Amanda Takes Off...

Sometimes I get emails or comments from readers who say that I've inspired them to come to Korea (or stay away). I think, for the most part, I present a fairly positive view of Korea. However, now that I'm nearly a year removed from the worst of my jobs here, I'm ready to start presenting some of the...more nonsensical aspects of living and working in Korea.

Korean logic, Klogic, is something that defies most Westerners (and Good Man). It is, unfortunately, something that anyone coming to Korea will have to deal with. Ahhh, 'tis the nature of the beast.

Unfortunately, due to insane Korean laws, I can not name my employers. Not even when they've been found in a court of law to owe me money and the prosecutor has promised to "punish" them. Not even when they've been found to owe others over 15,000,000 won by a court of law. Not even when they got me evicted, and I have proof. Not even when they ran off and closed the school with no notice. Because, you see, if I were to name these employers, I might make them "lose face."

(Consider that your first lesson in Klogic.)

With that introduction, I present the first in an erratic series...

I
Imagine, if you will, a suddenly slightly cool fall day. Cool, but not at all unpleasant. Sitting on the floor, in a hogwon, with kindy kids.

Confused Foreigner (me): Mellanie, why is the floor heat on?
Mellanie (very rude Korean co-teacher): Because it's cold outside.
Confused Foreigner: Then why are all the windows and doors wide open, and why is the air conditioning on?
Mellanie: Because it's hot inside.

II
Imagine, if you will, a damn cold December day. Cold. A substandard heater, and strong winds blowing dust around outside.

Cool Co-Teacher: I'm going to open up the windows, it's dusty in here.
Confused Foreigner (me): But it's dusty outside.
Cool Co-Teacher: The dust only goes out. It won't come in.

Today was a weird Korean language day. I was studying flashcards while riding down an escalator and an old man (going up the escalator) leaned over far to see what I was doing. I twisted my wrist so he could see and he looked shocked. Yeah, like I can't see you. On the subway ride home, the guy I was standing next to was trying to see what I was reading and leaning over until I finally turned the book so he could see it.

I told Good Man these stories and then said, "Hey, I finally figured out how to remember 드디어." 드디어 means "finally" and it's said like deu-di-eo. "But you're going to laugh, cause you laughed about the cow."

He looked at me and laughed. I went on. "I sort of think of two girls talking to each other and one of them just had sex with her boyfriend for the first time. So the other says, 'Dude, he finally did'ya.' Can you hear it? 'DUde, he FINALLY DI yA.' OK, so it's really not that close, but otherwise I can not remember it, and if you say it fast enough, it's sort of the same."

I looked at Good Man. "Du, finally di ya."

He shook his head. "Naughty girlfriend..."

Saturday I met YJ for a language exchange. Good Man worked late, late Friday night, so I knew he wouldn't be at my house when he said he would. (I am very clever like that.)

Meeting YJ was nice, she helped me with my essay and we took pictures of each other. She bought this little camera online and the little plastic pop-up square cracked us both up.

YJ With Her Camera

On the way to meet her, I had to transfer at Sadang station. I passed a group of about 12 middle school/high school aged boys. I sensed one of them would say something and I was right. I heard a few "hi"s and walked on. But about 20 feet away, I decided to say something to them. I turned around, walked back and said, "HI!" as loudly as they had.

It was like Moses parting the waters. The boys moved to the side, leaving the sole speaker in front of me.

"HI!" I repeated.

"Uh! Oh!" He looked so scared. "Um, nice to meet you!" he said.

"No, we haven't met. First, 'Hi, how are you.' Second, 'What's your name?' Third, 'Nice to meet you.'" In typical fashion, the boy who spoke had the lowest level of English and his friends had to translate what I was saying.

After a minute or two of freaking them out, I left. Only to pass a group of 8 elementary aged boys. This time, when one said "hi!" I turned around right away. They scattered the same way fish do when you tap the glass of their aquarium. I bobbed my head, looking at all of them. "What's your name?" I said. (Koreans know how to say these things in English: Hi, what's your name, I am Korea(n), My name is..., nice to meet you.)

"My name is Crazy," said the primary offender.

"앗! 미쳤어?" I said in banmal. His friends all laughed and hit each other and I walked away.

At Sadang station, I found this ad.

Matchmaking Butterfly Ad

Duo is a matchmaking company. The ad says, roughly, "Men aren't the only ones who can be butterflies."

I had to ask Good Man what in the world that meant.

Butterflies choose their flowers, like men choose women. The ad was claiming that women can choose men, too. By comparing men to butterflies.

OK, Korea.

When I was in junior high, my brother and I spent winter vacation with my father, who lived in Arizona. He had a friend, 21 years old, Eric, if I recall correctly.

He would buy coffee at the 7-11 and shove those tiny little plastic tubs of flavored creamer in his pockets, not paying for them. I once pointed to the little sign saying they were 5 cents each, and he scoffed.

Eric loved coffee.

And I, in the way only a 14 year old girl could, loved Eric.

This crush, combined with being born between Generations X and Y, made me love coffee shops when I was in high school.

Too young to really be Gen X, I mostly missed the 'zine wave, the riot grrls movement, and raves. Five years too young to do Gen X, five years too old for Gen Y, I did manage to get into grunge music, flannel, Trainspotting and...coffee shops.

I wasn't cool enough to partake in the habits of my friends who chain-smoked, talked about dropping acid, smoking pot, or drinking liquid codeine. I was cool enough to drink coffee. I would go home, smelling cigarette smoke when I shook my head, the scent coming off of my hair. The taste of coffee, usually black, behind my teeth.

