Ribald

I'm leaving my office at 7:15am. Usually the only other person in the building at that time is the cleaning lady, who starts about 7am. We don't usually talk, except to share greetings, but today she has told me that she will be moving to another building. "For two years," she says, I have difficulty understanding a Daegu accent, "and then I'll be back here."

I'm not sure why she told me. I wonder if I am supposed to buy her a present. Korea has a lot of gifting customs. Maybe a cashmere sweater, like George bought the cleaning lady in that Seinfeld episode.

As I get to the ground floor, I realise that I've forgotten my wallet, and let out a mumbled "F**k!" as I turn around to go back up the stairs.

"You're bald!" I hear a joyfully surprised voice from the basement stairs.

"What?" I ask, angrily, at the slim smiling man in a red suit who walks out of the stairwell.

"How ribald!" he says again joyfully. Apparently I had misheard him. "I didn't expect such ribaldry from you."

"Oh, ah. No." I say. "Sorry."

"No need to apologise!" he says, strangely vehement. "I like it!"

"I forgot my wallet." I say. I am not completely sure whether this is an explanation for my profanity, or for going back up the stairs I just came down. But this smiling man lurking in the stairwell in the morning has put me off.

Then something clicks. "Oh. You are the lurker, aren't you?" I ask.

"Ha ha ha.. ha... ha ha... ha...." he cackles, as he runs off down the stairs, very un-lurker-like.

Going up the stairs to get my wallet, I see my reflection in the mirror that is on the wall between the flights of stair, and indeed, the lurker was right. I am bald. Mostly. A bit of tightly shaved hair on the sides, but the top is a barren wasteland. "A beautiful barren wasteland." my mom would say.