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There are 7 billion people on the planet.
I suppose that of those people, crazy drunkards make up about 3 billion. I wish those 3 billion people would die. I really do.
Today’s late night part time work at the convenience store was particularly difficult.
At around 1 AM, a drunken buffoon of a man began to down a bunch of beers all by himself.
Plenty drunk and without even paying, he began to try and eat chips, ice cream, and dried squid.
When I told him to pay and tried to stop him, he started swearing that even someone like me was looking down on him, going so far as to throw punches my way…
I thought about calling the police, but that seemed like more of a hassle so I instead just calmed the man down.
Tired from his angry fit, the man left sobbing. His life must be shit too. The sight of him walking away was so pitiful.
Even so, that doesn’t give him the right to make my life shit too, right?
I finished my shift and came home.
My dark and spooky one-room basement.
A deposit of 5,000,000 won (USD $5000) and monthly rent 300,000 won (USD $300).
It’s cold in the fall, colder in the winter, and interestingly enough, this dungeon of mine is still cold on summer nights. As an option, it also floods.
I threw off my clothes and crawled under my thick blankets. Even though it’s cold because there’s no heating, I’m a weird bastard that can’t change my habit of sleeping naked.
I’m about to fall asleep when my smart phone starts buzzing from a phone call.
The notice says it’s my mom.
The end to a difficult day is mom. She’s obviously calling to nag me.
“Eh, fuck it”
I decided not to pick up the phone. I can just tell her I fell asleep after work and didn’t get the call.
As the vibrations stopped I figured my mom gave up on the call when this time there was a ding-dong, alerting me to a text message.
[Son, don’t pretend to be sleeping. Pick up the phone. If you don’t, your allowance will get cut]
But of course.
As soon as the phone rang, I picked it up.
“Son, why didn’t you pick up the phone?”
“Cuz I was pretending to sleep.”
“Really? Our son is such a hyoja.*”
(TL: A good child; a child that takes care of their parents)
“Well, you know.”
Stringing me around using money again. You think this make me tuck my tail between my legs?
It will. I tucked it real fast. Mom laughed.
“And are you studying well?”
“I just got back from work. I’ll do it when I wake up.”
“A 2nd year examinee and you can still sleep?”
“Stop poking where it hurts.”
“Son, don’t misconstrue it, just listen to what mom has to say. My son’s head is a rock and I don’t think your life was meant to spend studying. Why don’t you just come home and run the fried chicken store with mom?”
A fastball, out of the blue.
It’s a targeted statement with no room for misunderstanding.
With a shock, I stutter a reply.
“Uh, mom. It’s because I don’t study, but my head is good”
“That’s what I thought too, two years ago. But now I won’t burden you with useless expectations. Even if the child doesn’t go to school, the job of a good parent would be to find the job that suits their child.”
Her tone was telling me that the job that suited me was the fried chicken business.
I felt fear and quickly replied.
“Mom…why not give me another chance. If I fail the exam this time, I will spend the rest of my life frying chicken like you want me to.”
“Of course. Son, next year you will be 30. The next door convenience store owner’s daughter is two years younger than you and is already married with two kids. Do you know how much the convenience store owners brag about their grandchildren?”
“Again with that.”
That fat old lady from the convenience store. She must’ve bragged about her grandchildren to mom again.
“I wonder when my son will meet a girl and get married…”
“How about I figure out my own life a little first, then we can talk about a daughter-in-law and grandchildren again.”
What crazy girl would like a 29 year old examinee bastard?
“So just forget everything and come home to the fried chick-”
“I’m gonna to hang up now”
I pressed the end call button and speedily took out the battery too.
Fried chicken, 30 years old, daughter-in-law, grandchildren, fried chicken again. It’s the fearsome combo that always knocks me down. Who wants to live their life frying chicken?
I’m in no way looking down on the fried chicken business.
My mom sold those fried chickens at a flaming pace to send her all her three kids to college.
But I hate hard work.
I just want to be an government official.
I want live my life drudging off to work, getting a steady paycheck, and getting home every night on the dot like clockwork.
In my frustration, I let out a sigh. I dug deep into my blankets and closed my eyes.
I could feel the frustration on the fringes of my chest. A closing up and closing in kind of oppressiveness.
Aw, hell, this is all just from stress.
It’ll all be better after I get a good night’s rest.
And so I fell asleep.
…and so I dreamed.
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