It was a bleak and wet Friday night when I bravely headed downtown to addle my brain with cheap alcohol. I was accompanied by a gaggle of fellow teachers who have yet to be introduced and the infamous Little Spoon.
The new teachers were a married couple known to me as Tiny and Justice and a cheerful chap from Connecticut called Dubs.
A brief introduction. Tiny and Justice are not actually characters from a new cartoon or a comic book, crime fighting duo. I named Tiny as such because she is not tall, a hilarious and astute nickname I'm sure you'll agree and one that requires a rapier like wit to think up.
Justice is her husband and there is very little reason for his nickname (which nobody,including me actually uses, it's purely for this blog) other than it sounds like his last name.
Then there is Dubs. I have often felt that Americans from the east coast have a closer sense of humour and political outlook with Brits than the rest of America, there seems more self deprecating humour and a more objective world view. Dubs is only 23 years old but more than vindicates my ridiculous, wild generalisation about a nation of over 300 million people. Because despite being the youngest teacher, he has a much older head on his shoulders.
Not literally obviously, that would be bizarre. In fact that would be so freakish I frankly wouldn't be friends with him.
So the four of them are drinking and laughing whilst I am drinking and thinking. I leave all this idle merriment to them as I have important thoughts to ponder. Something has caught my eye...
Tiny and Little Spoon are standing up, (or at least I think they are it can be hard to tell) and despite my fantastic 20/20, eyes of the hawk vision, I can't tell who is the smallest. As you can imagine this is a pressing matter and it leads me to invent the worlds greatest one on one competition.
"Oi, how about a small off?"
Some loud mouthed, drunken yob has just shouted at the two girls. What a dick. Everyone looks at me. Oh that was me.
Through the mists of inebriation I had devised what seemed like a gripping and hysterical sport. Loosely based around the concept of a "dance off" but without the stupid dancing and with more emphasis on being small.
I explain it, and lick my lips as I wait for the feedback to my fantastic idea. They are going to love this, who wouldn't? Nobody is laughing. Fair enough, still trying to get to grips with the rules and a little in awe. Tiny has her eyebrows raised and is looking at me as if I had burst into her family home on Christmas Day and pissed on the childrens presents.
Justice and Dubs look bemused and Little Spoon is eating popcorn. It's just me and Tiny, face to face, well no, face to waist. It is here that I should explain that despite her size she might be the loudest woman currently residing in Asia. Justice is a quietly spoken man who thinks carefully before making a considered and interesting point. Tiny is a megaphone trapped inside a human form.
"WHAT THE HELL IS A SMALL OFF?"
I thought I had explained, oh well I'll explain again.
She stands back to back with Little Spoon and we see who is smaller; we all cheer and laugh and the victor is the smallest one who wins...some mild praise and head patting.
Actually it's not as good as I had first thought. As I explain it again I'm beginning to doubt whether it will ever become the global phenomenon I had envisaged. I know lots of small girls back in the UK, some of them are reading this. They wont have known until now that I had planned on signing them up on my return to a sort of Small Off Federation, like the professional wrestling organisations. I was going to take them on tour....
My dreams are in tatters. This is a rubbish sport, nothing even happens and the winner doesn't even win anything. Not only that but the loser doesn't mind losing and the whole event takes about 2 seconds. I might be an idiot.
Tiny calls me an idiot.So that's that confirmed.
Little Spoon is finally paying attention and says she will punch me "in the jugular". I doubt she can reach, but I refrain from her telling her so. Still Dubs seems to like it and Justice is sort of smiling, so maybe deep down he thought it was great but didn't want to go through divorce proceedings in Korea.
We finish our beers and decide to put this ridiclous idea that Dubs came up with, behind us and go to sing at a Norebang (Korean Karaoke)...and you will hear all about my dulcet tones next time.
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Friday, 23 July 2010
Children Are The Future...
Or so the saying goes. And it is going to be one drab, unimaginative and cretinous future if my students are anything to go by. Well that's harsh, some of them are as sharp as a quite sharp thing and some of them are as entertaining as a small child with no background in the entertainment industry can be. But some of them...where to start?
Allow me to introduce you to Olivia and Sophia. Remember that all Korean students have English names for the English teachers to use. Usually these are normal, although it is often down to the quirk of which teacher chose their names, hence why I have taught a Coo Coo the Panda, an Optimus Prime and a kid called Clown.
Evidently the teachers who bestowed these children with names had far more fervent imaginations than Olivia and Sophia. Every class ends with a project, a presentation to me where the kids can show their flair and invention. Olivia and Sophia have been reading a story about a time machine and their project is to produce a presentation about where they would go in a time machine, complete with a poster to show the wonders they saw.
So I sell it to them, like an enthusiastic double glazing pitch. "You have been given a time machine, where will you go? Perhaps back to see Dinosaurs, or maybe a thousand years into the future, imagine what you might find, anything you can think of is fine, write it down, tell me about it".
