Korea, I love you. But if I have one more ridiculous, Kafaesque thing happen as a result of your inability to adjust to the first world in terms of plumbing, we might have to break up.
Standing innocently in my kitchen just now, beginning to contemplate the attempt to come up with something edible for the first time today, and the huge drainage pipe that leads down from the roof, through my kitchen, which has been making a terrible Niagra Falls racket all day, suddenly sputters itself up into an ungodly scream, as water begins to spew out and rush across my apartment floor.
First thought: I'm not wearing any pants.
Second thought: I wonder how high the water will get before I can manage to explain what's happening sufficiently in Korean to the building ajeosshi for him to make it stop.
Third thought: I need to find some pants.
Thankfully, by the time I'd worked my way through these three complex ideas, it had died down to low, misty spray. And now all appears to be fine. But you know, Korea, putting the drainage pipes and gutters outside of the houses is not really such a novel concept.
Well, that's the floors cleaned, then.