I remember ordering a triple espresso from Café Zev (Mark, remember that place?) after my classes at college (but I was in high school, yes) and being told by the lithe-gay coffee dude that he'd made a mistake and made a quadruple by accident.

"That's cool." I could handle a quad.

I lived with a lover for far too long. A lover who didn't drink coffee, but who plays into my coffee baggage. What the Hell Was I Thinking hated it when we didn't go to bed at the same time, hated that I got to sleep in later because of my class schedule (and thus, woke me up all the time), and told me—while I was doing my teacher's certification program, taking a full load of classes and student teaching 40 hours a week—that it "wasn't fair" that I would get "summer vacations" and I "since I work, you had better work, too."

I dumped What the Hell Was I Thinking halfway through my second year of grad school, which was also my first year as a teacher. And I never, ever worked summer vacations when I was a teacher in the States.

After What the Hell Was I Thinking was Dead Fan (Who Was Ten Years Older and Should Have Known How to Dump a Woman Properly, But Didn't). Dead Fan liked coffee and I spent too much money on a coffee maker for my house, hoping it would make Dead Fan more comfortable. Dead Fan didn't last long—my house was always "too warm"—but luckily, I was able to sell the coffee maker for a decent price. (Dead Fan, for the record, dumped me at the same place we had our first date, which was...a coffee date.)

Now I drink coffee when I am with people who drink coffee. I drink coffee at shops with friends and during language exchanges, and when I'm offered it at work.

I do not drink coffee at home. Good Man, however, does.

Coffee in South Korea is most often sold in sticks. A stick of instant coffee, cream and sugar added. You have to pinch the end of the stick to prevent the sugar from coming out, but the marked pinch point is always off and you end up getting sugar anyway. It's really not that fantastic.

The teacher I replaced left about a dozen sticks of coffee in the kitchen, coffee I thought would be left for the next teacher.

When Michael left Korea, he gave me coffee. Good, real coffee. My school provided me with a coffee maker, but since I don't drink coffee, it's buried under my sink.

The coffee maker and coffee have yet to meet, so I'm still giving Good Man those instant sticks. In fact, I actually had to buy a box of those instant sticks to keep having coffee around.

I bought instant coffee sticks rather than taking ten minutes to clear a space and figure out how to run a Korean coffeemaker.

I am a horrible girlfriend.

When Good Man spends the night, I let him sleep. I remember too well when I felt forced to act awake, only to crawl back into bed as soon as the door shut, as soon as the car engine turned over.

When Good Man stays over, I pour water in the teapot (an inheritance from Michael) and set the flame high while I try to decide what to wear.

By the time it's whistling, I'm dressed. I turn off the flame, pour a stick of coffee into a mug, try to pinch back the sugar. I pour in a splash of milk, stir it with an unpaired wooden chopstick.

I walk into the bedroom, place the mug on the end of the nightstand (also an inheritance from Michael), and lean across the mattress to touch Good Man's shoulder.

"Hey, [Good Man], it's 8:00. Here's your coffee. Don't miss work." I know he won't miss work, he never does, but I say it every time.

When I come home after work, I know where Good Man checked his email, where he sat with his laptop. I'll find the mug on the floor where he drank it, a light circle of dried coffee in the bottom.

2단) 아만다
Second Dan) Amanda

The date is set. February 29th, 3:00. A second time around.

Taekwondo has been so awesomely tough lately. Officer is a fantastic teacher.

And the kids have been so funny. Coverboy started teasing me a few days ago. Instead of 누나 (nuna, big sister), he was using the honorific title suffix, nim. 누님! 누님! Nunim, nunim! And then he was throwing himself on the ground in a big bow. I couldn't stop laughing. Meanwhile, Crybaby's been talking about how her birthday is tomorrow. She told me every day I saw her this week, and I brought her candy tonight.

Tonight's class was a test class, but because of work, I ended up being very late. I was in the closet changing, when Master yelled, "아만다! 끝나!" End.

If the closet hadn't been jammed with stuff, I could've kicked myself. I had seriously considered skipping class cause I thought that might happen. I threw my hands in the air and yelled back, "OK, 알게습니다!". The kids all laughed; I guess because my voice was coming from the closet.

When class was over Master smiled at me, "Sorry, fast test."

I shrugged, "Slow subway. But I came!"

He nodded and gave me a high five.

I may not have done anything, but I did show up.

Master Teasing Crybaby

The Boy I Kissed

Coverboy Making Music

Coverboy, Jamming

Coverboy's Moon Face

Monday, I was coming home from taekwondo. I spotted an apple truck, and the apples on the truck looked delicious. I looked around for whomever needed my money and only found a well-dressed woman.

She looked at me.

I looked at her and said, in Korean, "I want some apples."

"Oh, no, I do too," she said (also in Korean), "but I'm looking for the ajosshi."

I felt bad instantly and apologized a few times. She brushed off my apologies and started yelling. "Ajosshi! Ajosshi! Hurry up!"

We stood around waiting, and she finally grabbed the biggest apple within reach, used her hands to break it in half perfectly, and handed me a piece. "Eat," she said.

I took a bite of the apple. It was as delicious as I'd imagined. I looked at her, "You had a lot of power!"

"What?"

"The apple, like this," I said, imitating her tearing the apple apart.

Apple Thief Ajumma laughed and said she has to cook a lot at home.

Finally, the Car Ticketing Ajosshi came over. Apple Thief Ajumma asked him if we could just pay him. She bought a huge bag of apples for 10,000 won, I got a smaller bag (still with more than a dozen, big, juicy apples in it) for 5,000 won. Before I was able to walk away, Apple Thief Ajumma traded out three small apples in my bag for three huge apples from the bed of the truck.

I thanked her and we parted ways with a "맛있겠다 드세요!" Eat well.