I leave them to it. Ah there they go, scribbling away, I wonder whether they will delve into the deepest parts of human history or fly boldly into an uncertain future, hundreds or even thousands of years from now. A childs imagination is a joy...
Me: "So guys, what year are you going to travel to?"
Sophia: "2020"
Me: "What?"
Olivia: "2020 teacher, just finish University."
I look at them and realise I'm shaking my head. "This is not a chance to cut out 10 years of being a child, you will still be 13 when you get there, it is to see what the world is like, understand?"
Sophia: "Ahhh...Yes, okay 2050 then."
Genius. They have the adventurous spirit of an agoraphobic.
At this point I should explain that with some of the slightly younger children we play games inbetween the work. Catch a ball, hide a marker pen, all the classics loved by people across the globe.
And the fallback game for any class is Hangman.
One class of twelve loud, little pip-sqeaks loves Hangman and I make them come up one by one to do a word or two from the story we are reading. But they do not play the game by the conventional system. They simply shout out random words from the book. Eventually I get them to try letters unless they are sure they know the answer, but there can be two words up without a letter filled in and it will be incessant shouts of "X,K,Q,P".
So I stop them and explain very very slowly that almost every English word must have a vowel in it. I write the vowels on the board and say "So if a word is there you MUST try one of these, so do not stop trying these letters until the word has at least one. Understand?"
They shout yes. I repeat myself, and ask them to tell me the vowels. They do it. The kid standing by the board has written a hangman of two words and not a letter has been found yet. I remind them that both words must have one of the letters I have on the board and then I say "Okay, carry on".
Pip-squeak 1: "K"
Pip-squeak 2: "Y...no B B B"
Idiots. No wonder you eat fucking dogs, get out of my class.
Suppress the hatred, let the stick man hang by the neck until he is dead. "Dead"...that's two fucking vowels got it?
And then there is my small class of four teenagers, three boys and one girl. In Korea the behaviour of the two can sometimes overlap in a way that back home would be met with raised eyebrows. Boys will hold hands. In fact they will also have pencil cases with Hello Kitty cartoons on and various other "girly" emblems.
I am writing on the board for my fairly disinterested gaggle of teens when one of the boys suddenly shouts "Teacher you very handsome". I stop writing, look at him and say "Erm...thankyou, now carry on with the reading".
Rather than have his peers laugh at him in the good old fashioned, homophobic way that we all know and love, his friends shout agreement and then the chant starts. The hands of one start drumming on the table and the mantra "Handsome, Handsome, Handsome" begins to echo like a highly inappropriate bass line around the room.
Before I have turned full circle to stop him, all 4 of the class are chanting and one of them has hastily scrawled down handsome in big red letters on a piece of paper that he is wildy waving above his bulbous head like some retard at a protest march.
This is a problem. They are being disruptive and I stop them, but what action to take? If I call for a Korean member of staff to discipline them I need to file a report and explain my course of action to a manager.
I can imagine that "Well you see I had to send them down to you as they were calling me handsome. Yes handsome, and last week they told me I had fashionable shoes, it has to stop."
I was going to include a photograph of some of the children, whether the ones in question or the ones I like, but then I realised it could lead to my being identified and then obviously fired. Frankly if I was teaching your children, you'd probably want me fired too, but then again hopefully your children don't have the creative flair and memory of a satsuma.
Allow me to introduce you to Olivia and Sophia. Remember that all Korean students have English names for the English teachers to use. Usually these are normal, although it is often down to the quirk of which teacher chose their names, hence why I have taught a Coo Coo the Panda, an Optimus Prime and a kid called Clown.
Evidently the teachers who bestowed these children with names had far more fervent imaginations than Olivia and Sophia. Every class ends with a project, a presentation to me where the kids can show their flair and invention. Olivia and Sophia have been reading a story about a time machine and their project is to produce a presentation about where they would go in a time machine, complete with a poster to show the wonders they saw.
So I sell it to them, like an enthusiastic double glazing pitch. "You have been given a time machine, where will you go? Perhaps back to see Dinosaurs, or maybe a thousand years into the future, imagine what you might find, anything you can think of is fine, write it down, tell me about it".
I leave them to it. Ah there they go, scribbling away, I wonder whether they will delve into the deepest parts of human history or fly boldly into an uncertain future, hundreds or even thousands of years from now. A childs imagination is a joy...
Me: "So guys, what year are you going to travel to?"
Sophia: "2020"
Me: "What?"
Olivia: "2020 teacher, just finish University."
I look at them and realise I'm shaking my head. "This is not a chance to cut out 10 years of being a child, you will still be 13 when you get there, it is to see what the world is like, understand?"
Sophia: "Ahhh...Yes, okay 2050 then."
Genius. They have the adventurous spirit of an agoraphobic.
