The Mumyeong City Civil Servant

Mumyeong City. A place name I had never heard in my life.

Three years studying for the civil service exam, and I barely... barely passed — only to be assigned to 'Mumyeong City.'

After clicking the assignment lookup button, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Naturally assuming it was a system error, I contacted the relevant department,

only to get a curt reply confirming that yes, it was indeed Mumyeong City.

I vaguely told my family I was being sent to the countryside,

packed my bags, and headed down to Mumyeong City.

-

Mumyeong City was ambiguously neither countryside nor city.

To me, a city is a place where the sun never sets thanks to building lights,

where everyone comes out at night for a drink...

Mumyeong City is a dim place, like the sunken deep sea.

I just meet petitioners here from 9 to 6,

go to No Name Café, pop in and out of the library,

and simply wait for a transfer to another region.

-

It's been raining non-stop in Mumyeong City lately.

In Seoul, the rain would settle the dust and clear the air,

but sitting at the petitioner window watching the rain just sinks my mood.

The clock read past 5:28, so at least quitting time was near. With few petitioners,

I was enjoying a brief moment of peace when

the squelchy sound of footsteps and the cheerful jingle of the door bell — hung by my team leader to 'disperse energy' — rang out simultaneously.

Whether from the rain or something else, water dripped from their all-black clothes, and dragging a single worn-out three-stripe slipper,

a petitioner walked in. Just as I was checking whether they had the other slipper,

our eyes met, and they rushed toward the window with urgent steps.

"My brother... over there! My brother!"

"Ah... sir. Please calm down first. You can take your time."

The petitioner leaned in so aggressively their upper body was practically through the window.

Thanks to that, the transfer registration forms and certified copy documents I had neatly organized at the window were now covered in water droplets.

Still far from calm, the petitioner fidgeted, unable to keep still.

"My brother... hasn't come home today... Nobody, nobody will help..."

"Hold on, today? It's not even 6 yet... Have you tried calling?"

"Oh, yes... but I haven't been able to reach him for three hours... I went to the police station too, but......"

The petitioner seemed about to say more but held back.

Today's petitioner is quite the headache too. Can this even be called a disappearance? It might just be an unreachable phone. I looked around for help from colleagues, but everyone seemed determined not to get involved, staring holes into their monitors.

Is this what being a civil servant is like? Strangely indifferent to each other's work. Not long ago, an old man came in saying his wife had gone missing, and they just filed the report without a hint of concern. Filing missing person reports has been my main job ever since I was assigned here.

"I'll file the missing person report for now. What's the missing person's name?"

"My brother's name is............"

-

After finishing the report, I felt sorry for the petitioner and gave them

the slippers I wore around the office. Yellow chick-shaped slippers — yellow under all-black,

they didn't match at all.

They must be close to their brother, because they finished the report looking on the verge of tears

and quickly disappeared.

After they left, I had a cigarette break before clocking out.

If I stay here much longer, I feel like I might disappear too.

But giving up civil service

and going back is a headache in its own right.

The more I smoke, the more stress piles up, somehow.

Please let me get transferred somewhere else soon.........