Testing Times.

It is that time again. The backstraight of a term in which the students take their "level up tests" which shall determine whether they remain in their current class or move onto a higher plane of English.
It would be nice to think that whether a student makes the cut is based purely on merit, but of course it is not. If a lazy, disruptive little rodent of a child has failed several times previously the school will level them up anyway in order to keep their parents' paying the fees.

This is the by-product of a quirk of Korean culture. I say culture, but really it is just stupidity and misplaced pride. The saving face culture is fairly common in South East Asian nations and no more so than here, where a parent would rather their child earnt meaningless A grades and yet learnt nothing than faced constructive criticism and received genuine hard earnt B grades.

For example I have to give an A+ for homework that is 100% completed even if every question is wrong. Suits me fine, as it means I don't have to check any of the answers or actually do my job.

So we enter the level up tests and understandably the children loathe them. A droning 35 minute MP3 plays out tedious conversations that they must answer questions on to prove their listening skills. There are then reading tests, speaking tests and writing tests. All packed back to back in an avalanche of misery and boredom.

But not misery and boredom for me. I drink tea and read articles about Britain's fattest man on Wikipedia. Whilst my students screw their faces in concentration and apply themselves dilligently to the task at hand, I have just learnt about a monstrously large man from the 18th Century who was best friends with a Polish midget.

This is what I dreamed teaching would be like. And I get a stop watch to hang around my neck so I can pretend briefly that I have the hand to eye coordination to make the cut as a PE teacher.

Level Up is good to me. I settle down to sip my tea and peruse as many puerile Wikipedia links as possible when some of the test conversations somehow force their way into my conciousness. Read out in the most whining American accent imaginable these rambling conversations somehow become essential listening.

It dawns on me that the characters created in these audio exams are so irritating and odious that if they were real I would have to track them down and bludgeon them to death with a lead pipe.

The MP3 booms out "Question 42, listen to the conversation and answer the question".

The conversation unfolds where a boy named Mike eagerly tells his female friend at school that he has great news. His older brother Matt has moved out from home and now Mike will get his big brothers bedroom which is far larger and has a great view.

I don't mind Mike, he seems a reasonable chap as these conversations go. But his friend Sarah replies:

"That's good news? Really? I seem to remember that Matt was very messy. I don't even know how you put up with him for so long. You think it is good to have his room? I don't think so, you are going to have to tidy the awful mess that he no doubt left behind. I don't envy you at all."

The narrator on the MP3 intones: "Question: Why does Sarah think Matt leaving is not good news?"

I almost leap from seat and scream "Because she's a lazy, miserable bitch."

Fuck you Sarah with your snidy sarcasm. And don't assume that Matt left the room a mess, he was moving out and probably took all his things with him, you whining Mary Poppins wannabe.

I looked around the room, and was startled to see my own rage wasn't shared. The kids were just writing away, oblivious to how much I wanted to reach into the speaker and throttle "Sarah".

It is foolish of me to get so animated during the one week in which I can afford to do nothing. Next week I will be back to teaching, back to trying to engage with the children and nourish their minds with knowledge. But I am not the best at being cheerful and chirpy, something that might not have been lost on you.

I need tips. I need to listen to other teachers talking about their lessons, and garner useful ideas and techniques.
I listen to two such characters on a subway journey downtown. I've never seen these two westerners before but they're teachers and they're discussing cutting edge techniques for the first day of class.

I should take some notes as it is only a few weeks away before I start first day classes all over again.

Teacher 1: "So what did you do for the first day last time around?"

Teacher 2: "I did a great little thing where each kid has to ask the one sat next to them what their name is, how old they are and then what they want to be when they grow up. Then they introduce each other to the class."

Well, well looks like I might be in the presence of genius. Teacher 1 certainly seems to think so...

Teacher 1: "Oh yeah that is excellent, really interesting idea I should do that one next time around."

Teacher 2: "Definitely, it's interesting and a lot of fun for the kids."

Yes it sounds like a right barrel of laughs. I am sure it is interesting and fun for the kids, provided that the kids' idea of what is fun and interesting is watching paint dry.

Grey paint that is. Slow drying, grey paint, that has been painted onto a featureless wall during a particularly drab and overcast day.

I take a swig from my open bottle of Soju and shake my head. Those two are a disgrace to teaching.

Holiday Heroes And Animal Insecurities.

I have just returned from an interesting discussion with my favourite class of students. This particular band of smiling little scallywags actually seem to enjoy being in class and work incredibly hard.

The more they work, the less guidance they need, which means the less I have to work. It seems to be a fair trade off; afterall there is surely a finite amount of effort that can exist in a place of learning at any one time, and therefore if the limit is reached by dedicated children then who am I to risk upsetting scientific laws by also working hard?

Today I taught them about Christopher Columbus and we debated whether he was a great man or a slave driving, Christian fundamentalist with the navigational skills of a blind man whose guide dog was replaced with a mole.