At this point I should explain that with some of the slightly younger children we play games inbetween the work. Catch a ball, hide a marker pen, all the classics loved by people across the globe.
And the fallback game for any class is Hangman.
One class of twelve loud, little pip-sqeaks loves Hangman and I make them come up one by one to do a word or two from the story we are reading. But they do not play the game by the conventional system. They simply shout out random words from the book. Eventually I get them to try letters unless they are sure they know the answer, but there can be two words up without a letter filled in and it will be incessant shouts of "X,K,Q,P".
So I stop them and explain very very slowly that almost every English word must have a vowel in it. I write the vowels on the board and say "So if a word is there you MUST try one of these, so do not stop trying these letters until the word has at least one. Understand?"
They shout yes. I repeat myself, and ask them to tell me the vowels. They do it. The kid standing by the board has written a hangman of two words and not a letter has been found yet. I remind them that both words must have one of the letters I have on the board and then I say "Okay, carry on".
Pip-squeak 1: "K"
Pip-squeak 2: "Y...no B B B"
Idiots. No wonder you eat fucking dogs, get out of my class.
Suppress the hatred, let the stick man hang by the neck until he is dead. "Dead"...that's two fucking vowels got it?
And then there is my small class of four teenagers, three boys and one girl. In Korea the behaviour of the two can sometimes overlap in a way that back home would be met with raised eyebrows. Boys will hold hands. In fact they will also have pencil cases with Hello Kitty cartoons on and various other "girly" emblems.
I am writing on the board for my fairly disinterested gaggle of teens when one of the boys suddenly shouts "Teacher you very handsome". I stop writing, look at him and say "Erm...thankyou, now carry on with the reading".
Rather than have his peers laugh at him in the good old fashioned, homophobic way that we all know and love, his friends shout agreement and then the chant starts. The hands of one start drumming on the table and the mantra "Handsome, Handsome, Handsome" begins to echo like a highly inappropriate bass line around the room.
Before I have turned full circle to stop him, all 4 of the class are chanting and one of them has hastily scrawled down handsome in big red letters on a piece of paper that he is wildy waving above his bulbous head like some retard at a protest march.
This is a problem. They are being disruptive and I stop them, but what action to take? If I call for a Korean member of staff to discipline them I need to file a report and explain my course of action to a manager.
I can imagine that "Well you see I had to send them down to you as they were calling me handsome. Yes handsome, and last week they told me I had fashionable shoes, it has to stop."
I was going to include a photograph of some of the children, whether the ones in question or the ones I like, but then I realised it could lead to my being identified and then obviously fired. Frankly if I was teaching your children, you'd probably want me fired too, but then again hopefully your children don't have the creative flair and memory of a satsuma.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
The Psycho, The Russian and Richard.
Saturday 5th June...
It's time to hit Busan. Little Spoon knocks on my door and we head to the train station, stopping quickly to buy a couple of bottles of Soju for the trip. Afterall we are going by train and no journey on public transport is complete without getting needlessly drunk and making your fellow passengers feel uncomfortable.
As the train pulls into Busan, we leap off in a haze of excitement about the wonders of seeing a festival based around sandcastles built by grown men. But we need to get money first. I have only $100 on me as I foolishly left money at my apartment, and who knows how much a beer is in Busan? What will I spend on food? How much will the hotel cost? These are all questions I need answering. Not the most grave and important questions facing mankind granted; but questions nevertheless.
The machine swallows my card. Brilliant. Fucking Koreans. The xenophobia passes as I look over and see that Little Spoon is merrily requesting $600! She is not going to spend that in one night and one day, so I should be able to borrow money if needs be.
I look at her. She looks extremely cheerful and is humming to herself. I wonder why she is taking out so much money "Erm...how much did you mean to withdraw".
Spoon looks at me as if I have asked her what country we are in or how we got here. "Sixty dollars obviously". Ah, okay.
Me: "But you've just entered 600,000 won"
Spoon: "Er yeah..duh, and a dollar is 1000 won".
Me: "Well quite. So if a dollar is 1000 won, then 60 dollars is 1000 multiplied by 60, which is what?"
She frowns. She looks upwards and bites her bottom lip, I can hear the cogs grinding inside her head. "Oh shit, no, I need to put it back".
For a second it looks as if she might try to post the money back into the machine, but instead we meander off to find Blancquita and her friend Nancy.
We meet them and a couple of other teachers and get down to some dedicated drinking. And it is at this point that we meet an unlikely trio of Korean girls. My memory is a little fuzzy, but during the night our group was joined by a friendly Korean girl, her gigantic and miserable friend nicknamed "The Russian" and a third girl who seems rather agitated and aggressive who I shall call "The Psycho".
Nobody explained why "The Russian" was named as she was, but I put it down to either the fact that she seemed as happy as someone who had just won a holiday to a Gulag or an unnatural love of potatoes and vodka.
