Don't Open the Door
"Don't open it. No normal person shows up here at this hour."
"But when a client comes to the office, the boss has to open the door. That's our duty in this capitalist society. Who do you think pays your salary?"
"You're not gonna pay me anyway."
I barely stopped myself from blurting out to Yonghwa Seonnyeo, 'You commie bitch?' You've gotta get along with your employees. Can't let them form a union. That's what I learned in my corporate days.
Whether the madwoman kept yapping or not, I stood in front of the office door, clearing my throat. The key to neighborhood business is treating even strangers like old pals. Don't think it's any different just 'cause we're smack in the middle of a big city like Hongdae—that's a huge mistake. Even that old lady running the kongnamul gukbap joint bitched about how she had to watch her step whenever the local real estate sharks or merchants' association bigwigs dropped by.
What makes local trade scary is that no matter how much money you've got, one wrong move and you're crushed under the weight of the crowd's collective power. It's like those clueless urbanites who dream of farm life, move to the countryside, and get ostracized by the tight-knit community vibe or turf wars, ending up screwed over big time.
The folks who've been rooted here forever, scraping by with this street as their hub, all know each other a degree or two removed. Connections trump cash.
"This is Han Daeri from the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office. What brings you here?"
"Ah, Mr. Han, the boss. I'm the electrician in charge of power safety around here. We've got a major blackout, so I'm out checking. Mind opening the door?"
"Does it have to be right now?"
"Power's out now, so yeah, obviously. Haha."
"I see. But no need to worry. Our office doesn't even have electricity. We're just renting the space—nothing to check here. Better look somewhere else."
"No way that's true. There's a proper meter right there."
"Too annoying explaining to the meter readers every time, so we slapped a fake one on. Picked it up from an antique shop."
"......"
"Anyway, that kongnamul gukbap place down at the intersection's more concerning. Lots of folks go there for hangover soup even at night—must be chaos with the blackout. Check there first."
"Sticking a fake meter on is straight-up illegal. Come out for a sec and explain? First time I've seen this—gotta report up the chain, need your side."
"Won't the meter reader or some city hall suit sniff it out later and handle it?"
"I'm the electrician who spotted it—can't just walk by. Come out and explain, even for a minute. You don't wanna get dragged to the station in the dead of night, right?"
"So you're saying, as an electrician, you qualify to 'guide' someone you think installed an illegal meter?"
"As a model citizen, it's my duty."
"Then let's begin the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office Model Citizen Interview Phase 1. Chair out in the hall—have a seat."
"?"
A scraping sound of a wooden chair being dragged outside, and I grabbed one for myself, sitting by the door.
"First question. What do you think of our Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office? How much do you know? Obviously prepped on org chart, key duties, year-end performance, financials? No need to overcomplicate—tell us freely what vision you see here."
"Uh......"
"Trailing off already? Saying our office sucks? Or you didn't bother thinking or researching? If you're interviewing, know thyself and thy enemy for victory—didn't they teach you that?"
"No! There's just so much to say, I was choosing words carefully."
"Choosing carefully? Meaning you've got a bunch of reckless shit to say? Let's hear it. How amazing is it that you gotta be so 'careful' about us?"
"I meant... I worried listing only positives would sound like bootlicking."
"Ah, the classic routine. 'So many strengths, interviewer like me can't even list 'em all~ Worried picking one might overshadow others'—same old excuse. Know what? Execs don't care if underlings flatter or trash-talk. They check if you know when and where to do it right. If you'd sat down and rattled off our strengths, our vision—how do you think I'd look at you?"
"Favorably... I guess."
"See? No confidence in yourself, yet judging our office? Don't wanna accept strengths you picked. Your 'vision' worthless as gutter pebbles. Not worth hearing!"
I slammed the door like pounding a desk in rage. The guy outside flinched, shrinking back.
"Let me guess. You've been eyeing this office for ages. No-name joint somehow snags prime spot amid insane rents? How'd they pay the key money? Boss whoring himself out? Filthy fantasies like that, right?!"
"Absolutely not! The Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office—name alone screams awesome!"
"But your attitude at first said otherwise. Electrician who can't tell fake meter from real, yet preaching 'illegal' for moral high ground? Threatening like an idiot boss might fall for it—top-notch act to reel in talent like you!"
"I'm always sincere!"
"Then why no cops? Hoping to the end you'd make 'em bow and apologize without calling backup?"
"Cops would hurt the office and you!"
"See? Forgot what I said? Execs value timely flattery and shade. You're flattering when you shouldn't! Should've called cops and bitched, 'Can't have illegals in my future workplace!' Hypocrite!!!!"
"Cops make it blow up! They'd check my ID—I'm no electrician—and probe your lie about power when there's a fake meter! Cops chase crime!"
"Then say it proud! 'This office is my visionary dream job! He's my proud boss!' Why can't you?!"
"But you said off-time flattery sucks......!"
"I'm a cold city man, but warm to my staff!"
"!"
"You diligent lamb, standing at my door late night for an interview. Will you truly revere me as this era's true boss?"
"I will!"
"Good! Results in writing next week—go back where you belong and wait! Interview over!"
I stood, clapping for the electrician who'd aced it. Could picture him outside, tears of gratitude, endless bows.
Back on the sofa, I finally leaned back to relax. But not even 30 seconds later, something pounded the door like mad.
From beyond came an incomprehensible jumble of grotesque tongues. Sometimes a savage beast's roar, other times a frail woman's sob, mixed with a dying old man's wheeze.
"Not working as well as I'd hoped."
"Trying snake-tongue in a human mouth? No wonder. You're not even human to begin with."
I'd inked the Eden serpent—snake that fooled Adam and Eve—onto my tongue with a sharp fountain pen to mimic 'three-inch tongue,' but didn't expect it'd break the suggestion so fast.
"Those outside are gross enough, but what you're doing—no human should. Wipe that filthy tattoo before I rip your tongue out."
"It'll fade soon anyway."
The blackout-triggered Eden snake tattoo on my tongue vanished without trace. We sat quietly on the sofa till morning.
The pounding on doors, windows, walls, ceiling—and eerie wails—stopped sharp at 5 a.m., before dawn.
I sighed at my pocket watch, hands still not settled.
"Shitty pay job, now sabotage too. Who gets the boss's pain, feeding two employees?"
Commie bastards.