My Cell Phone Has a Vagina

My employer convinced me to purchase a phone after my first full day of work. After not having had regular cell service since I left Busan (my employer in Japan provided me with a cell phone, but I could only call certain coworkers on it, so it was essentially rubbish), it isn't likely that I would have gone to get one on my own. However, given that I live an hour and a half commute from where I work, it really is necessary. Yes, really. My employer really put me in a filth hole an hour and a half from where I'll be working. They care! Lots. I've been advised that retaining foreign teachers is one of their top priorities. I fail to see how that's ever been a problem. After all, they did take me to the cell phone store and everything. Very thoughtful, that.

The cellphone store looked more or less like cellphone stores everywhere else do, which is to say that my first question upon entering was "where are the cheap ones?" For future reference, this is my first question upon entering everything. After having this translated by my coworker and being directed to the cheap ones by the adorable Cell Phone Guy, I selected the cheapest phone in the store. This is exactly how I purchased my laptop, too.

I chose the brown version of the phone, because I like neutral colors. As he was getting the phone ready for purchase, Cell Phone Guy said a few things to my coworker. I asked her what was going on, because I hate when I'm not given the option to refuse to participate in a conversation, and she told me that he felt weird about selling me a brown phone. Cell Phone Guy apparently felt a bit sad at the idea that a lady would walk away with something so unpretty, and really wanted to sell me the pink one. Learning that Cell Phone Guy was saddened by my brown phone idea saddened me, so I agreed to purchase the pink one. I acted really excited about it, too. This wasn't ridiculous at all.

As the final exchange was going down, Cell Phone Guy and my coworker were leaving me out of the conversation again, and this time he kept looking back to me as he was saying whatever he was saying, so I politely interjected, yet again, that I wanted to know what was going on. My coworker looked amused and told me that he wanted to know where I was from, then wanted to know if I had any Canadian coins on me. Obviously I didn't, because why would I, but I promised I would come back in the next day and bring him some. Apparently he collects coins or some blah and didn't have any from Canada yet. Also, I was having a great hair day. That was totally the real reason. My coworker told him I'd be back in, and he said he was looking forward to seeing my luxurious hair in his shop again.

The next day I was not having such a great hair day, but I went in anyway. It's important to follow through on promises, especially ones that you make to 12 year olds. Or maybe 20 year olds. I just really want to stress that a lot of what I've been insinuating here is totally not okay. Regardless, I go in to the store when it's extremely busy, which was sort of assy. Cell Phone Guy is with some customers, but leaves them hanging to come over to the netbooks, which I'm busy pretending to play with. I pass him a few Canadian coins that I had dug up for him, throw around the two or three Russian words that I know, smile, then turn to leave.

Cell Phone Guy calls me back and walks me over to some display with cell phone charms and waves at them. I eventually deduce that he's telling me to pick one, though I'm not sure at this point if it's offering me one or trying to sell me something. There are about 15 people in the store who actually want to buy stuff, who he really should probably be helping, but we're in Moscow, so I guess that he probably won't get fired for this. I eventually chose a butterfly charm, largely because it was the only one that didn't have any hearts on it. Also, it reminds me a bit of a butterfly necklace that I borrowed from my mother long ago, never gave back, and eventually broke. Cell Phone Guy removed the charm from the rack, took off the tag, and handed it to me. I thanked him about 5 times, mostly because that was one of the only Russian words I knew that week, but also because I was very happy that I didn't have to pay for something I was only picking out just to be nice. Also, keeping things honest, I was a little bit moved by the gesture. People in Moscow can be nice, it's true.

I've since been trying to invent reasons to go back to the store, but have so far held off on being foolish. Except for backing into a display case on my way out of the store that day; that was a bit foolish.

Long story short, this is why I have the pinkest pink phone that has ever pinked, bejeweled with a butterfly. It's so girly that it ought to come with it's own vagina.

