Keeping Things Positive

 

(I'm just happy that I wasn't born in Djibouti.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 6 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I took a nasty shit while reading the headlines on my smartphone. Five men from Nepal died recently here on the peninsula. One committed suicide, and the other four were basically worked to death. Korean factories often import their employees from poor nations and force these penniless bastards to break their backs like coolies. For example, two of the victims were slaving away at a stone factory. They complained for days about their health, but they were completely ignored. Finally, the Grim Reaper whisked them away as they lay helpless in their communal dormitory. Welcome to the wonderful world of poverty.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I surfed the internet. Joe Biden keeps telling the world that he only has six grandchildren. And every time Christmas rolls around, he lays out seven stockings—six for the kids and one for the dog. But what he claims is completely absurd. President Biden has seven grandbabies, and one of them is currently living in Arkansas with her mother. It’s just that this sick old man has steadfastly refused to acknowledge the innocent four-year-old girl as part of his family, effectively bastardizing the little waif. There’s a special place in hell for assholes like Joe and his drug-addled son. The very sight of them disgusts me.

I played with Dolly the dog for several minutes. I’m quite worried about the beast. When the Dragon Lady moves away, the animal will be completely alone for ten hours a day. I’m wondering if I should get a kitten to keep her company. I’m actually hoping that my wife will take her. Dolly is her dog, after all. But my old lady has a habit of abandoning her responsibilities.

I drove to work with Rice-Boy Larry in the passenger seat.

He said, “Mom’s going to start selling all the stuff in the apartment.”

I said, “What stuff?”

“The televisions. The air conditioner. The furniture. That way she won’t have to move everything back to her hometown.”

“When is she going to start doing this?”

“I think soon. But there’s good news. She’s not selling our laptops.”

I smiled. “She can’t sell them. They belong to us.”

We drove in silence for a good five minutes before I spoke again.

“Where is she going, anyway?”

“Mom says that she has plenty of options. She might live with her mother. Then again, she could go to her sister’s house. Either way, she doesn’t want you to contact her.”

I chuckled loudly. “Trust me. She’s got nothing to worry about. I’m just sad that you have to endure all this nonstop drama.”

He shrugged. “I feel fine. I’m used to it.”

“Well, I sincerely hope that it doesn’t leave any permanent psychological scars.”

“How could it?”

I sighed heavily. “In a matter of days, our apartment will be inundated with complete strangers taking all the stuff that used to belong to us. It’s pretty fucking depressing if you ask me.”

“Don’t worry. We can always buy new shit.”

I arrived at work around 8 a.m. and talked to one of my colleagues. He had been married to a Korean lady back in the day and divorced her while living on the peninsula. His name is Freddy. He’s one of our math teachers.

I said, “Was it a painful and tedious process?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, it only took three months. The great thing about Korea is you don’t have to pay alimony. It’s a real blessing. Some of my friends back home will never have another dime to their name for as long as they live. Everything they make goes straight to their ex-wives. Be thankful. You might have hit the fucking jackpot.”

I gave him the thumbs-up signal. “I always try to keep things positive.”

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