The Money Closet

[Originally posted on Cent]

"This funeral is definitely one of the better ones - the food is not bad at all. Cheers!"

~ Anonymous Korean conglomerate employee

I heard that last night. At a funeral. And it wasn't inappropriate at all - in fact, it was spot on.

Aside from lighting an incense stick, bowing 3 times in a row to a picture of the deceased individual and their surviving family members, eating as well as drinking (of course) are core parts of the 3 day long Korean funeral experience.

If you support a Korean funeral in some way, for example by swiftly removing shoes that guests take off before entering the funeral parlor (as I unfailingly did from 9am to pm last night) you eat and drink the same rice, soup and side dish spread 3 times in a row. Family of the deceased eat and drink the same 9 times in a row.

But as I zip through the Korean countryside at 300 km/hr sitting comfortably in the premium section of the KTX bullet train from Cheongju to Seoul, more than the pretty good funeral food, I can't help but think of one (even more) surprising aspect of the Korean funeral experience that I witnessed for the first time last night: the money closet.

As with Korean weddings, envelopes filled with cash money from every guest at the funeral are given to the surviving family an expression of condolence. This money is referred to as a condolence gift or 부의(賻儀).

Naturally, since money is involved, the management and recording of the envelopes (along with the names of who gave how much) are very seriously, very meticulously recorded.

The funeral I happened to attend was for the mother-in-law of a "very important" senior executive. That means a lot of envelopes. As of the end of day 2 of the funeral, 867 to be exact. Oh and the names written on these envelopes are hand written, and often written in Chinese characters.

In order to discreetly record the names and amounts given in these envelopes, two trustworthy junior employees are typically seconded in a private room where no one can see them open the envelopes, count and rubber band the stacks of cash and record the names of who gave what.

To be clear, before yesterday I knew all of this was done, I'd just never seen it. But when I went to fetch my coat in the little closet tucked into the corner of the funeral parlor and opened the door, I was shocked.

First of all it felt like I had opened the door of a volcanic sauna, the air was a bit rank, and very thick. Second, sitting on the floor in a hot sweaty mess were two junior employees, white shirts stained with sweat, surrounded by cash, envelopes and a ledger with names. It was as if I walked into the backroom of a 1970's era casino owned and operated by the mob.

I quickly grabbed my coat and left. That was a little before 10pm. Around 1am, unbeknownst to me as I was sleeping in my motel room, I get the following message from one of the junior employees still stuck in the money closet begging for help deciphering a name:

Handwritten anything is hard to read, at least for me. But handwritten Chinese characters take it to another level, especially when penned by octogenarians who also tend to be the only ones still writing Chinese characters in Korea.

If I had to guess, that junior employee is probably still stuck in the money closet. Pray for him y'all (and if any of you can read that second middle character on the left, let me know, I can't for the life of me figure it out despite having studied Chinese for years).