My Filthy Moscow Apartment

My apartment wasn't the infested-with-cockroach kind of dirty that I had seen in Korea, but a hasn't-been-cleaned-since-we-put-up-these-2009-calendars type of dirty that I hadn't even imagined before. It was a whole new kind of gross. The carpets hadn't been vacuumed, probably since sometime before I crunched my face. There was a dirty pot in the sink. There were dirty rags here and there. The toilet hadn't been cleaned. The floors were so filthy that a finger tip swiped over it would come up black. The pillow I was meant to use had been thrown in a corner long ago and had yellowed in to a barely usable mass of repulsion. The walls in each room are stained in various places, likely never having seen a rag since they were erected. All of the sinks were so covered in filth that it took some time scrubbing to prove they could still shine at all. It smelled like cat food that had been sitting out since the 1970's. I really could go on. And on. And on.

No, I wouldn't say that I'm thrilled with the accommodation provided by the school. This is probably the least thrilled I've ever been by any accommodation, anywhere, paid for or otherwise. Really, it was unfathomably bad.

It's gotten better over the past two weeks. That is to say, I have made an effort to improve things. On the bright side, there were lots of cleaning agents left behind with all of the other previous owner's garbage, so that was pretty exciting. After getting down on my hands and knees and scrubbing the kitchen floor twice, now my finger tip only turns grey when I swipe it across the tile. Also, there's a vacuum cleaner, which worked just swell after it exhausted some foul odors in response to being turned on for the first time in 20 years.

I'm not sure if it's because I had low expectations coming here, I've been teaching abroad for a while now and know the drill, or because I've decided that apathy is easier than anger, but I haven't once gotten upset about this whole thing. Maybe I just think it's hilarious that I invested all of my savings from Japan on this? It's probably that.

My New Favorite Place

This has nothing to do with teaching, traveling, or any of that other fun stuff I do when I'm not between jobs. This has to do with how I spend way too much time on the internet when I'm not teaching, traveling, or doing any of that other fun stuff that I do.

My new favorite place is this. Going forward, I will be stealing all of my ideas from the contributors to that site.

Russia Won't Invite Me to Their Party

I'm still sitting around Canada, trying to guess how long I have to budget my savings for. Russia haven't invited me in yet!

The Visa works something like this: I send the company I'm going to work for copies of things via email, they apply with government or whatever, immigration sends them an invitation some time later, the company mails me the invitation, I go to the consulate with the invitation, and the consulate finally gives me my fucking Visa. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I also have to prove that I don't have HIV. Thankfully I do not.

It seems less complicated than the Korean Visa was, if only because they don't require my weight and inseam, but is taking much longer. I'm not thrilled about this, because my plan to leave enough money in my bank account to pay my student loans for the rest of the year has officially been dashed, due to the extra 6 weeks that I wasn't planning on being unemployed. That said, if having too long of a vacation and being a little bit bored are the worst of my problems at this exact moment in time, then things could be a lot worse.

It's not the company's fault that this is taking so long, they tell me, it's just how their government likes to do things. One of these days, somebody in the office will wake up and find a $50 bill has been slipped on their desk with my file, and shit will finally get done. Probably next week.

(That's probably not how it really works).

Now, if the company had told me outright that it could take three months, I probably would have taken the job still but at least would have gotten a job here in the meantime. Instead, they were totally vague about the time line, which is awesome. To be fair, it's entirely possible that they didn't really know either. I have no reason to assume otherwise right now, other than I've hit that point at which I'm just bored enough to start making absolutely everything up

On the bright side, I've had time to learn some Russian! I can say two different hellos, one goodbye, count to 20, say thank you, ask "what is this?", "is this a...?", and answer with "It's a...."! I also know the words for book, pen, table, and chair. Also, the alphabet, except that I'm terrible with their vowels and some of their consonant clusters. In other words, I'm practically fluent now and will probably be teaching Russian within a month of my arrival. Because that's what they need in Russia: Russian teachers.

I'm very talented.

Denagging Nagoya

Nagging on Nagoya never really happened. Not so much because there was nothing worth complaining about there, but because with 9.5 hour days and an hour commute each way, I really couldn't be bothered to make the time. Oops. I may return one day, at which point I may have more time to reflect. More than likely, though, I'll be working 14 and a half hour days and only have time to complain about that.

