The Doorbell

I’ve always considered myself to be a particularly lucky individual. I rarely break mirrors, spill table salt, or engage in any of those other nasty behaviors that tend to rub lady luck the wrong way. In return, she has cast her graceful smile down on me more than someone born on Friday the 13th is probably entitled to. But after getting bumped up to an exit seat on three out of three flights from Kenya to South Korea (twice because my original seat was taken and once just because) I had a feeling that I had just racked up a karma debt that I didn’t have nearly enough good deeds in my account to pay off. My only hope was that the gods of providence wouldn’t demand swift repayment in the form of a few permanent teeth, or that at the very least, that I could get on some kind of long term settlement scheme with me not having to part with said chompers until late in my 8th or 9th decade. Seems they had something else in mind.
After enjoying the free airport WiFi (short for “wireless Fi”) for several early morning hours I decide there is finally enough light for me to make my way to some place where I can dump my overfull bag and start enjoying some parts of Seoul other than the Incheon International terminal. I make my say through the mostly deserted subways and streets much faster than expected, finally arriving at the guesthouse entryway, nestled cozily at the top of a 4 story flight of stairs. I listen at the closed door. Silence. I know I’m early, but how early? Is anyone awake inside?

I set down my 20.8 kg bag (i know because that’s what it weighed at the Nairobi airport) and I debate with myself whether or not it’s too early to knock. As I look down at the my phone to check the time I catch a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye, turning my head and reacting just time to ALMOST catch my bag before it goes tumbling noisily down the staircase. I’m not sure exactly how many individual steps there were, but I am absolutely certain that my bag hit every single one of them as it clamored loudly away from me like a mischievous toddler in the checkout lane of a grocery store right after tossing their soiled diaper into some other poor shoppers produce basket. Even if I had packed my bag full of pots, bells, and automatic kazoos, I doubt it could have made any more noise than it somehow did lumbering down the stairwell.

As I drag my misbehaving luggage back up the top flight of stairs the staff of the hostel suddenly burst out the door, no doubt expecting to see either a dead body, or those two angry robot customers from a couple nights ago, who were clearly dissatisfied with their stay. Surprisingly, nothing inside my bag was broken, so I’m not sure just how far this will go toward paying off my fortune creditors, but at least it’s a sign of good faith that shows them I’m willing to play ball.
In a completely unrelated incident, while trying to tell someone that I was considering sleeping in a public bath house (totally culturally acceptable here), I may have said that I was going to sleep in a bathroom (much less culturally acceptable). It’s interesting, because other than both having 3 syllables, the Korean words for each really not very similar to one another and there is no good reason to make that mistake. Due to my lack of sleep at the time, I can’t really confirm or deny what I did or didn’t say, but the other guy’s reaction makes a lot more sense if I messed up. Either way, I’m counting it toward my karma debt.