An Open Letter to the Salaryman

Good morning, I don’t mean to disturb you but I want to be neighborly by introducing myself. We haven’t officially met yet since you moved into the patch of grass in front of the 7-11 next to my building because, well, you’re always passed out when I walk by on my way to work. Not that I’m judging you. Hardly, it’s just you always look so peaceful, snoring contentedly, face a lovely shade of soju red with shoes tucked neatly behind your head as a makeshift pillow that I don’t have the heart to wake you up. Which probably makes me a bad neighbor since, I’m guessing, you need to be at work by 9AM.

Not that I’m ragging on your possible tardiness. I know in the high stress culture of Korean Corporations you work hard. In fact, work probably consumes your life. I can’t imagine putting on that cookie cutter salary-man uniform of shiny dress shoes, crisp white shirt, neon tie and black fitted suit day after day (though some days we both know you didn’t quite manage to change before trudging into work but we’ll make that our little secret). The constant droning clack of keyboards interspersed only by redundant meetings about last month’s financial statements combined with the strict hierarchal corporate structure probably induces that maniacal craving for Machiavellian office politics that has you at your peers’ throats making sure no one gets ahead if you don’t. Did Dong-sun receive an extra pen from the supply closet? Why didn’t Bon-hwa bring a Krispy Kreme for you when everyone else got one? Who told Chin-Mae to wear a hot pink tie on a blue tie day?

So it’s no wonder that at the end of a 12 hour day things go down the way they do. Who can blame you for going out with the boss when everyone else is going to go? You can’t very well refuse just because your wife is home alone with the kids who only know you by now from that family photo on the wall you took together last Chuseok. I’m sure they’ll stop calling you “Mommy’s friend” when you retire. Even worse, after the endless rounds of soju shots toasting to good healthy, long lives, good business, and good friends how could the evening not end up at that juicy bar down the street? Who else would give those poor girls an inspirational speech extolling the virtues of college education while they gyrate in scantily clad bikini wear? Why all that giggling is so hypnotizing in your intoxicated state that staying up to do what must be done is practically community service, right? Those girls do have tuition to pay so you’re just doing your part.

See, I understand, believe me. You’re like some long suffering creature on the national geographic channel that toils long and hard during the day only to come out at night for a little harmless nocturnal scampering about. It’s not your fault your nightly romp leaves a gauntlet of vomit puddles I have to navigate to get to work. So, salary man, since my momma raised me to be polite, I’d like to offer my services as your morning alarm clock. I could give you a nudge or possibly even wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth with a wet nap. I also have a bottle of Fabreeze you’re more than welcome to use to start your day off right.

My only request is that you exercise a bit more discretion by not peeing with your pants around your ankles in the middle of the sidewalk. I’m sure your patch of grass needs watering, but perhaps we can leave that to the rain.

Thanks.

Your Neighbor and friend,

Kiss My Kimchi