From what little I can remember of my time outside the university walls, Nagoya was: cleaner than Busan, didn't smell terrible, had numerous potted plants sprucing up the place, and served absolutely delicious ramen. What it lacked in character and intrigue, it made up for in ... I've got nothing to end that sentence with. Nagoya lacked character and intrigue, is what I came to accept after about 5 minutes there. It wasn't a total loss, though. Potted plants and bikes are pretty nifty.

Thanks to my hard earned yen, I've been enjoying something like a vacation in Canada for the last month and a bit. I was supposed to be in Moscow right about now-ish, but the VISA process has not decided to complete itself just yet, so I remain in Canada for the time being. It was roughly -65 degrees outside today and I probably have frostbite on my lower legs, so I should be good and ready whenever it is that Moscow rolls around.

I chose Moscow as my next location for a couple of reasons, the primary one being that they were kind enough to acknowledge my application and (eventually) offer me a job. Having reached the point at which I have more than a couple of years experience teaching and a CELTA qualification, I have too much self respect to go back to the type of job I was working my first year in EFL, but not enough of anything else to seriously compete for a great job. I'm very charming and all, but, tragically, nobody seems to give much of a shit about that. Hence, 14 or so interviews later, I accepted a job to work in Moscow. I'm not even going to pretend that I mind the fact I will be getting paid in peanuts. I have a job. In Moscow. Every thing's coming up shiny for Barbie in 2011.

Once the Russians approve of my eagerness to work there and grant me with a VISA, as I expect they will sometime before 2014, I'll be making weekly posts again. Except this time I actually will, because Russia is new, shiny, and exciting. By the time I landed in Japan this past fall I was so burnt out from the traveling I'd done that year, that everything sort of lost it's lustre. Not this time. I'm pretty Moscow will be super shiny; I can already feel the glare.

My Japanese Language Skills Officially Trump My Korean Language Skills

The title probably isn't entirely true, but it's close. It will likely be true by the time I leave, if not as early as next week. I had my first Japanese class today. I find it easier to speak Japanese than Korean, but Korean is much easier to read. I'm not sure I will get around to learning to read Japanese before leaving in December; one of my students taught me to read Korean by the end of my first month there. I'm not sure if comparing my knowledge of Korean to Japanese is really fair, given that I never paid for formal lessons while in Korea. Two and a half years in Korea and not a single formal language lesson? I should probably be a little bit embarrassed about that, but I'm not. I had my reasons. Some of them better than others. 

For one thing, I'm pretty lazy. I'd much rather watch TV and eat chips than do just about anything. My best friends tend to be those that understand when I'm dropping references from the 27 TV shows that I watch (how about Terriers? Here's hoping that FX doesn't cancel my new favorite show). Additionally, I was busy spending my excess time and disposable income on other things. Mostly food. This is why I put on ten pounds in Korea. The primary reason that I didn't bother with Korean lessons was likely that I had absolutely no respect for Korean culture. I still don't. That's why I'm no longer there. While seeing friend after friend return to Busan makes it ever so tempting to follow along, I could never actually do it. I don't hate myself.

I didn't find Korea to be an easy place to be. Frankly, it's the least inspiring place I've ever been - a statement which will hold much more weight a few years from now. In Nagoya, I can exist without breaking much of a sweat. I work much longer hours, the pay is only marginally better, and nearly everything is more expensive, but all of that is worth it for being able to walk out the door in the morning and not have my mere existence be a spectacle. Knowing that I can use my elementary Japanese at the local bakery and not be laughed out of the shop is a pretty good motivator.

I Liked the Bikes.

My first day in Nagoya, after my very first walk down the street, I liked the bikes. I liked that there were 50 000 bikes everywhere. Loved it. I took roughly two dozen photos of bikes. Parked bikes. Moving bikes. Broken bikes. Signs about bikes. Mostly just the parked bikes; it turns out that photographing people riding bikes is weird and not entirely appreciated. 

