A Kitchen in the Warehouse

On her third day at the secondhand kitchen equipment shop, Eunjae caught her broom on some blue tape. Instead of following the shelves, the line crossed the floor and turned twice. Someone had penciled 78 beside it.

She lifted a loose end. “We need that this afternoon,” the owner said. “It’s a customer’s corridor.” Eunjae pressed it down. The empty space enclosed by the tape suddenly looked narrow.

“To make sure a purchase will fit?” “That too. This customer needs a trolley. We’re checking the route it will take every day.” He put a tape measure beside the number.

At two, the customer arrived carrying a drawing and a cooking pot, its lid tied down with string. “You asked for my biggest one,” she said. “I washed it first.” The drawing showed her food shop’s kitchen.

The trolley she wanted had a worktop and two shelves below. Every morning, she moved a big pot from the kitchen to the front workroom. Currently, two people carried it between them.

Eunjae untied its price tag. Comparing the drawing with the floor, the owner moved one strip of tape. The customer’s first measurements had missed a fire extinguisher projecting from the wall.

“Our sink’s over there,” the customer said, pointing across the warehouse. Then she stepped aside in front of an empty wall. Eunjae moved too. They had cleared a path for something that wasn’t there yet.

The owner asked Eunjae to push the trolley through. It passed the gap representing the doorway. At the corner, she turned the front wheels, and the back corner crossed the blue line.

She reversed and tried another angle. This time the front crossed the extinguisher’s space. “That would hit the wall,” the owner said. Eunjae withdrew her own foot from across the line and backed out.

The customer studied the wheels. “I thought I only needed the doorway’s width.” The owner brought a narrower trolley. Its top had a circular stain, but all four wheels turned smoothly.

It rounded the corner. Eunjae reached for its price tag, but the owner pointed to the pot. The customer untied the string. On the trolley, the empty pot’s handles extended beyond both sides.

Eunjae pushed through again. The customer crouched to watch a handle pass the extinguisher’s space. There was barely a finger’s width between them. “I’ll have to watch that every morning.”

Eunjae rotated the pot so its handles pointed forward and back. The customer put down her drawing and pushed. She paused once before the corner, but this time nothing crossed the line.

“We should try the real walls too?” she asked. The owner nodded. “And check where the open door sits. We’ll bring it tomorrow.” The narrower trolley’s price tag went to the till.

Accompanying the delivery next morning, Eunjae stopped at the shop’s rear entrance. Here was yesterday’s corner, with gray walls instead of blue tape and a red extinguisher instead of a penciled mark.

Before unloading, the owner opened the door fully and secured it. Eunjae measured the gap by the extinguisher. It matched. They rolled the trolley through and back, then added the pot.

Once again, there was no food in the pot. The customer positioned its handles front and back and pushed. Eunjae watched from beyond the corner. The wheels turned; the pot followed. Nothing scraped against the wall.

In the workroom, the customer opened the pot. Inside was a rolled rubber mat for the lower shelf. “I took its measurements yesterday and cut this.” Unrolled, it fitted the shelf.

On the drive back, Eunjae looked at her photograph of the warehouse floor. Yesterday it had contained a few lines. Now she could see the sink, the door, the empty food containers stacked beside it.

Back at the shop, she removed the tape. They hadn’t received the next customer’s measurements, the owner said; leave the floor clear. Pulling a long strip, she wound it accidentally around her wrist.

The last piece, marked 78, left a dust-free rectangle. Eunjae mopped the floor, then copied the measurement sheet they gave customers. Beneath Doorway Width, she made space for a few more entries.

She added Corners and Projecting Objects. After a moment, she wrote What the Trolley Will Carry. The string from yesterday’s pot still lay beside the copier. She used it to tie the sheets together.