It was 4 p.m. until I had to be anywhere, and I had fallen asleep before nine the night before, so at 7 a.m. on a Friday I was left wondering what to do. Being so delusionally tired the night before I only vaguely remembered a soccer field full of people, bright lights flashing all sorts of things I didn't understand, and loud crowds making their way around outdoor restaurants and make-shift food stands. When I stepped out of my motel, it was as though the city were abandoned. The only movement I could see were the many tanks filled with crabs, clams, fish, squid, octupus, and some kind of snake-things that were placed in aquariums outside of every other building.
All I had been eating were health bars I had packed, and I was craving some real food. Immediately I realized the problem--even if I could read the menu (which I couldn't), I wouldn't know what anything was (which I didn't). The only recognizable thing was the fast food and the numerous amounts of french pastry shops. Begrudgingly, I bought something from Paris Baguette, a popular chain in South Korea. Later I would have McDonald's french fries.
My first day of training went well, and the teachers all assured me yes, I would feel this overwhelmed, lost, and crazy for about a month. Not only are there a million books for each class, they are all different, with their own set of rules, along with different homework and vocabulary protocol. Not to mention I have a finite amount of time to memorize student names that don't stick in mind all that easily, figure out how to teach in general, send out report cards (?!), and goodness knows what else. All I can do is give it time, but for now the children I teach are old enough and smart enough to have conversations with, and they really are very sweet.
After school ended at 9:05 p.m., all the teachers, my manager, the school director, and the head boss of everyone went out to dinner to celebrate Elena, the girl I was replacing's departure and my arrival. We walked back in the direction of my motel (where the street had inexplicably come back to life), up a flight of stairs, took off our shoes at sat on the floor at a very long, very low table. We were having Gogigui, Korean BBQ. Immediately seven bottles of beer, five bottles of Soju (a mild liquor that tastses somewhat like sake) and a bottle of coke was set down at the table. Different sides of vegtables were already surrounding the pit of hot coals inset into the table. Tentatively I looked around, and chopsticks were already in hands and picking out different pieces of spicy food. My director poured my glass, then politely reminded me to next time hold it with both hands. I asked for one teacher to pass the beer, and he told me he would pour it--you're not allowed to pour your own. Just when I was cursing myself for forgetting every single piece of cultural research I had done, the server handed me cooking utensils. The meat was thrown onto the grill. My seat was ideal for cooking dinner, another important aspect of Korean culture I had forgot about. I hadn't eaten meat in three years but, well, cheers: here's to a new culture.
The man in charge of the entire school, I noticed, had asked Elena to stand up twice to make a speech. Already not someone comfortable with the attention of an entire room on her, she was now desperately but politely trying to ward off a third appeal. I was just thinking how lucky I was when I realized I was being told to stand myself. He was trying to get me to make a speech but ironically, as a man who runs an English-teaching school, he knows literally no English at all. I feigned confusion for as long as I could, but suddenly two hands were under my arms pulling me up from the floor. I was on my feet, and my wasted boss was now massaging my arms saying a lot of words I didn't understand.
"He says you look Korean," said one of the Korean teachers.
We laughed and I tried to gain some distance, but then he said a lot of other things in Korean, during which he never let go of me, and at one point he even moved my hair off of my shoulder. I looked into the one person's eyes who could translate, the only one who could help me out of this situation. Loudly and in perfect English--because she knew he wouldn't understand--she said, "He's not actually saying any words any more. There is nothing to translate."
Finally, after he was done rambling I was allowed to sit back down. I imagine my face was as red as the raw meat I was supposed to have been cooking. Thank god for Soju.
Besides the fact that so many different levels of co-workers were drinking (fairly heavily) together, and despite the fact that what had happened with my new boss would not be okay in any way back home, I was more intruiged by a different aspect of the night--the respect this man had even as a wasted mess. No one was allowed to send him home. Everyone laughed when they thought they were supposed to laugh. No one made a sound during his "speech", of which no one (English or Korean) understood a word. No one ate when he was talking. They made leaving sound like his idea, then we all pretended to go home so as not to insult him. In Korea, the faults that are displayed are either ignored or accepted as human nature, but nothing transends the inherent societal hierarchy that has been embedded--whether it stems from gender, class, work policy, or tradition it is still too soon to tell. I will say, though, that I noticed I did not put up much of a fight, and even laughed at his Korean jokes when it was my cue.
No comments:
Post a Comment