Now, a month in, I realize that consequence of there being bikes parked absolutely everywhere is that at any given moment there is a bike ready to cross my path and get in my fucking way. It turns out that I don't like the bikes at all, I merely like the idea of the bikes.  Bikes in Japan have become to me what scooters in Korea were, except much slower and far less likely to viciously run me over. In short, I'm over bikes. Even the ones that look like they popped over for a visit from 1970, complete with chipped lime green paint, a gigantic basket and bell.

In spite of being totally over the bikes, I'd kind of like my own bike. I'd like a bike with chipped lime green paint, a massive white basket, and the loudest bell in the neighborhood. Were I not contractually forbidden from riding a bike to work (yes, really), I could be worst cyclist Nagoya had ever seen! Shaking my fist at other cyclists, ringing my obnoxiously loud bell at unsuspecting pedestrians for no good reason at all, cutting people off left and right, I could even get a special jacket just for cycling! 

Having written all that, I now see that it's just as well that my contract bars me from being that big of a tool.

My Flusher Swings Both Ways

As I discovered a couple of days ago, there are two ways to flush my toilet. I probably should have realized this immediately.

I am not terribly observant. Apparently.

I had been running on the assumption that my toilet flusher was absolute crap, due to the fact that I was using the lesser of two available functions. As it turns out, my toilet flusher was just too advanced for me. 

I'm all caught up now.

Organized to the point of redundancy.

In the past week I have received approximately 100 pieces of paper, all of which could have been covered in a 4 page pamphlet. I could find that annoying, but currently find it rather charming. Mind you, I spent Friday color coding a filing system for my student's information profiles, so I would enjoy that.

I've been in Nagoya in a week. Were this Korea, I probably would have somehow managed 5 days of work into that. This not being Korea, I've really only been at work for 3, each of those spent on orientation, training, and class planning. The remaining days have been spent walking the neighborhood, buying basic household items at the 100 yen shop down the road, and comparing absolutely everything to how I knew it in Korea. I'm hoping to shake that by early next year, seeing as I'm pretty sure the world now tunes me out when I start sentences with "in Korea..".

After the crunch of Seomyeon, my new neighborhood seems fairly quaint. I hear crickets at night. Or maybe frogs or something, I don't know. I hear signs that there is some else living around here, at least. To be frank, I feel like I'm living in the sticks. I like it. I like it even more when I remember there is a subway station down the road.

In short, I really have nothing to bitch about at the moment.  Everything has been good, in a tolerably blah sort of way. I wouldn't mind finding a pocket of people that like the ridiculous stuff I do, but that will probably be a little difficult here. I don't get the impression that a whole lot goes on here. Or maybe I just haven't figured out where goings on are just yet. Probably that.

My neighborhood. Happening. Not my house.

Nagging in Nagoya

After a mostly forgettable summer, in just one week I will be back to doing what I do best: being ignorant about unfamiliar cultures. I meant to keep this blog active during my Canadian summer, but then my 50 hour a week soul crushing desk job dampened my spirits and I very temporarily stopped making time for those things which I enjoy the most. Well, Very Temporarily has officially ended and I'm back to being me, or some version of that.

My summer wasn't totally wasted, as I did get to spend some much appreciated time with my family, in addition to funding my startup costs in Japan. Deciding to return to Canada and take a break from traveling after my month of CELTA craziness in Budapest was a wise choice. It's just a pity that I didn't realize this before funding that burntout week in Spain, right after CELTA wrapped up. Oh, floor of Sam's apartment in Toledo - we've seen better days, you and I.

This post is actually a day early, but I figure I've earned the right to be prematurely celebratory. In about 12 hours I go in to wrap up my last shift at the worst job I've ever had the displeasure of working. Then, as of next weekend, I'll be nagging from Nagoya. And shitting on Korea in the process, I'm sure.

That Bizarre Transition Phase That I Call Home

I'm between teaching jobs at the moment; that's the optimistic way of putting it, anyway. Since, after more than two years teaching and a CELTA certificate, I feel entitled to not have to take the first crappy ESL job that ends up in my lap, I'm still looking. I hope to be gone again by the fall, but until then I'm spending time with family, reuniting with old friends, and filling a slightly-less-than-awesome entry level position at Some Company.

