Where'd My Trashy Go?

I saw a garbage truck of sorts go by just a few minutes ago. Ten months ago, I wouldn’t have thought that spotting a garbage truck would be noteworthy. Ten months ago, the garbage disposal process wasn’t a complete mystery to me. The idea of truck going along the streets collecting garbage had become so foreign to me that I did a double take. I half expected little green men to march out, taser somebody, and fly off. This would have been more interesting than what actually followed.

I spent my first month in Korea dumping garbage into shopping bags, which I then threw into a bin outside of my building. When I was dropped off at my apartment upon arrival in Korea, my boss and coworker had pointed to these six bins at the bottom of the stairs and explained that this is where I throw stuff. Five bins for recyclables, and one for waste. So, that’s where I threw stuff. As it turns out, they had omitted a minor detail.

My quest to find garbage bags at the grocery store failed. After failing to find garbage bags in a number of grocery and corner stores, I became very confused. Fortunately the woman who lived here before had left a number of plastic bags behind, or I would have been swimming in my own garbage. A month went by before I finally got tired of handling my garbage with dainty plastic bags and asked a coworker what the deal was. My worker was shocked to learn that I had been using plastic bags from the supermarket to dispose of my garbage. “But… but... you can’t do that!” she informed me. “Well, I clearly can, because that’s what I’ve been doing”, I told her. Then, remembering that being an asshole is not a way to win favours with the locals, I added, “but it’s clearly not what I’m supposed to be doing, so could you please help me? I don’t want to upset the building superintendent”. Except that I probably didn’t actually say “building superintendent”.

Garbage bags are kept behind the counter at grocery and corner stores, and have to be purchased. Given that garbage bags didn’t fabricate out of thin air in Canada, I was neither upset nor shocked to learn that I would have to pay for them. Apparently each neighborhood has different bags, so you have to purchase the bags in your own neighborhood. A friend of mine here, a foreigner, later told me that Koreans don’t pay garbage taxes in the same sense that we do back home, which is why they have to purchase special bags. I have absolutely no idea how much truth there is to this. Nor am I actually all that interested in where my garbage goes in Korea. Or Canada. All I know is that apparently I was being a monster asshole by using regular plastic bags, and I’ve since rectified this faux-pas. I probably should have known better, but given that it dawned on me to search for proper garbage bags in the first place, even in light of serious culture shock, I’m going to give myself a pass here.

I had learned how to properly dispose of my garbage at my apartment building, but still had no idea as to what happened from there. All I know is that in ten months I hadn’t seen a single garbage truck and I had no clue when they emptied the bins at my building. Had I known, I could have gotten rid of the 4 huge bags of plastic bottles that are clustered near my door, by filling the plastic bottle bin right before the city emptied it. Instead, I’m forced to dump just a few at a time, lest I be a complete asshole and prevent people who recycle in a timely fashion from dumping a bottle by filling the bin. I’ve asked coworkers and friends from time to time what the deal is with garbage pick up here is, and nobody has been of much assistance. So, when I finally saw that garbage truck working its way down my street the other night, I was fascinated. That is, until I realized that it was going towards the supermarket at roughly the same pace I was, leaving behind it a trail of garbage odour. At this point I was sorry that I’d ever wondered about garbage collection in Korea at all. And you probably are, too.

Bob Student is Trashy

My students regularly provide me with material via their unintentionally hilarious utterances. Broken English is expected; without it, they’d have no use for me here. I like to think that mocking my students for their broken English is below me; I also like to think that I have unshakable self belief. Denial, denial, denial. Should one of my older students make a seriously unfortunate English blunder, I refrain from smirking and make a point of explaining the difference between what they meant to say and what they actually said. Given my inability to have emotions without wearing them on my face, this is harder than it ought to be. When one of my younger students makes a grossly inappropriate blunder I simply correct them and hope for the best. There really isn’t good way to tell an 8 year old why they shouldn’t replace the “Tell” in the “Tell Me” song with “Finger”, is there? A truly horrifying two minutes of my life that was. Thankfully, Bob Student’s English blunder last week wasn’t quite that awkward.

While in Itaewon last weekend, I bought an inordinate amount of Real Gum; that is, mint flavoured American gum. Korean gum isn’t awful; it’s just not as minty as what I prefer to snap. My students went completely gaga last time I brought in Real Gum for them. Their excitement was soon quashed by sour faces upon tasting a mint much stronger than what they’re used to. They would wave their hands in front of their mouths and say “teacher, hot!” I would smile, nod, and agree. There are few things that I enjoy watching more than other people making foul faces in response to things that I give them, so I decided to share the Real Gum love and pass some around in one of my evening classes. After humouring them throughout their chorus of, “ooh, teacher! So hot!” I tried to proceed with the lesson plan. Failure ensued.

As I was beginning to discuss the objectives for that day’s lesson, Bob Student decided that it would be a good time for him to speak. He was wrong. My response to this is usually to make a face at him then put a check mark beside his name on the board and threaten to remove him from class if he doesn’t learn how to be quiet when I’m speaking. Barbie Teacher hates to repeat herself! Sometimes I’m too tired to go through all the motions and resort to blowing a whistle at him instead. I returned from lunch break one day a few weeks back with the best 20 cent purchase of my life: a beautiful, blue whistle. My coworkers were extremely confused when I ran into the staff room to blow it at them; they had thus far failed to notice that my immaturity is off the charts. Blowing the whistle more or less has the same effect as putting a check beside their name, but is significantly more amusing for me. On this day I opted for the face-and-check method, largely because I was too lazy to sift through my purse for my whistle.

Before I could properly scold him for interrupting me, Bob Student waved his hand at me to indicate that he had garbage to dispose of. In other words, I had provided the entire class with gum and then went to scold one of them when they wished to get rid of their garbage in an orderly fashion. This never happens. Bob Student should have received a reward for the most unlikely behaviour by a Barbie Student. Ever. The children generally take whatever candy I give them, immediately pop it in their mouths and then throw their wrapper on the desk or the floor behind them. Manners; they’re a lost art.

Bob Student looked at me innocuously with his ball of gum wrapper and said, “Teacher, I’m trashy”. Double take. “Bob Student, you’re what?” “Teacher, I’m trashy”, he repeated, waving his garbage. I was tempted to have fun with this like I did with the Short Bus conversation from last week, but for once, professionalism won out. I spent the next 30 seconds explaining the correct way to ask me where the garbage is, and another 5 after that explaining why Bob Student shouldn’t run around in circles telling people that he’s trashy. If it’s true, they’ll already know.