Accidental Intentional Accident - 1
The place I ended up contracting was a studio apartment near the hotel.
While packing for the move, I stuffed as much as I could into the subspace whose usage I had finally figured out, cutting down the luggage I actually had to carry to the bare minimum.
The subspace was the size of a large moving box; anything that exceeded that even a little simply would not go in. Fitting the compressed pillows and bedding in particular had been a nightmare. I recompressed them over and over, then crushed the vacuum packs with all my strength just to make them fit. I shoved in all sorts of other odds and ends as well.
When I closed my eyes and pictured my private space, I could see the large moving-box-sized volume packed solid with belongings. I would look them over, hunting for any empty gaps. The moment I found a suitable spot, I would pick up an item of matching size and imagine it going in—and the object in my hand would vanish in an instant.
By packing the moving goods this way, almost nothing was left. Everything that would not fit into a twenty-four-inch suitcase was already inside.
And by moving into a studio with a three-million-won deposit and five-hundred-eighty-thousand-won monthly rent, I was broke again.
The rent felt expensive, but there was no choice. After scraping by in poverty and slowly piecing together a basic life, money had not accumulated as well as I had hoped. The deposit was what remained after I poured everything in while leaving myself only the thinnest cushion. Naturally, with such a low deposit, the monthly rent ran high. Still, I was satisfied.
I no longer had to stare at yellowed wallpaper stained with mold or at the blotchy flooring, and simply escaping that eternally damp semi-basement was enough. Come to think of it, when I first came up to Seoul and landed my first job, I had started out in a studio roughly this size.
It felt like a modest success.
Even after the move I kept reporting to the hotel as usual and starting my shifts. Then, at some point, instead of clearing dishes and cleaning, I was put at the entrance with the POS terminal, handling guests. My start time and dress code changed accordingly, and I had to work wearing a name tag with my name on it. Among those doing the same job there were no part-timers. Everyone was full-time staff.
“Yeeun. Table sixteen here.”
I guided arriving guests to their tables, explained how to use the buffet, then smiled brightly.
“Please enjoy your meal.”
The guests who came to eat the expensive buffet were usually more interested in talking once I left than in looking at the food. Tables of men were busy saying she was fucking gorgeous; couples were busy watching each other’s faces; tables of women were busy with jealous remarks about how much the plastic surgery must have cost. So when male guests had complaints, I became the de facto specialist who handled them. The instinct not to antagonize a beauty simply cooled their anger.
A model-tall height, a pretty face, and an elusive atmosphere that was hard to pin down. Instead of jabbing fingers and shouting, guests voiced their dissatisfaction in restrained tones; I would then use the Charm skill to talk them down and send them on their way. Still, every once in a while a difficult customer would push through the skill, and I would pass the baton upstairs.
My coworkers were at most young people in their mid-twenties, so they could not handle the difficult guests who broke through the skill. Only supervisors with some real experience could manage the response. As the number of complaints I resolved climbed, recognition started coming my way, and with it an opportunity for a better post.
“Yeeun. Can you come here a second?”
Just before I clocked out after finishing work, the captain called me over.
“The hotel’s about to put up a front-desk opening. Interested in applying?”
I did not know much about hotels. What I did know for certain was that I would not meet the requirements.
“I don’t think I qualify.”
“Doesn’t matter much. The manager already knows you do good work. You’ll be able to apply with his recommendation.”
I could not be sure, but if things went well I might finally shed the part-timer label.
“Then I’ll do it.”
The captain smiled as if he had expected exactly that answer.
“Send me your résumé when you get home. I’ll let you know when the results come out.”
“Thank you.”
Everything was going far too smoothly. Even if it fell through, I could simply keep doing what I was already doing. I could not stay a part-timer forever, but there was no real rush. I was not going hungry, and I was not thinking about the distant future either. Taking it slow was not so bad. So I had not been especially attached to becoming full-time staff—yet turning down a chance when it appeared was something only a fool would do.
