Mr. Pang

The sickly sweet smell of his aftershave oozes through my attention. He's there, behind me. Again. He's looking over my shoulder as I sit, slowly moving in closer. 

That's the third time this morning.

I want to react, to pinch my nose and pull a face, but I daren't: I'd lose my job. So I just stop breathing. There and then, as my nose puckers with the first astringent note, I just stop. I let my lungs relax and simply refuse to let them take in more air.

The room is huge and airless; rows of office workers sit at their work stations glued to computer screens. I'm sitting at one of them, absolutely on my best behaviour; just one among hundreds. I can hear the industrial clicking of keyboards through the privacy panels on either side of my desk, but I can't see them, not without turning my head - and I won't turn my head. Not with Mr. Pang behind me.

What does he want?

The silent Mr. Pang, our critical office supervisor stalks behind our backs, up and down the aisles. He's officious, checking we do our works properly. With his cheap brown loafers on the soft carpet, we never hear him approach. 

But we can smell him: his aftershave - cologne, perfume or whatever. I have no idea what it is but to me it's like sweetened floor cleaner, a nauseating aroma that drifts along beside him. 

But, right now, Mr. Pang's smell is clawing at my right nostril; he's peering in closely, over my shoulder. I hope he passes on quickly; I can only hold my breath for so long.

My shirt is crisp and white, my tie of the approved pattern; my back is straight, my hair brushed neat and tidy; the work area in front of me clear. Nothing there for Mr. Pang to complain about. 

 My fingers rattle nervously on the keyboard like little insect legs. My eyes fix firmly on the screen in front of me. 

What's Mr. Pang looking at? Why me?

And now I can feel him; a little tremor as he rests his hands on the back of my chair. His sour breath tickles my neck. His skin radiates warmth against my cheek. He takes his time, hovering. Too close. 

The room seems to grow ever quieter as the claustrophobia rises in my chest and I can hardly hold my breath much longer. 

Please don't let him speak.

But Mr. Pang has never said anything to me and I can't ask what he wants: he's a supervisor, my boss; he must always talk first. So I just fix my mind on his approval: eyes on the screen, fingers keying away; just a bee in Mr. Pang's hive.

My breath runs out and I take short, unobtrusive gulps through my mouth, inhaling as little as possible.

At last, Mr. Pang's large head withdraws. He gives my chair a little shake as he moves on. 

I begin to breath normally again. Pretending that my fingers are still tapping away on the keyboard, I slowly turn and watch him stroll away down the aisle, hands clasped behind. As I thought, he doesn't stop for anyone else. He doesn't bow in close and peer over shoulders, or breathe on cheeks. 

Only me.

I catch the eye of my neighbour and girlfriend, Yu-Jin. She raises her eyebrows. I raise mine back.

The huge, windowless room is chilly in the air conditioning and sweat congeals on my back.

The day moves on. We're allowed a thirty minute lunch break in the canteen and also have two 'comfort breaks'. It's hard, tedious work but I'm very lucky to have the job; so many other university graduates have nothing and still live with parents or sweep floors. At least I have my own room in a nearby tenement block. Small. But mine.

Yu-Jin is already at her table in the noisy canteen unpacking her lunch when I arrive. She's young, my age, small and very sharp; another graduate forced into menial thinking. Her long black hair is tied tightly back from her face but Yu-Jin is not severe; she's friendly and sharp, often funny. The first thing she offers when I settle in next to her is: 'Pang's a creep.'

It's so disrespectful that I laugh. 

'For sure,' I say. 'And a slimeball. He was all over my shoulder this morning. You saw that, yes? What does he want? He didn't correct me or anything. Just breathed on me.'

'You stayed so calm. I thought he was going to kiss you!' exclaimed Yu-Jin. 'How did you manage?'

'It was hard, keeping my face straight. The smell,' I said, pinching my nose and grimacing.

Yu-Jin laughs and copies me with a lot of exaggeration. 'Pang doesn't know! Too much aftershave, or whatever. Who knows.'

I relax in Yu-Jin's presence as we start to unwrap our lunches. The grey canteen walls are hard; the clatter of spoons and plates on plastic surfaces merges with the busy chatter of innumerable faces. The place is almost unbearably noisy. But most of us eat here because there are windows, and because our gossip is readily drowned.