We arrived at the beach to observe the festival and I will have to take back some of my sneering criticism. The sandcastles and carvings were insanely detailed. It must take genuine talent to produce, but if I was being a grumpy, killjoy twat then I might argue it was talent that could be put to better use. And I am.
And then we sat down in a circle and began talking. Within seconds, The Psycho has suddenly blurted out.. "I tell you something, story about my friend Richard".
A story about a man I'd never met called Richard? I was all ears.
The Psycho begins...
"So, I have English friend, name is a Richard." So far so good, nice to have some information at the start of a story about who it's about and where he's from etc. Carry on...
"And Richard have some problem when he get to Korea. Have problem with his school and with place to stay. I know friend who can help him so I get him better job and give him number of person to find good price for place to stay."
I check the rest of the group, yes as I thought nobody is exactly gripped yet. Frankly this story about Richard better pick up soon or I'm off to look at a sandcastle. But it sure does pick up...
"Now I am woman. I have the pussy YES?"
Bit of a tangent here, but we all nod in agreement, she is a woman and she has well "a" pussy certainly, I don't want to correct her use of the word "the" it just seems petty.
"So if I want to give this pussy to man I can do whenever I like. So I help Richard with job, and what does he send me in text message? I tell you. He says 'Oh thankyou so much, you have been so helpful to me, you are such a nice girl, I don't know how to thank you.'
Ah nice message, she must have been pleased with that text from Richard...
"So I text back to him...FUCK YOU RICHARD"
Wow. I look at the group and yep everyone is taken aback. Shit even The Russian appears to have awoken from her maudlin slumber to make a face that suggests the reply was a tad unorthodox.
"Fucking Richard, think you get this pussy because you say I am nice. FUCK YOU RICHARD, don't text me all nice words FUCKING SHIT".
And so it turns out that she told Richard in no uncertain terms to never contact her again. I would love to have seen Richards face when the familiar beep beep of a text message went off and he eagerly opened up a text to see something along the lines of "Don't mention it, glad I could help, will see you soon".
Poor Richard. The atmosphere had turned dark, The Russian heaved her towering frame off the sand and drags The Psycho and an apologetic friendly Korean off into the darkness. And as they weave away between the sandcastles, for a second I think I hear the faint sobs of Richard upon the nights breeze.
Little Spoon, Blancquita and Nancy suggest we hit a cocktail bar the next day and we spend the hours getting obliterated and wondering what became of Richard.
Until next time...
This is Monkey Roberts.
It's time to hit Busan. Little Spoon knocks on my door and we head to the train station, stopping quickly to buy a couple of bottles of Soju for the trip. Afterall we are going by train and no journey on public transport is complete without getting needlessly drunk and making your fellow passengers feel uncomfortable.
As the train pulls into Busan, we leap off in a haze of excitement about the wonders of seeing a festival based around sandcastles built by grown men. But we need to get money first. I have only $100 on me as I foolishly left money at my apartment, and who knows how much a beer is in Busan? What will I spend on food? How much will the hotel cost? These are all questions I need answering. Not the most grave and important questions facing mankind granted; but questions nevertheless.
The machine swallows my card. Brilliant. Fucking Koreans. The xenophobia passes as I look over and see that Little Spoon is merrily requesting $600! She is not going to spend that in one night and one day, so I should be able to borrow money if needs be.
I look at her. She looks extremely cheerful and is humming to herself. I wonder why she is taking out so much money "Erm...how much did you mean to withdraw".
Spoon looks at me as if I have asked her what country we are in or how we got here. "Sixty dollars obviously". Ah, okay.
Me: "But you've just entered 600,000 won"
Spoon: "Er yeah..duh, and a dollar is 1000 won".
Me: "Well quite. So if a dollar is 1000 won, then 60 dollars is 1000 multiplied by 60, which is what?"
She frowns. She looks upwards and bites her bottom lip, I can hear the cogs grinding inside her head. "Oh shit, no, I need to put it back".
For a second it looks as if she might try to post the money back into the machine, but instead we meander off to find Blancquita and her friend Nancy.
We meet them and a couple of other teachers and get down to some dedicated drinking. And it is at this point that we meet an unlikely trio of Korean girls. My memory is a little fuzzy, but during the night our group was joined by a friendly Korean girl, her gigantic and miserable friend nicknamed "The Russian" and a third girl who seems rather agitated and aggressive who I shall call "The Psycho".
Nobody explained why "The Russian" was named as she was, but I put it down to either the fact that she seemed as happy as someone who had just won a holiday to a Gulag or an unnatural love of potatoes and vodka.
We arrived at the beach to observe the festival and I will have to take back some of my sneering criticism. The sandcastles and carvings were insanely detailed. It must take genuine talent to produce, but if I was being a grumpy, killjoy twat then I might argue it was talent that could be put to better use. And I am.
