The gosiwon was in chaos from the crack of dawn. Sure enough, it must be Room 302, a day laborer in his fifties, and Room 307, a civil service exam student in his thirties, fighting.
He pulled the blanket over his head and tried to force himself to sleep, but the shouting only grew louder. No one was stopping them. Well, they weren’t the type to listen even if someone did.
The fight that usually ended in about 30 minutes was particularly long today.
This is driving me crazy.
Jiwon reached his hand out from under the blanket and picked up his phone.
9:13 AM. Only 2 hours had passed since he came in and tried to sleep after finishing his dawn work.
Fuck. He cursed and pulled the blanket over himself again, but as if it had been waiting, an unpleasant pain came from his right arm. He sighed and roughly massaged his arm.
There was no sign of it quieting down at all.
Jiwon threw off the blanket and glared at the ceiling where mold was starting to grow.
“You fucking bastards, let us sleep!”
Room 303, Jiwon’s next-door neighbor, shouted.
Room 303 was a small, scrawny man who believed himself to be a gangster. Jiwon didn’t know what his real job was, but whenever he saw Jiwon, he’d propose that he come work under him, saying he could at least make him an action captain. Since he seemed not to be in his right mind, Jiwon just said, “I’ll think about it.”
The tedious argument seemed to have turned into a physical fight. Thud, thud—someone’s body hit the thin plywood wall, making a loud noise. It felt like the whole building was shaking. Because of that, all the remaining sleep fled.
Jiwon jumped up from the bed and opened the door. Everyone had come out but was just watching.
Room 302 climbed on top of Room 307, who was sprawled on the hallway floor with a nosebleed. Having no choice, Jiwon rushed over and grabbed Room 302’s waist to pull him off.
“That’s enough, ahjussi.”
He hugged Room 302’s waist tightly so he wouldn’t lose his grip on the man who looked ready to charge at Room 307 any moment.
“Hey, you bastard son of a whore. If I seriously kick trash like you, you’d die. I let you off because it was a hassle, and this fucking bastard thinks I’m a pushover. You want to die? Huh?”
“Ahjussi, please just hold back.”
Room 302, who had experienced everything on construction sites, was quite strong. Although Jiwon was taller and bigger than Room 302, it was difficult to hold and restrain him because his right arm wasn’t in good condition.
Fortunately, Room 302 also seemed to have lost energy and no longer tried to charge at Room 307. Jiwon tactfully released the arms he’d been holding.
Only then did the manager saunter in and appear.
“If you keep doing this, I can kick both of you out. Okay? This is your last warning.”
He said the obvious while reeking of bad breath.
But the gosiwon owner rarely kicked people out, and all the residents living here knew that fact well.
Room 302 pretended to spit at Room 307, then went into his room. Room 307 should have gotten up already, but as if he’d done something great, he thrashed about while still lying on the floor. What an unseemly sight.
“Let’s go eat.”
Room 305, who had been watching all along, tapped Jiwon’s shoulder.
When Room 305, an alcoholic, said let’s eat, it meant let’s have a drink. Normally he would have refused and tried to sleep, but it seemed wrong to try to fall asleep again, so he silently followed Room 305 to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, the old man from Room 301 and the job seeker from Room 309 were sitting separately eating breakfast.
Room 305 put down two bottles of soju on the table next to Room 301. As always, he poured the alcohol into a glass instead of a soju cup. The old man glanced at that scene.
“Is substitute driving work doable?”
Room 305 asked. He’d probably asked the same question more than a hundred times.
“Yes. It’s doable enough.”
“How long did you say you’ve been doing it?”
“A little over 2 years.”
“Whew, you’ve done it for a long time. Sigh, should I do substitute driving too?”
“If you have a license, try challenging yourself. There’s no age limit, and the initial costs are almost nothing, so it’s good. If it doesn’t work out, you can just quit.”
Jiwon gave back an answer he must have given more than a hundred times.
Most alcoholics either had their licenses revoked or had no license. Needless to say for Room 305, who drank soju instead of eating meals.
“Of course I have a license. Tell me how to do it.”
Saying this, Room 305 emptied the glass containing soju.
Jiwon used to drink like that too. He’d been taken to the emergency room for acute alcohol poisoning, and had almost really died after accidentally downing it together with sleeping pills.
“Drink?”
Room 305 asked again.
Jiwon smiled faintly and shook his head.
Room 305 was particularly persistent today. Regardless of the refusal, he poured soju and held out the glass.
“Does Room 304 drink too?”