Opportunities had to be seized while they were there.
About a week later I was summoned by the management-support department and told to bring the necessary documents. Even if they were hiring by recommendation, hiring someone without an interview still felt strange. Even the most slapdash small companies conducted interviews first when an employee put someone forward.
“I have a question.”
The female employee who had been explaining the required paperwork paused.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
“When is the interview?”
“There’s no schedule set recently. I’ll check and get back to you.”
I said I understood and went back to work as usual. The promised call never came. Instead, near the end of the day, the captain called me over and told me a schedule had been decided.
“Starting next Monday, just report to the rooms department.”
“No interview?”
“Well. Doesn’t seem like they’ve said anything particular.”
It was strange. But saying the strangeness out loud felt even stranger. From the fact that I was being told to report to the rooms department, it was clear I had passed—yet for a large hotel like this to do something even a small company would not was simply too odd.
“Since you’re starting officially, rest well this week and see you next week.”
I snapped out of my thoughts.
“Ah—yes! Thank you for your hard work.”
“Yeah. You worked hard too.”
Until I got home, no thoughts came at all. Only after I lay down in bed did it finally sink in. That feeling of finally receiving an acceptance notice after countless interviews—exactly that was how I felt now.
And when the following week arrived and I went to the hotel, I was given an entirely different post that had never been in the plan.
“Fuck…”
I had known the hotel had a very young president. I had also heard he made passes at the female staff. But since I had never seen him, I had simply shrugged it off. How other people lived had nothing to do with me. Now it had become my problem.
Ordinarily, when a new employee joins a company they are taken around every department for introductions. Because they will actually be working, greetings are exchanged at the manager or team-leader level that handles the day-to-day work; if there is a direct executive, the introductions go up that far as well.
The man sitting in the president’s office did not give a proper reply even when I greeted him. Instead he looked me up and down and clapped.
“Hah… As expected, I really do have an eye for people.”
He kept staring at my face and body, openly admiring them. The blatant gaze was unpleasant, but as an employee I had to endure it.
“What was your name again?”
“Lee Yeeun.”
He rose from his chair and came to stand beside me. A thick smell of alcohol rolled over me.
“You’re tall. How tall?”
He circled me as if appraising a mannequin.
“One seventy-six.”
But his eyes were on my chest and hips.
“Big. Real big.”
Finished with his appraisal, he sank deep into the chair again and waved a hand dismissively.
“Alright. Get out.”
With his other hand he put on a sleep mask.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
Even though it was obvious he could not see me with the mask on, I bowed my head in greeting and stepped outside. The president’s behavior had been extremely rude, but there was nothing I could do. The gap in rank between me and a man who looked to be around thirty was far too wide to bridge.
Leaving the president’s office, I walked over to the space off to one side. A male employee who had been waiting for me to come out spoke.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, right?”
Nothing major had happened. It had simply been unpleasant.
“Yes.”
“He was probably a bit more subdued today. The president was drinking until dawn.”
He let out a heavy sigh.
“A female employee quit out of the blue, so you ended up being sent over here, Yeeun.”
When someone resigns they hire to fill the vacancy, of course, but it did not seem connected to my being here.
“Is the resignation related to me?”
“You’ll understand with time, Yeeun, but the president sometimes has the management-support department bring him résumés. If he likes one, he just hires them on the spot.”
“…”
“You were supposed to go to the front desk, but the president simply put you in as a secretary.”
I was simply dumbfounded.
“…So what you’re saying is that I was going to be front desk, then when the secretary quit the president had them bring résumés, looked at mine, and hired me as secretary?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even have an interview. Is that allowed?”
“It’s happened before. He looked at the résumés of applicants who were about to interview and just sat them down as secretaries.”
Now I finally understood why there had been no interview. Just an unlucky coincidence that lined up perfectly had produced this situation.
“With looks like yours, Yeeun, even if you’d been at the front desk the president would have reassigned you to secretary anyway.”
“…”
My head began to ache.