It's mostly fantastic here, especially when I disregard the overwhelming urge to declare that absolutely nothing of note ever seems to happen. One week melts into another, with nothing of note to distinguish one from the next. Yet, they're all kind of great, so somehow that's okay. It's an adjustment, after the severe ups and downs of Life Abroad, but not in any way an unwelcome one.

Being consistently content, but neither ecstatic nor positively pissy, means that I haven't had much in the way of current events that I felt the need to rehash. What I do have are stories from Korea that never quite made it up here and 5 weeks in Europe worth of tales and stories to spit out. So, let's do that instead.

My Spring Hiatus

I'm running off to Europe for a bit to take the CELTA course. 

I'll be back to whine about Korea before anybody notices I was gone; late May, perhaps.

Relearning Canadian Pedestrian Etiquette

When I was walking around Ottawa with a friend of mine earlier this week, she kept hopping behind me as people approached us. It was bizarre and made me uncomfortable. Was she afraid of the Ottawa locals? Had she recently been mugged? 

"Why are you doing that?", I asked (in the impolite, heavily accented townie dialect I've been quick to readopt in the weeks since my return).

"There's somebody coming." She gave me a strange look.

"So?"

A long pause followed. Then, it hit me. 

"Oh... you're letting people by, instead of forcing them to either elbow around you or wade through the row of dog shit which lines the sidewalk. I get it. That's very... considerate of you. I should probably start doing that again."

My Cultural Retardation

My readjustment to Canadian culture is a work in progress. For the most part I'm doing okay:

• I have not yet left a restaurant without tipping.
• I haven't searched in vain for a garbage beside the toilet in which to dispose of my toilet paper.
• I haven't elbowed any seniors in a fight to get on any form of public transit (this is probably in part due to the fact that Canadian seniors appear far more feeble than their Korean counterparts, but I'm still counting it as a success).

That said, it hasn't been perfect. 

Last week I met up with a few friends that I hadn't hung out with since last time I was in town. We had a few drinks, after which it became extremely clear that I was actually the extra wheel on a double date. That it took me about two hours to notice is not terribly surprising. I'm pretty sure that my friends didn't really realize it, either; there was much confusion when I opted to depart shortly after midnight. 

Prior to the evening becoming a dry hump fiesta to which I was not invited,  much fun was had. Some at my expense, as is more or less the rule for these things. A few moments of cultural retardation on my part did not go unnoticed:

• I forgot to tip at the bar. Given that I was actually sitting at the bar and talking to the bartender for most of the drink, this not really excusable. I remembered later, felt shame, and tried to rectify the mistake by tipping double on my next drink.
• Before slipping out to use the washroom, I asked one of the other women at the table if the washrooms was "okay". This question did not make sense to them. I realized almost immediately that I didn't need to ask if the washroom was "okay"; the washroom would not be unisex, nor would there be squatters. I began to explain why I had asked the question in the first place, before remembering that nobody cares. 
• I said "nice-uh!" in response to learning that there was a candy jar on the bar. I then began explaining why I put an "uh" on the end, before remembering that not only does nobody care, but it's really not funny enough to warrant explanation anyway.

There were a few more slips, but that was probably the worst of it. In spite of my cultural confusion, it's awfully nice to be back.

This One's Mostly About Barf

I am jet lag's whore. I'm confident that in time, I can flip this relationship on it's head. For now, I float through the day slightly groggy. My first flight left Busan at 7am Wednesday morning; my last arrived in Toronto at 8pm the same day (so to speak). Were it not for the 10 hour layover in Incheon, or my completely failure to fall asleep, this might be an easier transition.

Two Gravol pills are usually enough to get the ball rolling on my barf-free journeys. I learned my lesson from the 6 hour barfathon that was my 2004 New York bus trip. Not yet having appreciated the full potential of my motion sickness, I neglected to bring any antinauseants with me, and began keeling over the bus shit hole not long after the border crossing. This continued for the remainder of the bus trip and, after a brief respite sitting on the filthy Port Authority floors, on the number 7 train to Queens. There's nothing like discovering a hole in your vomit bag across from the family of three that you've been putting on a Hurl Show for, to teach you the value of always having some puke meds on you.