The old man from Room 301 sitting at the next table spoke.
Here, instead of names, everyone was called by their room numbers. In Jiwon’s case, he went by Room 304.
“No way. Alcohol, what are you talking about?”
He waved it off.
“Right, alcohol isn’t for the morning. Eat, eat. Anyway, because of those damn bastards, I can’t sleep, what am I going to do?”
The old man looked at Jiwon with a pitying expression.
“It’s okay.”
“How is it okay? Hurry and eat, then go in and get some sleep. You have to go out to work.”
After saying this, the old man put kimchi on his rice and pushed it into his mouth.
At least wrap it in some seaweed.
He frowned without realizing it.
“Should I make you a fried egg?”
Jiwon asked.
“No, it’s fine. It’s burdensome to always mooch off you.”
While saying this, he slyly put down his spoon. It was because he knew Jiwon would bring eggs.
“Just wait a moment.”
Jiwon took two eggs from the mini fridge in his room and returned to the kitchen.
He poured cooking oil into the frying pan with yellowish grease stuck to it and made fried eggs. Then the old man brought his rice bowl and waited.
“Thanks, Room 304.”
He smiled, showing his yellow teeth.
Room 305, who had been watching, put down his glass with a thud and shouted.
“Fuck, old man! A person should have some shame. Why do you always mooch off a kid young enough to be your grandson and wipe your mouth clean? You think no one knows you have eggs in your fridge?”
“What are you talking about? Where would I have eggs?”
The old man played dumb.
“Want to check? Huh?”
At Room 305’s words, the old man made an urgent expression and held out his rice bowl to Jiwon.
“Hurry and give it to me.”
“Room 304! I’ll take the eggs for you, so just stay there.”
When Room 305 stood up from the table, the old man hastily snatched the spatula from Jiwon’s hand. Then he put both fried eggs on his rice bowl and ran out of the kitchen as if fleeing for his life. Shortly after, there was a bang as a door closed.
“Ugh, that damned old geezer. Room 304, you too, stop doing that. What’s so cute about an old man that you keep trying to take care of him? Huh?”
Jiwon just smiled.
Room 305 sat back down and tilted his glass.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I don’t feel like it right now. I’ll eat later.”
Whether because of the old man, his appetite had completely fled.
How long do I have to live here? When that thought occurred, fatigue suddenly rushed over him.
Jiwon left Room 305, who was still holding his glass, and returned to his room, forcing himself to sleep. They say fatigue is medicine—before he knew it, he’d fallen fast asleep.
He woke to the sound of the alarm announcing noon. His whole body was drenched in sweat. Things from the past became nightmares and tormented him all through his sleep.
How nice it would be if it were just a nightmare.
He gasped for breath.
Before he could even come to his senses, he tried to get up and accidentally put weight on his right arm. A groan burst out involuntarily. His arm hurt as if it would be torn off. He curled his body into a ball and stayed as still as possible. He was inwardly worried since it hadn’t hurt this much recently, but since he wasn’t going to the hospital anyway, he ended it by chewing up painkillers.
Like a waterlogged sponge stuck to the bed, he just glared at the ceiling for a long while until the medicine kicked in.
He had to go out to the frozen food distribution center on the outskirts of Gyeonggi-do by 2 o’clock. With substitute driving, at least he could rest when he wanted to, but with the distribution center, there was absolutely no excuse to skip. Honestly, if he said he was sick, they would reluctantly find another way, but he absolutely didn’t want to make weak sounds.
He knew it was stubbornness, but what could he do about his innate personality?
He forced himself to eat and went out to work. The not-so-large freezer warehouse repeatedly swallowed and spat out people and goods. He entered the container used as an office, filled out the attendance record, took out white work clothes from his locker, put them on, and then put on a padded jumper and gloves over them. He bowed to the ahjummas and ahjussis dressed similarly, then headed to the pile of pollock boxes stacked in one corner of the warehouse.
The ahjussi on the same team as Jiwon warmly greeted him, “Welcome.”
“You came early.”
“I came late these past few days, and it was so awkward I couldn’t stand it.”
The ahjussi joked around. Even though he was one of the few regular employees at the company and had no fear of being fired, he was always like this.
He stood next to the ahjussi without responding.
The work Jiwon and the ahjussi did was taking down boxes containing pollock, tearing off the packaging, then lifting the frozen pollock pile onto rails. Then the pollock would move along the rails with cutting machines installed, being cut into pieces through the hands of workers lined up next to the rails. Then they’d put them into transparent plastic bags by kilogram, pack them in ice boxes together with ice packs. It was also the two men’s job to stack the repacked ice boxes so the forklift could take them.