And then we sat down in a circle and began talking. Within seconds, The Psycho has suddenly blurted out.. "I tell you something, story about my friend Richard".
A story about a man I'd never met called Richard? I was all ears.
The Psycho begins...
"So, I have English friend, name is a Richard." So far so good, nice to have some information at the start of a story about who it's about and where he's from etc. Carry on...
"And Richard have some problem when he get to Korea. Have problem with his school and with place to stay. I know friend who can help him so I get him better job and give him number of person to find good price for place to stay."
I check the rest of the group, yes as I thought nobody is exactly gripped yet. Frankly this story about Richard better pick up soon or I'm off to look at a sandcastle. But it sure does pick up...
"Now I am woman. I have the pussy YES?"
Bit of a tangent here, but we all nod in agreement, she is a woman and she has well "a" pussy certainly, I don't want to correct her use of the word "the" it just seems petty.
"So if I want to give this pussy to man I can do whenever I like. So I help Richard with job, and what does he send me in text message? I tell you. He says 'Oh thankyou so much, you have been so helpful to me, you are such a nice girl, I don't know how to thank you.'
Ah nice message, she must have been pleased with that text from Richard...
"So I text back to him...FUCK YOU RICHARD"
Wow. I look at the group and yep everyone is taken aback. Shit even The Russian appears to have awoken from her maudlin slumber to make a face that suggests the reply was a tad unorthodox.
"Fucking Richard, think you get this pussy because you say I am nice. FUCK YOU RICHARD, don't text me all nice words FUCKING SHIT".
And so it turns out that she told Richard in no uncertain terms to never contact her again. I would love to have seen Richards face when the familiar beep beep of a text message went off and he eagerly opened up a text to see something along the lines of "Don't mention it, glad I could help, will see you soon".
Poor Richard. The atmosphere had turned dark, The Russian heaved her towering frame off the sand and drags The Psycho and an apologetic friendly Korean off into the darkness. And as they weave away between the sandcastles, for a second I think I hear the faint sobs of Richard upon the nights breeze.
Little Spoon, Blancquita and Nancy suggest we hit a cocktail bar the next day and we spend the hours getting obliterated and wondering what became of Richard.
Until next time...
This is Monkey Roberts.
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Roberts Arrives In Daegu.
Friday 4th June.
My train pulls up in Daegu and I look out of the window at the view. Looks like a shit hole. Luckily, once I met the manager of my school and jumped in a taxi, the rest of the city looked much more promising. I'm seriously tired and even the rush of being HIV negative cannot hold back this fatigue.
My manager asks me if I want to come and see the school this evening. I most definitely do not. She asks if I would like to meet my fellow teachers. Not really, I'm imagining five Wisconsin Kids and four guitar twiddling, ice cream salesmen who wont shut up.
But being the refined gentleman that I am, I say I would love to see the school and meet my colleagues, and inwardly vow to be as polite as necessary and then get home and watch Planet of the Apes on my laptop.
We arrive at my apartment and I am pleasantly surprised that it's not a complete hovel with a hippy as a flatmate. I've got my own place thank fuck and it's walking distance to the school. Not only that but I am asked if I would like a couple of weeks off before I start working and $300 to tide me over? I look at my manager as if she might be mental, but it seems she is serious and relatively sane. The day just got better.
I meet the other nine teachers and forget their names within seconds. They are finishing work and talking about getting food. I for one am definitely not going out or going to drink. I am too tired to talk, and want to spend one night without a random cretin pestering me with questions.
No, I am without any question going home and not to eat or drink.
"Four more beers please. Wow only 3 dollars a beer, that's good and this Soju stuff is a great shot."
What a failure.
But it's panning out well. Everyone is cool, and this Korean spirit "Soju" is like drinking water but gets you drunk. And it's all cheap. Taken alongside my blood test results and the failure to pass training by the weeks most irritating gimp, this is turning into a positively okay Friday.
I will now introduce you to one character from my group of co-workers. From here on, she will be known as "Little Spoon"; due to her diminutive stature and the fact that she has the general knowledge of a kitchen utensil.
Myself and three other teachers stay drinking for half the night and Little Spoon is one of them. She is a good laugh, as you can laugh with her at something witty you have said and also at her when she says something absolutely ridiculous. That is double the amusement.
Little Spoon says she wants to go to the nearby beach resort of Busan tomorrow to meet up with Blancquita (another teacher from our school) and some friends of hers from training. Apparently there is a sandcastle and sand carving festival on the beach. Well that sounds like...well like...erm possibly the worst festival that anyone in the history of the human race has ever devised. But with $300 in my pocket, begging to be pissed down the drain on a pointless excursion to a "festival" that a toddler would be ashamed to admit thinking up, I say an enthusiastic yes to my invite.
