There is an overly friendly perpetually drunk man that happens to live on the twelfth floor of our apartment building. I first encountered him alone a few weeks ago. He was getting into the elevator. He was red faced and obviously drunk. I was standing to the side of the elevator trying not to be overpowered by the garlic laced breath, and was getting a contact buzz from the alcohol escaping from his pores. Someone was running to the elevator, so being polite, I held the door.
In the extra time it took for the person to run into the elevator, the man discovered I was a foreigner. In awe, he sort of poked me in the shoulder and asked me in a slurred Korean, "Where are YOU from? Can you speak Korean?" sort of thing. I sighed, resigned to my fate to have to chat with a drunk for ten stories as the elevator slowly rose to my floor. The man started rambling about something. I nodded along, agreed at a few things he said, but didn’t really get much of his topic. I bolted for the door as soon as possible when it opened on my floor, saying goodbye and jamming the key into the lock as fast as possible.
A week ago, my wife and I happened to get trapped on the elevator with him again. He was drunk, again, in the middle afternoon with a friend. They both lived in the building, and my elevator friend was telling his drunk companion about how well I could speak Korean. I just nodded and hoped my wife would bail me out or translate some of the stuff he was saying. She just played like she didn’t know me and left me to deal with the drunk guys. Since she didn’t know how he might react to her saying something on my behalf, and we only had a few stories to go up, I didn’t care too much. I think she was enjoying what he was saying about me to this other drunk man.
Today, I happened to be getting on the elevator as he was leaving, likely to go to a bar and drink. He shouted, "Hello!" in Korean at me, and I replied with a cordial "See you later". He’s the only person that talks to me in the elevator. Everyone else just pretends not to notice me, or to look at Yoshi like he’s going to devour them. I wish he would knock off all the poking however. It’s creepy enough to ride up with a drunk guy talking to you, but poking me in the shoulder makes me extra uncomfortable.
