in the canteen of a large state-owned enterprise, eats well and has plenty of oil and water. They can take some with them after eating, and the subsidies given are enough to buy rice for the family.

Taking advantage of their specialties in props and carpentry, they threw aside their exercise blankets and started directly in the practice room to make sofas for others and make plexiglass light box characters on the roof. The business was not bad.

The County Federation of Literary and Art Circles was compiling a so-called reportage collection called "Models of the Times" and asked Liu Ligan to do it. Liu Ligan did the job very well. He felt that writing reportage was similar to making up stories for dead people. It was nothing more than making up stories for dead people. A blowing word.

As a result, the farmer who raised more than 300 chickens became a chicken king in his writing. In a linoleum shed, he blended detergents and disinfectants for a while, and once he blew himself up into the sky. , who still has a crooked mouth, became a king of chemical industry in his writing. As for the braised chicken feet seller in the farmer's market, her deeds would probably make the white-bearded grandfather of KFC feel ashamed.

Suddenly, Yongcheng County was filled with kings. "Model of the Times" was very popular with kings and would-be kings. Four copies were published in one go. The kings paid 500 yuan to Liu Ligan before being interviewed. Lao Meng from the Federation of Literary and Art Circles, after a month, these 500 yuan turned into 100 books with his name, photos and royal titles, enough to show off among relatives and friends.

Liu Ligan wrote a reportage of 5,000 to 6,000 words in three days. From Lao Meng, he could get 60 to 70 yuan per article, which was equivalent to more than half a month's salary. Take away And what about the banquets of the kings?

This job is so worth doing.

The County Film Company established an advertising company. They erected a row of two-story iron billboards at the entrance to Yongcheng County. At that time, there were no UV advertising inkjet printers or photo printers. All advertisements were It was painted manually, so Zhang Chen climbed up the scaffolding every day and used paint and oil paints to draw advertisements on tin sheets.

One day he painted Coca-Cola, the next he painted Head \u0026 Shoulders. When he painted the "Youth Baby" advertisement, he made the girl in the white tennis skirt on the picture lifelike, exactly like the one on TV, attracting passers-by and people driving by. The driver couldn't help but take a few more glances.

And the driver, because he was staring at the smiling girl, rear-ended him.