And that will take us to Busan, where I encounter sandcastles and psychos and learn the fate of a poor soul named Richard.
Until next time...
Monkey Roberts.
My train pulls up in Daegu and I look out of the window at the view. Looks like a shit hole. Luckily, once I met the manager of my school and jumped in a taxi, the rest of the city looked much more promising. I'm seriously tired and even the rush of being HIV negative cannot hold back this fatigue.
My manager asks me if I want to come and see the school this evening. I most definitely do not. She asks if I would like to meet my fellow teachers. Not really, I'm imagining five Wisconsin Kids and four guitar twiddling, ice cream salesmen who wont shut up.
But being the refined gentleman that I am, I say I would love to see the school and meet my colleagues, and inwardly vow to be as polite as necessary and then get home and watch Planet of the Apes on my laptop.
We arrive at my apartment and I am pleasantly surprised that it's not a complete hovel with a hippy as a flatmate. I've got my own place thank fuck and it's walking distance to the school. Not only that but I am asked if I would like a couple of weeks off before I start working and $300 to tide me over? I look at my manager as if she might be mental, but it seems she is serious and relatively sane. The day just got better.
I meet the other nine teachers and forget their names within seconds. They are finishing work and talking about getting food. I for one am definitely not going out or going to drink. I am too tired to talk, and want to spend one night without a random cretin pestering me with questions.
No, I am without any question going home and not to eat or drink.
"Four more beers please. Wow only 3 dollars a beer, that's good and this Soju stuff is a great shot."
What a failure.
But it's panning out well. Everyone is cool, and this Korean spirit "Soju" is like drinking water but gets you drunk. And it's all cheap. Taken alongside my blood test results and the failure to pass training by the weeks most irritating gimp, this is turning into a positively okay Friday.
I will now introduce you to one character from my group of co-workers. From here on, she will be known as "Little Spoon"; due to her diminutive stature and the fact that she has the general knowledge of a kitchen utensil.
Myself and three other teachers stay drinking for half the night and Little Spoon is one of them. She is a good laugh, as you can laugh with her at something witty you have said and also at her when she says something absolutely ridiculous. That is double the amusement.
Little Spoon says she wants to go to the nearby beach resort of Busan tomorrow to meet up with Blancquita (another teacher from our school) and some friends of hers from training. Apparently there is a sandcastle and sand carving festival on the beach. Well that sounds like...well like...erm possibly the worst festival that anyone in the history of the human race has ever devised. But with $300 in my pocket, begging to be pissed down the drain on a pointless excursion to a "festival" that a toddler would be ashamed to admit thinking up, I say an enthusiastic yes to my invite.
And that will take us to Busan, where I encounter sandcastles and psychos and learn the fate of a poor soul named Richard.
Until next time...
Monkey Roberts.
Training and the Wisconsin Kid.
Monday May 31st
I wake up. Something is niggling at me in the back of my mind...
Ah shit. It’s time to go to the “horrendous training”.
Thankfully Jay Hendrix is asleep and the guitar is nowhere to be seen; so I can get ready in peace and avoid any awkward explanations for why the Green Tea Ice Cream and frozen beer are untouched.
I head down to the hotel lobby to meet my fellow trainees and I’m greeted by lots of friendly faces. In fact one perhaps a little too friendly. No, not perhaps, definitely.
A gangly baffoon who looks like Tom Hanks in Big is far too chirpy and friendly for my liking. I introduce myself to him last and he is grinning at me like some simpleton who just found a cake.
His name is irrelevant, so from here on in I shall refer to him by his origin. He is the Wisconsin Kid.
He is also a fucking pain in the arse.
As we get onto the bus he is peering at random Korean signs and translating them, much to the delight and amazement of the Korean American trainees.
It turns out the Wisconsin Kid bought a Korean phrase and alphabet book a month ago and is already able to read a fair amount of Korean and speak fairly well.
That is impressive and highly irritating in equal parts.
He then turns his leering face in my direction and after reading some sign through the window says “Ah man, I just can’t make out that last word, my Korean is embarrassing.”
I grit my teeth and look around to see if anyone is on the verge of stabbing him, nobody seems too angry, but I catch my reflection in the window and realise my lip is curled and I am actually snarling at thin eye.
This false modesty and fishing for praise continues throughout the day. We sit five tests. The Wisconsin Kid passes all five, and is the only person to do so.
I fail the faculty codes test by getting a question on what classes as sexual harassment wrong.
Great. This bodes well.
Why did I think putting your hand up a colleagues skirt was not harrassment?
Next up, we are taken to a hospital to be tested for drugs, HIV and various other crap and to undergo some military style medical. I am sat in the waiting room and who should sit down next to me? Yeah it’s my best friend the Wisconsin Kid.
The kid gives me a half smile and says“Hey.”
I narrow my eyes, turn to him and say in a flat, sardonic voice “Hey”.
