SEOUL – In a stunning revelation that has sent shockwaves through the expatriate community, a recent survey unveiled that South Korea’s most overlooked gem might not be the beautiful countryside, the ancient palaces, or the underground food markets, but rather the nation's most beloved yet underappreciated asset: its heart-burstingly endearing, wildly bizarre, and utterly overworked delivery workers. According to the National Heartbreak Bureau, despite a staggering 200% increase in delivery requests during the pandemic, these unsung heroes of modern society have become the unwilling stars of an unwritten tragedy, endlessly crisscrossing the city with mountains of fried chicken, bubbling tteokbokki, and scandalously overpriced bubble tea, while rarely receiving the heartfelt appreciation they deserve. Local resident and preferred grump activist, Kim Joo-Ho, lamented, “Every time that man on the electric bike passes my apartment, he’s carrying a mountain of food, while I can barely get my takeout to stay warm from the fridge to the microwave. It's a crime against humanity!” as he contentedly chomped on a fried chicken leg. The love letter from the residents of Seoul is far from romantic; it comes wrapped in the greasy truth of convenience and the bitter taste of takeout. Delivery workers, those brave souls racing through rainstorms, snowpocalypses, and that awkward moment when the old couple in the apartment above throws a scandalous 80s-themed costume party, are often remembered only when the food arrives 10 minutes late. In a heartfelt yet absurd social media post entitled “Dear Delivery Workers, I See You,” an anonymous Seoulite uploaded a picture of soggy Korean fried chicken with the caption, “Just like the food I ordered, my love for you is both hot and cold.” The post garnered hundreds of likes and comments, mostly from people trying to determine who had the worst takeout experience. The heartbreaking irony is underscored by the fact that while residents offer a quick thumbs-up to their favorite delivery apps, the workers behind the scenes hardly enjoy a thumbs-up of their own. One devastated delivery worker, known only as “Choi the Brave,” famously stated, “They love my food but hate my face. I can bring them joy in a bag, yet I remain a mere ghost in this concrete jungle made of dreams and takeout menus.” The National Heartbreak Bureau has since advised local authorities that their next tourism campaign should champion the spirit of these invisible angels of delivery, encouraging pamphlets to be printed that read: “Ever tried showering a delivery worker with love? Just don’t whip out your phone. Deliver it with a smile instead of another five-star review!” Onlookers are now catching whispers of a pop-up cafe being planned to pay homage to the delivery workers, where patrons can only pay for their drinks with love notes and supportive handshakes – because nothing says “I appreciate you” quite like sweaty palms and awkward eye contact over a cup of overpriced coffee. As Seoul transitions into yet another season of late-night cravings and rampant convenience, experts predict that a growing movement may lead to the reverberation of three simple words echoing through the alleyways: “I love you!” while regrettably, the delivery workers will continue their fast-paced jig through the city, hoping against hope that one day their sacrifices will be more than just a side order of kimchi. For now, Seoul searches for a novel way to express remorse through extra soy sauce packets, hoping that soon enough, one glance at a delivery worker will ignite some collective soul-searching among its noodle-hungry, heart-laden citizens.