Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Give us the Fucking Money, Lebowski! And Her Dick was Out!

Throughout the day there were calls and texts. As I should have known, the moving company screwed us in a way, demanding money from the Artist even though I had arranged to pay by wire transfer on Monday. I tried to call but things were tetchy, and eventually I was left just wondering what was happening, unable to get a hold of either of the girls.

Work was a torment that I simply wanted to finish so I could go and deal with the new apartment (albeit with an impending sense of dread).

At 4:30 I grabbed a taxi home.

Up the elevator; into the new place, I came upon the Artist and the Geisha on couches facing each other. The moving company and thrown things willy-nily everywhere and the place was a fearsome disorganized disaster area. Nothing was where it was supposed to be.

“They got really angry with us when we told them where to put the beds. After that, I think they just didn't care anymore. Also, I’m drinking all this good bourbon,” the Artist slurred.

The good bourbon was some sort of hand-numbered, hand-labeled, oak-casked bourbon I had bought in Seoul, which had been discounted a hundred dollars. It was expensive and I was glad she was drinking it. They told me the fiasco: there had been three trucks of stuff lifted into the new apartment, the movers had basically ignored them, and there was resulting chaos that ensued with the money. I was pissed, but it was over, and now it was just a matter of sorting and putting things into place.

I also heard about the problems with the old landlord over lost keys, and the issues with trash that needed to get brought downstairs.

“The landlord showed up?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. I checked on the way home, though and he hasn't paid the key money back.”

The key money was a big deal. Renting in Korea requires a down payment to secure the key. This is not like a "first month/last month rent thing", but like a "five-to-ten thousand dollar investment thing." The apartment we had just left had required a large amount of key money and I needed to get that back ASAP to pay off the key money on the new place. Without key money finalized on the new place we might have to move again. This was not going to happen.

With the Irish out of the country, my only backup was to get a hold of his occasional drinking and “bitching about the womens” buddy to try to find out the phone number of the landlord. After a few tries, I got a text message with a number.

“And, then he was like measuring me dick. And I was standing there with my dick out. And I didn't know what to do.” The Artist was slurring in her drink; this was the third time she'd told the story of what asshats the movers had been. The big problem with the movers was they understand Korean style, but anything else was unacceptable. I’d left instructions for where things should go, but they decided I couldn't possibly be right, and so just really started to throw things willy-nily wherever they wanted to put themwithout a care for what was wanted. This had resulted in the ensuing madness that made a rather large apartment look shoe-box sized. I knew I could fix it, but it would take a few days.

In the meantime, I needed to call the landlord.

“And then he was all pissed, but I was pissed, and my dick was out,” the Artist continued.

“Lovely, give me a moment, I need to make this call.”

So I called the landlord.

Yoboseyo.”

Right: landlord doesn't speak English.

“Yeah, Ahjussi, nanun Sara-songsaengnim. Peadar-chingu. Key money piryo hada.” Which is (in my horrible Korean) something to the effect of, this is the Irish’s friend, and I need the key money.

This resulted in a ten-minute explanation in Korea of the landlord being angry that the keys to the old place has been lost. I could appreciate the anger: the place had all electronic locks and after I had learned the key code I didn't care about keys, but the Irish enjoyed handing out the fancy dongles and key cards and they had all disappeared sometime int he past two years. I also knew that during the morning move the girls had paid for the keys, giving the money directly to the landlordso this was a non-issue.

“I need the money, now.” I repeated in Korean. I was thinking in my head Give us the fucking money Lebwoski. Where is the fucking money?

“Yeah, but you see the keys“ he started in.

“Can you have the money in the bank in five minutes? I need to pay the key money on the new apartment. I need to pay it now. I need the money in five minutes.” Or I’ll cut off your Johnson!

I basically continued to repeat this regardless of what he said in Korean. Finally he gave me a yes, yes, and hung up.

Ten minutes later I got a message on my phone that the money had been deposited.

“And I’m standing there with my dick exposed,” the Artist slurred again.

“Honey, do you have your bank account number so I can send your money back to your account?”

“I, just…how do I get that? I had my dick out,” the Artist comes back.

Somehow I managed to make it through the fog of her drunkenness to get the account book from her, and with that and the Irish’s account book I headed to the bank. Sure enough, the money (which I was seriously worried would not get paid) was all there. Three minutes later it was all gone to the accounts it had to go to in order to settle all the debts up on the place we had just moved into. I also pulled out enough money for dinner (as I had promised the girls we would do that) and smiled at myself as I walked home, knowing that even though it wasn't done, at least it was closer to finished that I could have hoped for at this point.

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