'Why does he have to come in so close like that. It's so... personal. Like he's trying to be intimate.'

'It looked like he was sniffing you,' said Yu-Jin.

'He doesn't do it to anyone else does he?' I ask.

Yu-Jin unwraps her lunch. 'I watch him walking around and he only stops to chew someone out. He doesn't do that leaning in thing.'

We eat our packed lunches in silence for a while: salty noodle for me, mother's rice rolls for Yu-Jin.

'He creeped you out yesterday as well, didn't he?' continues Yu-Jin.

I nod. 'And the day before that.'

'He should keep his proper distance, right?' said Yu-Jin, 'Can't you complain to personnel.'

'About what? I imagine he'll just say he needs to look closer at what I'm doing. He doesn't say anything; just leans in too close. His aftershave or whatever makes me feel sick. He now puts his hands on my chair.'

'What? On the back?'

'Yes. No doubt 'accidentally'. He slides them between the backrest and my shirt. Gives my chair a little shake just before he leaves.'

But I don't want to think any more about Mr. Pang. I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on my lunch, but it isn't easy. We all know our place in the social structure here. Despite my degree, I'm low on the ladder. Mr. Pang is a lot higher, and knows full well about boundaries.

'Do you think he's gay?' says Yu-Jin.

'What?' I almost choke. My chopsticks pause midway to my mouth. 

'Well, you're a handsome guy...'

She winks and we let the thought hang in the air. 

Yu-Jin and I finish our lunch and head back for the afternoon shift. Tomorrow is the weekend and I'll be glad of the break. Two days of fresh air and no Mr. Pang. The days are sunnier and I'm going to the Cheonho Park, not far from where I live.

The afternoon is almost a repeat of the morning.

Almost. 

The first time Mr. Pang looks over my shoulder, I freeze. I can't help it. The nauseating smell of his sweet aftershave or whatever mixes with the onions of his lunch and I come close to retching. My fingers drain of movement. He must feel my stupefaction as he seems to linger even longer and closer.

This second time, before he withdraws, Mr. Pang lays a damp hand on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.

My body jolts; I can't help it. Contact like this is so egregious that it might as well have been electric. 

I turn quickly to see Mr. Pang starting to walk away.

He looks back. And smiles.

The weekend arrives. I leave the house early grabbing an egg sandwich from a street vendor and cycle my way to Cheonho.

I haven't slept well and I am very happy to find my Tai Chi class assembling under the big tree, getting ready to clear our spirits. 

The grass in the park this morning seems particularly green. A light breeze takes away the pervading city aroma and flutters the leaves of the surrounding gingko trees. 

I'm hoping to meet Yu-Jin but she hasn't shown up yet. We've been dating for some months now though haven't actually 'done it' yet. She lives on the other side of the office building where we work and it's a bit of a bike ride for her to the park so I'm not too surprised to find she hasn't arrived yet.

The class starts: long form Tai Chi. I know the flowing movements very well now. I recognise some of my co-workers in the group; in loose clothes we're free for a while and our moods are lifted as we pour from one position through another like water flowing between vessels.

Mostly, I keep my eyes unfocused, drifting through the surrounding trees, unseeing. Absorbed, my feet place quietly on the grass as my body turns. The Tai Chi pattern ends and we smoothly begin another cycle. We're about halfway through when my half-closed eyes focus. 

Mr. Pang. 

He's leaning on one of the far gingkoes. Not hiding. Just watching from among the trees. In my heightened, meditative state the shock of his sudden manifestation, throws me and my pattern breaks. 

I stop moving abruptly and get in the way of the others. Acutely embarrassed, I leave the group and walk quickly to my bicycle.

I'm about to step onto it when there he is, standing right in front of me, blocking my way and smiling. He wears casual clothes but still displays the prim and proper appearance of the office supervisor.

'Shi-Woo', Mr. Pang says, bowing and using my name with far too much familiarity. 'I'm glad to see you.'

I return the bow of course but have nothing to say. Or, rather, I'm choked up and no doubt blushing. Even outside here in the park I can smell his repellant aftershave. The day is ruined; I need to get away but Mr. Pang blocks me and steps a little closer.

