Earlier this month I wrote two posts detailing my tedious ordeal with one of the smaller branches of Pusan Bank. I was seriously pissy, not terribly concise, and I clearly hadn't gotten enough hugs that week. As it turns out, not all branches of Pusan Bank are evil, my panties have managed to untwist themselves slightly, and I still haven't gotten enough hugs recently.
After having wasted an hour of my day and shed two years off my life expectancy from the stress of my last visit to Pusan Bank, I smartened up and went to one of the larger branches in the city. This is exactly what I should have been doing in the first place, but having gotten to that point that I no longer know what a funny Konglish T-shirt is, I forgot that foreigners occasionally need to jump through hoops to get things done in Korea Land.
The moment that I sat down in the waiting area designated for those wiring money out of Korea (and probably a number of other services that are more important to the bank, but of zero interest to me), a man that I recognized from the last time I had gone to this branch stood up and waved me over. His English was spectacular, which is nice, but not something that I expect of Random Bank Guy in Korea. He recognized me from the last time, too, and pushed my request through in less than 10 minutes. When I asked him what the deal was with the other branch, he began talking to me in Bank Talk. I got bored of Bank Talk rather quickly, on account of my craptacular attention span, and decided to simply let the matter go.
For the time being, my promise to immediately close the account if Pusan Bank gave me any trouble wiring money home again remains untested. There will be no promises that I won't act like a gigantic brat again should it end up happening again. In the meantime, I'm reasonably content with them.
Now, off to work on the hugs issue.
Showing posts with label Korea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Korea. Show all posts
Sunday, September 21, 2008
How Barbie Lost Her Korean Blog Links
In the midst of changing templates for the 35th time, I lost all of my links. All 5 of them. This could have been avoided, had I decided to back things up before swapping out the entire template, but that move would have required forethought.
I'm completely lacking in forethought.
I've managed to retrieve the links to a couple of blogs by checking site referrals and other geeky stuff, but have lost whatever else I might have had up. So, if I had your link up and it's no longer up, just tack a comment on here or email me and I'll add it. If I was never linking to you in the first place but you'd like me to, drop me a line.
In the meantime, if you happened to stumble across me by accident and want a way out, check The Korean Blog List for related (perhaps more suitable) content.
I'm completely lacking in forethought.
I've managed to retrieve the links to a couple of blogs by checking site referrals and other geeky stuff, but have lost whatever else I might have had up. So, if I had your link up and it's no longer up, just tack a comment on here or email me and I'll add it. If I was never linking to you in the first place but you'd like me to, drop me a line.
In the meantime, if you happened to stumble across me by accident and want a way out, check The Korean Blog List for related (perhaps more suitable) content.
Friday, September 19, 2008
You Know That You've Been in Korea Land Too Long When...
As I near the one year anniversary of my arrival to Korea, I find myself less and less observant of the crazy World of Korea Land. A random parade of giant golden frog statues on the backs of pickup trucks, flying through Deokcheon at dinner time? Big deal. Random Korean food stuffs? Whatever. If it's not still moving, I've probably already tried it (gotta draw the line somewhere). Two particular incidents over the past week have led me to realize that perhaps I've been here just a touch too long.
Over the past year, I've collected some random Konglish t-shirts to bring home as hilarious presents for Whoever. Konglish t-shirts are essentially just t-shirts that say random English words on them, or words that are almost English, in some bizarre order, with hilarious potentially consequences. I was looking through the t-shirts that I had bought over the year, when it dawned on me: I no longer find the Konglish t-shirts that I bought in my first few months here funny. I was appalled to discover that I had purchased such weak examples of Konglish t-shirts. Having been spoiled by the sight of awesome Konglish t-shirts on a daily basis, I no longer have any concept of what constitutes just a slightly funny Konglish t-shirt. Some days, the level of my English has dipped so low, that I can hardly distinguish between Konglish and proper English. A sad, but, true story. I spent five minutes in a boutique the other day trying to figure out if I would have found a t-shirt that said "wet heads" in huge letters, with other random words underneath, regarding keeping your friends close, funny. Conclusion? If I have to ask, I've been here too long.
There are roughly 800 hospitals in my immediate neighbourhood, to accommodate the 62000 Koreans who live within a 3 meter proximity to me. This only a slight exaggeration. There are so many hospitals in my immediate area, that one would have to try hard not to see a random hospital patient wandering around the streets in their gown, wheeling an IV drip alongside them, at least a couple of times per week. The first day that I encountered one of these, the patient looked particular ill and walked with a limp. I was convinced that she was a zombie and went home scared. This week when I encountered a pair of men sitting outside of the Home Plus (grocery store), both in hospital gowns and hooked up to IV drips, just chillin' out, I didn't even look twice. It didn't even dawn on me until hours later that two guys hanging out at a busy intersection in hospital gowns, hooked up to needles, is fucking bizarre. I'm not from Vancouver; I'm not used to that shit. Or rather, I'm not used to being used to that shit. I don't like being used to that shit! That shit is whack.