In November 2008, prior to my first plane trip back to Canada, I discovered that rather than getting drunk on Gravol, I could try these patches which I found at a pharmacy in Busan. I have no idea what their American equivalent is, though I imagine that one exists. Essentially they are small patches that you stick behind your ear and keep you in check, barf-wise, for about 72 hours. The first couple of times that I tried them out, I also used a little bit of Gravol, just to play it safe. This time I did not, hence my failure to fall asleep. As it turns out, I do not sleep like a baby on planes, as I have long boasted; I sleep like a baby when I consume large amounts of Gravol. Duh.

Where I failed to fall asleep, my seatmate was quite successful. Of course, the sleeping came after I fed him some Gravol to prevent further barfing. Thankfully, such things don't bother me much. My senses are so dulled on airplanes that I barely noticed him utilizing his barf bag in the first place.

The Gravol was more or less a trade-off for the No Jet Lag pills that he'd been passing me. Apparently if you take one of these No Jet Lag pills every 37 seconds while in flight, you will feel like a golden pony once you touch ground. I read the package with suspicion, which prompted him to assure me that they were legit. I suppose that it looked like I didn't trust taking pills from a stranger, which would probably have been true, had it not been outweighed by my suspicion that whoever was responsible for the pill's packaging was full of shit. In the end, I can't say whether they really helped or not, but I've felt worse. So, maybe.

On Hiatus, End-of-Contract Nonsense, and Shingles

It was brought to my attention that my blog was out of date. I leave Korea, possibly for good, in just under two weeks. The lead up to this has been stressful as Hell, so I more or less forgot that my blog existed. Now that I've remembered, here is a summary of where I'm at:

When I finished my first contract in Korea, my boss honoured my contract, paid me in a timely manner, and personally delivered me to the airport. While I didn't expect the same treatment from a much larger, less intimate institution, I expected something more than what I'm getting. Still, in the end, I will more than likely get paid what I am owed and return home in one piece. It's not all horrible. I'll provide more details on what went down after the dust has settled; if I write about it now, I'll produce a 10 paragraph mess of angry gibberish.

(producing 10 paragraph messes of angry gibberish is not below me, but I may as well save what little energy I have to fight the incompetence directly)

In light of all this stress, I developed shingles. Again. For those of you not in the know, shingles are really, really sexy. In this particular case, it's basically a line of herpes down my neck. Or, as I prefer to call it, my "neck AIDS". Unsurprisingly, nobody else at works finds this as amusing as I do. Thankfully, it's only been a minor hindrance. This is the second time I've had shingles. The first time, I reacted badly to the medication and ended up with a head-to-toe sunburn like rash in addition to unmedicated shingles itch and pain; this time I have no idea what they gave me, but it seems to be working. It must have been the butt injections that did the trick. I'm going to miss those!

I am really, really looking forward to flying out on March 3rd. I will be posting about Korea for a while after I land, so the blog should be active for a while. There are a few things that I refuse to post about while still in Korea, for various reasons. Some of them actually make good stories. Others, less so.

Until then... Happy belated Lunar New Year, Valentine's Day, Family Day, and all of those other holidays between last time, now, and then.

Weddings: What's Not to Like?

I hadn't been sick in well over a year. When 2010 rolled in, bringing with it my first bout of the flu since first moving to Korea, I was due. Cold or flu? Whichever, it was my turn. I have no qualms about starting off the year on my ass. Again. It happens.

I've been very accepting of the fact that sometimes, even I get sick, since I woke up with this last Saturday. I've been very patient. I slept away the entire weekend, took vitamins, ate soup, and even enjoyed the down time a little bit. Not that this did me any good. My cold, flu, or whatever has stretched its way through another weekend. This time, I'm not enjoying the down time quite so much. As I took in episode after episode of The Sopranos today (Season1 - I'm new to the series. Apparently I wasn't around last decade), a friend of mine was getting married in Daegu.