'You are a good worker, Shi-Woo. Quiet and industrious,' he says. I mutter a thank you and fiddle with my bike, putting it more between us.

'I know you like me, Shi-Woo. And I would very much like us to be friends outside our place of work.' Mr. Pang continues formally, with an emphasis on 'friends' and edging even closer. 'I can help you progress in the office too. A word from me and you can move up.'

'Thank you, Mr. Pang,' I say courteously. 

I can't believe this is happening. It's dangerous ground: Mr. Pang has complete control over me at work and can have me sacked in a moment. I try to choose my words as carefully and formally as I can: little mice offered to a snake.

'I'm afraid I am unable to accept your offer of friendship outside of the workplace, Mr. Pang, generous though it is' I say. 'I have too many duties, and a girlfriend.' The last I offer with the hope of dampening his interest. 'And I'm sure there are other workers in the office more suitable to be your friend.'

Mr. Pang hardly skips a beat and steps closer still. 'But Shi-Woo, I see the effect I have on you whenever I come around. How your breath stops and your heart beats faster. I'm sure you could be my friend. And I'm sure you'd like me to help you rise in the workplace.' His tone is distinctly salacious and, whether deliberately or not, he licks his lips. 

I want to scream. I'm trapped with this repellant man and his repellant smell corrupting the soft breeze. My white knuckles clench around the handlebars. 

'I'm sorry, Mr. Pang,' I stutter. 'It can't happen.'

'Are you sure?' he says again, leaning over my bike, his smile now gone. He places his hand delicately on my own, then grips it strongly, digging his nails into my skin. 

Mr. Pang regards me, quietly. 

'Perhaps you should think a bit more about it,' he says, his voice dark and unequivocal. 'Don't forget who I am, Shi-Woo. And who you are. So I'll see you on Monday and we'll talk more. You still want to be working on Tuesday, don't you?'

'Please Mr. Pang.' I say.

In the silence that follows, Mr. Pang leans in very close; he wants to whisper in my ear. 

His smell makes me gag and I jerk my head back. Mr. Pang flinches. His look is vicious. 

'Don't come in Monday,' he says, quietly. Tears immediately prickle my nose. My job. Gone. Outrageously unfair. 

'Oh, I think he will, Mr. Pang,' laughs a voice. It's Yu-Jin. She's been watching silently from one side.

Mr. Pang turns and recognises her. 'And you can stay away too,' he snarls. 'You're both fired.'

'Oh I don't think so,' Mr. Pang,' she says.

I'm surprised to find Yu-Jin remaining so calm. Her voice is relaxed; my own can hardly make it out of my mouth.

'Yu-Jin, please. Don't get into trouble,' I say.

'Too late for that,' barks Mr. Pang.

'Yes, far too late.' says Yu-Jin, holding up her camera. She looks at it, flicks her thumb a few times and presents the screen. And there is Mr. Pang, leaning in and apparently kissing me in the park.

'I think I'll have that on social media by lunchtime,' Yu-Jin says and smiles warmly as she scrolls through more images.

Mr. Pang makes a grab for the phone but my bike gets in the way. He trips on the pedals and tumbles heavily to the grass where he sits in front of Yu-Jin, suddenly deflated, his face awash with panic.

'Or,' continues Yu-Jin, angrily, 'You can just fuck off right now and leave us alone.'

I don't know who is more amazed at Yu-Jin's use of the expletive, Mr. Pang or myself. Her rudeness is so offensively powerful as she stands over Mr. Pang. Yu-Jin winks at me, then points her phone at Mr. Pang like a small weapon.

'And, we both want amazing recommendations for promotion, to somewhere we can use our brains. That way you'll never meet again. So everyone's happy. Right?'

Mr. Pang gets quickly to his feet and nods vigorously. He looks around and sees most of the Tai Chi class have been watching. 

'What about the pictures?' he whispers, looking at the ground.

'Don't worry about them,' says Yu-Jin, 'For now. And one more thing...'

Mr. Pang bows nervously. 'Yes, yes. Whatever.' he says.

'Change your aftershave.'