Within 10 minutes of entering the freezer warehouse at minus 20 degrees Celsius, heat rose up. Soon sweat flowed as if working in a regular warehouse. But if he took off his jumper, he’d easily catch a cold.
Working frantically, it was break time before he knew it. The palm-sized break room with air conditioning was occupied by the few regular employees, so there was no place to sit. Having no choice, Jiwon and the rest grabbed the bread and milk provided by the company, mixed instant coffee, and gathered near the freezer warehouse again. They mainly clustered by the same gender.
He thought about staying with the friendly ahjummas, but since they kept prying into his personal business, he chose to be alone. There were several others besides Jiwon who were alone, so he didn’t particularly stand out. Honestly, everyone was too busy resting to care about others.
Due to the increased volume, they barely escaped the freezer warehouse after 8:30. Someone on the same bus grumbled that they work them to death without even giving overtime pay.
The bus ran along a quiet country road, then turned onto a road lined with apartments.
The phone in his sling bag vibrated.
[Got any money?]
It had been a while.
[Where would I have money?]
He answered immediately.
[Can’t you somehow get 5 million?]
[Fuck off]
[No contact from President Choi?]
[No]
A call came in right away.
He didn’t answer.
Once, twice, and three times.
Three missed calls from a name labeled “Fucking Bastard” were recorded on his phone.
Jiwon found and turned on a different substitute driver app from the one he mainly used, then put his phone back in his bag.
Whenever a missed call came from “Fucking Bastard,” he was tense from then on. It had been happening for 6 months already, but it was still like that. Normally, Jiwon would have supplemented his lack of sleep on the commute bus, but he couldn’t because of his frayed nerves, and because of that, even his condition worsened.
Regardless, the bus arrived at its destination without fail, and Jiwon also mechanically got off at Gangnam Station and entered the convenience store he always went to.
He bought one triangle kimbap and a canned coffee and sat down at a table. Even after stretching, his physical condition didn’t improve. Since there was no other way, he took out painkillers and chewed them, then got rid of the bitter taste with triangle kimbap.
Belatedly, he was about to turn on the substitute driver app he usually used, but gave up because it seemed impossible to work in this state. He decided to wait until the pain in his arm subsided.
It was only early June, but because summer had come earlier than usual, he was already short of breath. He had no appetite either. Thinking he must have gotten heat sickness already, he forced down the rest of the triangle kimbap and sipped the very sweet canned coffee.
His phone vibrated. Jiwon checked his phone in a tense state and let out a faint sigh. It was the substitute driving company office.
Wondering if someone had complained, he answered the phone while recalling the customers he’d picked up yesterday.
“Yes. This is Kim Jiwon.”
- Driver, aren’t you working today? You still haven’t turned on the app.
The call center employee said in a cheerful voice.
“Ah, that’s…”
Do I really need to make excuses?
“I should turn it on now. But why are you calling?”
- You went to Seongbuk-dong the day before yesterday, right?
She recited the address.
Of course he remembered.
How could I forget the customer who gave me a 150,000 won tip?
“Yes. What about it?”
- Can you go now?
“To Seongbuk-dong?”
- Oh, where else would it be? Is it possible?
The employee responded pleasantly.
“I can go, but I’m at Gangnam Station right now. It’ll take over an hour to get to Seongbuk-dong at this time, is that still okay?”
- Ah. Is that so? Just a moment.
Jiwon turned on the substitute driver app while waiting for the call center employee.
- Hello?
“Yes. I’m listening.”
- Driver, it won’t work today. He says he’ll use another driver.
Hearing it wouldn’t work, he was relieved instead.
Jiwon, pretending to be disappointed, hung up and looked down at the darkened screen.
A call had already come up. He quickly changed it to general dispatch and left the convenience store as is.
He couldn’t breathe because of the heat emitted by the asphalt, buildings, and pedestrians walking on the sidewalk. But he kept walking. To forget the pain in his arm, to prevent miscellaneous thoughts from arising—enough to be slightly out of breath.
Soon sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his face.
His phone vibrated again. A call came up on the substitute driver app he only kept on when there was a missed call from “Fucking Bastard.”
Departure point: Gangnam Station Exit 7. Destination: Nowon Station Exit 7. Fee: 5,000 won. Card, scheduled.
It was a call no one would accept. Jiwon pressed the detailed information to check the customer number, then immediately turned direction toward Gangnam Station.