The Kid: “So how many languages do you speak.”
Me: “One. Sort of.”
The Kid: “Oh why sort of?”
Me: “I can say rabbit in German, but I wouldn’t say it’s a second language”.
The Kid nods and looks at me with sympathy, as if the hospital check had just revealed I had pancreatic cancer.
“Oh I see. I speak five languages.”
I look at him for perhaps 5 seconds without speaking, and then turn away and pretend to look hard at a Korean sign on the wall.
I’m waiting.
If he offers to translate it for me, I’m going to grab the oxygen tank off the dying Korean on the nearby hospital bed and beat the Wisconsin Kid to death with it.
The rest of the week was a blur of boredom, frustration and the growing certainty that I was going to fail training and be back in the UK within a week.
Friday arrives.
Somehow I have passed.
Excellent, now I can go and rerun this week over and over again (only infront of children) for the next year of my life. The excitement is too much to bear. But at least I can start to pay off the crippling debts I ran up when I decided to embark on this little jaunt.
There is some other fairly good news. The results from the blood tests came back and I don’t have HIV.
That’s pleasing, as if I had failed and been told I had HIV this would have gone down as one of the worst Fridays of 2010.
Then comes the bombshell. One person in the group has failed.
Oh Wisonsin Kid, how could it be?
You immersed yourself in the culture, learnt the language and had a passion for teaching.
You speak five languages, and passed all the tests on the first day with no need to resit, and yet you’ve failed. It’s back to Wisconsin, with nothing but a Korean alphabet book and stolen memories of blood tests and bus rides.
If only you had been more like me.
Replaced your excitement and enthusiasm with my miserable attitude and apathy.
Spent less time grasping the language of our host nation and more time drinking cheap beer and complaining.
If you had done these things my friend you too could be on a train to Daegu and not a plane to Wisconsin.
This was Monkey Roberts.
I wake up. Something is niggling at me in the back of my mind...
Ah shit. It’s time to go to the “horrendous training”.
Thankfully Jay Hendrix is asleep and the guitar is nowhere to be seen; so I can get ready in peace and avoid any awkward explanations for why the Green Tea Ice Cream and frozen beer are untouched.
I head down to the hotel lobby to meet my fellow trainees and I’m greeted by lots of friendly faces. In fact one perhaps a little too friendly. No, not perhaps, definitely.
A gangly baffoon who looks like Tom Hanks in Big is far too chirpy and friendly for my liking. I introduce myself to him last and he is grinning at me like some simpleton who just found a cake.
His name is irrelevant, so from here on in I shall refer to him by his origin. He is the Wisconsin Kid.
He is also a fucking pain in the arse.
As we get onto the bus he is peering at random Korean signs and translating them, much to the delight and amazement of the Korean American trainees.
It turns out the Wisconsin Kid bought a Korean phrase and alphabet book a month ago and is already able to read a fair amount of Korean and speak fairly well.
That is impressive and highly irritating in equal parts.
He then turns his leering face in my direction and after reading some sign through the window says “Ah man, I just can’t make out that last word, my Korean is embarrassing.”
I grit my teeth and look around to see if anyone is on the verge of stabbing him, nobody seems too angry, but I catch my reflection in the window and realise my lip is curled and I am actually snarling at thin eye.
This false modesty and fishing for praise continues throughout the day. We sit five tests. The Wisconsin Kid passes all five, and is the only person to do so.
I fail the faculty codes test by getting a question on what classes as sexual harassment wrong.
Great. This bodes well.
Why did I think putting your hand up a colleagues skirt was not harrassment?
Next up, we are taken to a hospital to be tested for drugs, HIV and various other crap and to undergo some military style medical. I am sat in the waiting room and who should sit down next to me? Yeah it’s my best friend the Wisconsin Kid.
The kid gives me a half smile and says“Hey.”
I narrow my eyes, turn to him and say in a flat, sardonic voice “Hey”.
The Kid: “So how many languages do you speak.”
Me: “One. Sort of.”
The Kid: “Oh why sort of?”
Me: “I can say rabbit in German, but I wouldn’t say it’s a second language”.
The Kid nods and looks at me with sympathy, as if the hospital check had just revealed I had pancreatic cancer.
“Oh I see. I speak five languages.”
I look at him for perhaps 5 seconds without speaking, and then turn away and pretend to look hard at a Korean sign on the wall.
I’m waiting.
If he offers to translate it for me, I’m going to grab the oxygen tank off the dying Korean on the nearby hospital bed and beat the Wisconsin Kid to death with it.
The rest of the week was a blur of boredom, frustration and the growing certainty that I was going to fail training and be back in the UK within a week.
Friday arrives.
Somehow I have passed.
Excellent, now I can go and rerun this week over and over again (only infront of children) for the next year of my life. The excitement is too much to bear. But at least I can start to pay off the crippling debts I ran up when I decided to embark on this little jaunt.
