scatological karma

To blog about dung is to live a life of dung: it follows you everywhere, oppressive as the Golgothan shit-demon from "Dogma." Case in point: I switched PC-bahngs this evening, moving from the Korea University Magic Station to Cyberspace over by where I live.

And here at Cyberspace, not 20 minutes ago, a frozen bathroom pipe decided to burst, sending foul-smelling water into the PC-bahng.

Being a long-time customer here and noting the manager's distress (he's probably younger than I am) at this newly baptized floor, I decided to grab a mop and pitch in. In true Korean fashion, we set about shoveling the water out the PC-bahng's front door and into the building's stairwell, where it will probably freeze and piss off the old man who cleans the building's floors around 3AM. I asked the manager whether there wasn't some repair service he could call at this time of night. He said no. So we spent 20 minutes just shoveling water. The manager got the worst of it: he had no broom, and so was reduced to grabbing a heavy plastic Cyberspace plaque, about two-and-a-half feet wide and ten inches high, bending down to the ground and literally scraping the plaque across the ground to shovel out the water, thereby sullying his shoes and socks and hands in the process. I can only imagine his misery: his shift is far from over, and now his feet are soaked in shit-infused bilge. I was lucky to get away with little more than stained Rockports. Will probably give my shoes a good washing tomorrow.

Probably.

Mmmm, that lovely, lovely fetor.

Man, what a night. Keep the manager and his assistant (who just arrived!) in your thoughts.

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