I absolutely love weddings. Good food. People looking slightly better than they usually do. Happiness. Hope. Me, drunk. What's not to love? I will never understand how anybody could hate weddings. I'll pass on lengthy ceremonies and picking up the tab, but the rest? Yes, please.

As much as it bothers me that I had to miss it, I'll take this moment to be less self centred than usual and realize that the wedding surely went on gloriously, even without me hiding in the back corner; I can be happy knowing that some folks I know just had one of the best days of their lives.

Congratulations to Diana and Min Gi!

Happy New Years to Your Face

I'm staying in tonight to eat cheesecake and catch up on Season 5 of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. If the mood strikes, I may also start Deadwood; I just finished Sons of Anarchy Season 2, so I'm due for another drama. As far as I'm concerned, this is a pretty excellent way to bring in 2010.

Happy New Year to all. Let there be none of this:

I will likely write some reflective drivel tomorrow, as I do; it keeps my sleep regular.

It Must be That Time of Year

I've reached that point in my stunted emotional development where I start to think that coming back would be a good idea. It really wouldn't be. At least, not without trying something else first. I know that. Still. It would be nice if what is best would coordinate with what is easy for once.

Nata Tat and The Ajusave

Aside from my weekend trip to Jeju Island, which I will post about later this week, nothing of note has happened to me lately. Something of note did happen to a friend of mine a couple of weeks ago, so I'm going to tell her story, in the way that I tell all stories - by making them all about me.

About a year and a half ago, I was nearly involved in a violent incident on the subway. I like to think that I was this close to just Ending some drunken scum who harassing me, but in reality I was likely closer to either getting my ass kicked or arrested. Thankfully, there was a magical Super Ajumma to save me from both myself, and that tragic waste of carbon and oxygen that was the Soju Man. Since that day, ajummas have pretty much been my favorite people (that is, until I moved to Seomyeon and started hating absolutely everybody).

While I've read quite a few horrific stories of this sort (and worse) on the Internet, until a couple of weeks ago my subway encounter was the worst of this nature that I'd heard first hand. Then, a friend of mine decided to put my weak look-what-almost-happened version of events to shame. I'm going to call her Nata Tat, because she totally digs that.

Nata Tat was riding the subway to Hadan (which may as well be on another planet) from Seomyeon (which shouldn't be on any planet). This usually takes her something like 45 minutes, calls for a book, and is an uneventful ride. Unless Drunk finds you.

Around 1pm, a charmingly drunk fellow stumbled into Nata Tat's subway car, cause that's just how some folks like to start their day. Personally, whenever drunk garbage stumbles into my space, I'm immediately on edge, with clenched fists and a readiness to break. Consider this the result of two years of regular harassment at the hands of random drunk men. Or an unhealthy reaction stemming from my broken psyche. Whatever it is, Nata Tat and I don't do crazy in the same way. She probably would have barely noticed him and continued with whatever thought it was she was having at the time, had Drunk not decided that she had a target on her cheek.

When the charming drunk fellow stumbled over to Nata Tat to scream in her face and follow it up with a full arm white trash style smack across the cheek, her reaction was what I would expect from most - shock. The man was set to continue berating her, when out of nowhere jumped in Super Ajumma, ready to save the day. With her gigantic purse, Super Ajumma whacked the man into submission, following it up with a verbal assault that had him in tears. Before Nata Tat could even piece together what the crap had just happened, she was being ushered into the special seating by the Super Ajumma, who's purpose in life is, seemingly, to make ours just a little bit safer.

Sadly, Nata Tat did not have a black eye to back up her story. Her word was enough, of course, if for no other reason than absolutely none of her tale was even remotely unbelievable. Of course there was a repugnantly drunk man on the subway at 1pm. Of course he decided to target the only foreigner on the train. And of course there was a wonderful, strong woman willing to stand up for what is right and smack the shit out of his pitiful existence. This is where we are.

The Ajusave. It's a thing. Cherish it.