There is some other fairly good news. The results from the blood tests came back and I don’t have HIV.
That’s pleasing, as if I had failed and been told I had HIV this would have gone down as one of the worst Fridays of 2010.
Then comes the bombshell. One person in the group has failed.
Oh Wisonsin Kid, how could it be?
You immersed yourself in the culture, learnt the language and had a passion for teaching.
You speak five languages, and passed all the tests on the first day with no need to resit, and yet you’ve failed. It’s back to Wisconsin, with nothing but a Korean alphabet book and stolen memories of blood tests and bus rides.
If only you had been more like me.
Replaced your excitement and enthusiasm with my miserable attitude and apathy.
Spent less time grasping the language of our host nation and more time drinking cheap beer and complaining.
If you had done these things my friend you too could be on a train to Daegu and not a plane to Wisconsin.
This was Monkey Roberts.
Saturday, 3 July 2010
Arrival, Guitars and Ice Cream.
A brief introduction to anyone who does not know me; I am teaching English in Daegu, South Korea for a year. And on the off chance that anyone reading this is from outside of my friends and family, I have no interest in posting my face or name, so imagine me as some sort of monkey (or ape).
Anyway this is all a little out of date, as I have been incredibly lazy and only just got around to blogging, but the first two instalments will deal with my arrival and with the weeks training...so let's being.
I arrive on Sunday May 30th at 8pm to my hotel in Seoul after more than 15 hours of travelling and facing the prospect of starting training the next morning. A weeks training that I had just been told two days earlier was "horrendous" by my recruiter. Excellent.
Needless to say I was not exactly skipping with delight up to my hotel door, and my mild misery turned to a deep despair when I opened the door to be confronted with a long haired, beared man, standing in the middle of the room in boxer shorts whilst playing a guitar. We both stopped dead, and I half mumbled an apology. Somehow I had opened the wrong door and stumbled into the lair of a man who could plausibly pass for Jesus of Nazareth.
But then he spoke and it was neither to bless me or offer me bread and fish. "Oh hey dude." Hmmm...he had been expecting me and he almost certainly wasn't from Nazareth; in fact I was beginning to suspect that he might be American.
It turned out that my suspicions were well founded; he was from California, his name was "Jay" and he enjoyed the words "dude" and "awesome". He also enjoyed strumming out of tune chords on his guitar. The company had decided in their infinite wisdom that a jet lagged employee just arriving would benefit from not having his own hotel room. No. I would be best served to share a room with a total stranger who I have absolutely fucking nothing in common with.
As apes go, I am fairly level headed and easy going; but I would be lying if I said that by 9pm that Sunday, I would not have been a little pleased if he had slipped on the balcony and tragically fallen through the window to plunge to an untimely death.
But of course he didn't. Typical.
Instead he tried to talk to me about guitars.I told him I could play "Ding Dong Bell", and he seemed happy if not wowed.I vaguely recall mentioning Slash and Eric Clapton in the vain hope that he might leap in the air in delight and perhaps brain himself on the cupboard door I had left open. No such luck. Instead, he began an indepth survey into my opinions on a myriad guitar players who nobody other than him has ever heard of.
He showed me a picture of someone who looked as if he probably weaves his own clothes from recycled spider webs and asked me if I liked his music. This called for drastic action, I needed to end this dialogue quickly and ideally without bloodshed.
I told him I liked Coldplay. Job Done.
Feeling rather smug, I began to look through the next days materials for training when Jay asked me if I would like some Ice Cream. I frowned and looked up to see him stood disconcertingly close with an outstretched hand that was clutching a tub of Haagen Daz Ice Cream. The tub appeared to be soft and sure enough as I peered into the pot the lurid green Ice Cream was half melted and of course half eaten.
He beemed at me."It's err Green Tea flavour".I nodded and pretended to look interested "Ah yes, so it is 'Haagen Daz Green Tea Ice Cream'"; I was now feeling pretty confident about the reading comprehension test tomorrow.
He still has his hand outstretched and appered to be thinking of something to add to his sales pitch..."If you errr like Green Tea and you like Ice Cream, it's awesome".
I'm sure it was.
But I don't like green tea, and I don't like ice cream when it's not frozen. Nor do I like eating peoples leftovers. I thanked him and said I might look at it later. And then there came music to my ears and for the first time in over an hour it wasn't coming from Jays guitar. "I'm going to meet up with some buddies so I'll see you later". YES.
And as he left he said "Oh there's beer if you want it, but I put it in the freezer by mistake so it's frozen". Thanks Jay, that sounds about as useful as half a pot of defrosted ice cream.
And that is the end of California Jay. Not literally, but from then on I barely saw his friendly, bristled face and the rest of what was a fairly painful week was dominated by the Wisconsin Kid. But that's for another day.
Until next time, this is Monkey Roberts.
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