They decided he was great and that without him there would be no President Obama. Whatever kids. Anyway, the final presentation involved them inventing a new national holiday based on famous people from either the past or present and explaining why.

I gave them a quick introduction to the idea and then asked them to give me some names of famous people who changed history. It rapidly became apparent that Christopher Columbus' transgressions were never going to shock my hardened band of pupils into denouncing his right to hero status. Oh no, because the first two names suggested for a national holiday packed a little more punch than our sea faring Italian chum.

The most vocal student in class, a girl named Sollia, spoke first...

Sollia: "Genghis Khan"

Me: "Genghis Khan?"

Sollia: "Yes Mongolian teacher"

Yes I know where he is from you patronising little squirt, I was just questioning whether a man who butchered millions and spent his life pillaging and enslaving really needed a national holiday.

Me: "Well he did change the world, but he killed a lot of people too"

Sollia: "I read he didn't kill many people"

Since when has not killing many people been so worthy of praise?

Me: "Well he did. He killed millions and sometimes had entire cities destroyed"

The class laughed. A hearty laugh. The sort of laugh one might have as they razed a city to the ground and watched its people run screaming from the flaming ruins.

I shook my head and thought to myself "Sure and while we're at it, why not have a Hitler day?"

At which point a boy called Neo piped up "Maybe Hitler teacher".

Great.

I have now got Genghis Khan and Hitler written on the board. This lesson is being filmed on CCTV and will be watched by my head instructors. I realise these two guys were a little misunderstood but I just can't promote national genocide day.

Me: "Guys, look I know these people were famous and changed a lot, but this is for a holiday where you all celebrate them, so they need to be good people okay."

It worked. And I ended up hearing about a Korean ice skater and Manchester United player Park Ji Sung. These two heroes of Korean culture may never know that they were second choice to good old Genghis and affable Adolf.

If they ever knew I'd imagine they might be mildly traumatised but not as traumatised as some animals apparently feel. That seamless link brings us smoothly to another class presentation from the same group a couple of weeks back where their projects were based on the concept of Dr Doolittle.

Each group had to choose animals that may have issues of suffering and then imagine that they could relate them to Dr Doolittle.
I was not expecting the list of insecurities that appeared. Animals I had previously believed operated on instinct alone are actually quite self concious and often depressed.

What daily worries do you think affect the life of a worm? Being eaten by a bird? Wrong. Being sliced in half by the spade of an enthusiastic gardener? Wrong again. No, a worms main concern is that due to having no legs and thus no feet it can never purchase shoes.

Without wishing to stereotype too heavily, this point of trauma was unsurprisingly raised by the girls. Oh the woes of being a worm and not being able to go shoe shopping.

I tried in vain to steer the discussion towards more advanced forms of life, the chimpanze, the dolphin, even a dog. Nobody seemed interested. Well come on, at least give me a vertebrate form of life.

Mike: "An ant teacher, many problems"

Of course an ant.

Me: "Fine an ant, and why would an ant be upset?"

Jenny: "Because he cannot sing"

So the inability to engage in karaoke was the major stress in the life of an ant. I wanted to know if this was a problem specific to ants in the kingdom of insects. Perhaps my ears are not what they were and wasps, beetles and flies have all mastered the art of song in the past few years. Whistling moths, cockroaches humming to their I-Pods and the poor, forlorn ant sat atop of his ant hill tone deaf and unable to hold a note.

It puts my own problems firmly into perspective. Why, I bought some shoes only a couple of months back and I do believe I was singing to myself in my monotone drone only last week whilst having a shower.

Life is good afterall.

Street Fighting With Little Spoon.

Once again I have let myself down with a prolonged absence from doing anything constructive. Today marks two weeks since I wrote my last blog and almost the same time since I last went to the gym, but in my defence I have been ill and I have been busy. Busy being ill. But I have never been one to lie down and complain so in true gritty fashion I forced myself out onto the cold stone streets each weekend to drink Soju and whine about my job.

It was during such a night of despondent drinking that Little Spoon and I became involved in one of the most entertaining episodes of my travels. Allow me to set the scene. It was 1.30am and as nobody else seemed eager to listen to me complain about life and gradually become more and more unintelligible, I had to make do with only Little Spoon's sympathetic ear.

We left one bar and like the intrepid souls we are, ventured out into the bleak night to discover pastures new. Sadly the pastures seemed well hidden and with the wind gnawing my pasty white skin, I abandoned our brief flirtation with originality and guided us into the Fish and Grill bar that we have gone to almost every week for the past six months. There is never a dull moment with me at the helm.

As the night ambled along I began to think we should call it a day, when the screeching began. Halfway through one of my ingenious, witty anecdotes I was rudely cut short by a nasal squawking. It seemed that Little Spoon's sympathetic ear had caught this untimely intervention too as she turned towards the sound and helpfully informed me what was going on.

Little Spoon: "Ooooo she's mad"

I looked around and saw the cause of all this commotion. Yes, she certainly did look mad. In fact she looked utterly unhinged. A Korean woman in her mid fourties was leaping around a table like some rabid baboon and jabbing her finger in the face of what I could only guess was her husband. He was either drunk or brain dead, as his face was expressionless and he had not said a word as his demented partner continued to shriek and dance around their table.

I had my suspicions that not all was right in this relationship and as her volume increased it was clear that things were only going to get worse. Excellent. I ordered some more drinks and a small snack.
There are few things I like more than watching another persons misfortune and front row seats to seeing a relationship unravel before my eyes, was a belated Christmas present that even my stony heart could not fail to be warmed by.

The one sided argument continued for a while and then at long last the wild woman of Daegu snapped. With the aim of a short sighted, cataract sufferer this furious bundle of permed hair and floral patterns launched a pint of beer towards her brow beaten husband. He reacted as he had done to everything in the previous twenty minutes; he did nothing. But then he wasn't soaked in watery beer, which could not be said for the woman sat behind him.

Because despite only having to travel a matter of two feet, the beer had been so badly aimed that it had sailed straight past its intended target and drenched a woman in her twenties who was sat gazing wistfully into her boyfriends eyes.

I was nothing short of delighted. Innocent bystanders being dragged into an unseemly spat? I wait months for this type of entertainment, "Little Spoon get me another beer and some of those tasteless snacks."

But oh how the beer incident had changed the once placid husband. Because unbelievably as the soaked girl and her boyfriend remonstrated with the wildest shot in the east, the unshakeable husband erupted in a fit of completely unreasonable fury. He began to scream. At the innocent girl dripping in beer. Whatever next?

Well, I'll tell you what came next. A plate of spicy chicken with garlic sauce. The wife clearly felt that anyone covered in beer would be in serious need of some hearty food to tuck into, so she kindly threw an entire plate of well seasoned poultry over the very same girl.

Little Spoon informed me once more that someone was "mad" and I had to agree. The manager calmly asked the older couple to leave and then it really stepped up a gear. Suddenly the deranged wife began hurling ash trays and plates at a group of around fifteen men, and all as the husband stood outside arguing with the manager. I was still enjoying myself and thinking about ordering another beer when the husband decided to punch the manager!

Despite being one of the worst punches I have ever seen thrown, it was still a punch and the manager was still a very small woman. I was livid. If she were to be knocked out there was very little chance that I would get another beer, afterall the waiter was now sobbing like a newborn child and hiding behind a chair.

I knew what I had to do and like a knight in slightly jaded armour I leapt from my seat and ran to the aid of the woman who provided me with beer. But I was too slow. Maybe my armour was heavier than I had thought or perhaps I stopped briefly to have one last handful of tasteless bar snacks, but as I got to the door I was overtaken by everyone else in the bar.

They were all men, and in total perhaps twenty of them rushed from the bar and attacked the once calm husband. The ensuing melee saw the husband and wife team take somewhat of a thrashing whilst Little Spoon and I stood on the pavement (sidewalk to my transatlantic friends) and watched. Inbetween Little Spoons vivid commentary on who was currently mad, I noticed that these Koreans had a strange style of fighting.

Nobody punched their opponent in the face. Was this simply more bad aiming or some sort of unusual, unwritten rule of etiquette?

The Police arrived and began to clear the scene, at which point the rather bedraggled husband got to his feet, saw me, screamed to the night sky and launched himself at me. In keeping with the Korean rules of combat he just grabbed my hoodie and roared a lot. I had a sneaky feeling that I could quickly gain the upper hand here by breaking Korean street brawl rules and punching this fellow firmly on the nose. But the police were here and there were also ten other Korean men holding his arms and gradually prising his sausage like fingers from my sweater.

Was a punch on a defenceless idiot a wise idea? It would certainly be fun, but no I'd better not risk it. He had not hit me and was really just shouting a lot and frothing a little at the mouth. But wait someone was hitting him. Through the sea of arms and bespectacled faces I could see tiny fists pummelling this mans arms and back.

And then the face appeared. Little Spoons furious face bobbing momentarily above the crowd as she launched another attack. If there had been a second Little Spoon stood near by I am confident that she would have surveyed the scene and let me know that "Oooo she's mad".

Eventually the couple were led away and the crowd returned to the bar, where the waiter was still weeping and the beer soaked girl was still wringing out her dress and picking hot wings from her hair.

I sat Little Spoon down in the red corner and congratulated her on her efforts. This had turned out to be an excellent nights entertainment and yet the locals seemed ashamed of the whole event.

They apologised profusely not knowing how homesick I had been feeling to go out for whole nights and never witness a moron start a fight for no reason. But they insisted on buying us drinks as an apology, so as ever I respected the local culture and graciously accepted their offerings.

Until next time...