I could continue all day with further illustrations of how I've clearly been here too long, but won't, because it's almost 6am and I still have two fried computers to fix. Let's just say that my trip home in November can't possibly come too soon.
(As an aside, I will likely be back early next year, and will be continuing the blog from home either way. I look forward to pissing on Canada for a few months)
Over the past year, I've collected some random Konglish t-shirts to bring home as hilarious presents for Whoever. Konglish t-shirts are essentially just t-shirts that say random English words on them, or words that are almost English, in some bizarre order, with hilarious potentially consequences. I was looking through the t-shirts that I had bought over the year, when it dawned on me: I no longer find the Konglish t-shirts that I bought in my first few months here funny. I was appalled to discover that I had purchased such weak examples of Konglish t-shirts. Having been spoiled by the sight of awesome Konglish t-shirts on a daily basis, I no longer have any concept of what constitutes just a slightly funny Konglish t-shirt. Some days, the level of my English has dipped so low, that I can hardly distinguish between Konglish and proper English. A sad, but, true story. I spent five minutes in a boutique the other day trying to figure out if I would have found a t-shirt that said "wet heads" in huge letters, with other random words underneath, regarding keeping your friends close, funny. Conclusion? If I have to ask, I've been here too long.
There are roughly 800 hospitals in my immediate neighbourhood, to accommodate the 62000 Koreans who live within a 3 meter proximity to me. This only a slight exaggeration. There are so many hospitals in my immediate area, that one would have to try hard not to see a random hospital patient wandering around the streets in their gown, wheeling an IV drip alongside them, at least a couple of times per week. The first day that I encountered one of these, the patient looked particular ill and walked with a limp. I was convinced that she was a zombie and went home scared. This week when I encountered a pair of men sitting outside of the Home Plus (grocery store), both in hospital gowns and hooked up to IV drips, just chillin' out, I didn't even look twice. It didn't even dawn on me until hours later that two guys hanging out at a busy intersection in hospital gowns, hooked up to needles, is fucking bizarre. I'm not from Vancouver; I'm not used to that shit. Or rather, I'm not used to being used to that shit. I don't like being used to that shit! That shit is whack.
I could continue all day with further illustrations of how I've clearly been here too long, but won't, because it's almost 6am and I still have two fried computers to fix. Let's just say that my trip home in November can't possibly come too soon.
(As an aside, I will likely be back early next year, and will be continuing the blog from home either way. I look forward to pissing on Canada for a few months)
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Quite Possibly the Worst Student Nickname Ever
It is common for Korean students at hagwons to adopt English nicknames. There may be several really fantastic reasons for this, but so far I’ve uncovered just two. First of all, every single one of my Korean co teachers has told me that they adopt English nicknames so that the foreign teacher has an easier time learning the student’s names. I’ve always thought this was a terrible reason, as it discourages us from learning the student’s real names; while I don’t necessarily link names to identities, I do consider them important. It also effectively eliminates what would otherwise be an excellent chance to improve our Korean. Korean names are, to simplify, composed of Korean sounds. Being forced to verbalize them on a daily basis would improve both our accent and our ear for the language. It’s from this frustration that I’ve deduced a second reason for the adoption of English nicknames: English nicknames are composed of English sounds. Any venture that requires English students to practice English sounds is a worthy one. Even if it results in unintentional hilarity that really ought to be embarrassing for everybody involved.
It’s not uncommon for the students, or their Korean English Teacher, to select an English nickname that nobody in the English speaking world would ever assign to a human being. For example, just the other day one of my students stopped short of begging me to switch his nickname from “Howard” to “Genesis”. I looked at him quizzically and asked, “The beginning of what, exactly?” Howard Student looked confused. After explaining to him what his desired name meant, he agreed that this was less than awesome. As further illustration, one of my students has been assigned the name Gate. Apparently his mother insisted that he be named after Bill Gates and somebody dropped the ball on either naming him “Bill” or “Gates”. While even “Gates” would be adequately stupid to suffice a mention here, seriously: why drop the “s”? Now, instead of carrying the name of a millionaire dweeb, he’s represented by the word for a movable barrier which covers an opening. We may as well just rename him Hymen.
It’s also not unheard of for the students, or their Korean English teacher, to select an English nickname that nobody in the English speaking world would assign to another human being. That is to say, that they may select the name of an individual who happens to be infamous rather than famous. And this unfortunate hopefully-not-a-growing-trend brings us to what I intend to be a weekly supplement, but probably won’t on account of Total Laziness: Student Name of The Week. I informally polled a number of my friends, and while I should probably save the best for last, I simply can’t sleep another night knowing that I’m withholding this level of Absolute Awesome from the world. Of course, by "the world", I mean the 5 of you who actually read this far. So, without further adieu, I share with you the best English nickname ever; and by "best", I do mean worst: R. Kelly Student.
No, seriously.
R. Kelly Student.
Yeah, that R. Kelly.
Take a few moments to digest that, if need be. It really doesn’t get any better. There is absolutely no reasonable explanation for this. Somewhere along the line, somebody dropped the ball. Huge. And the end result is that some prepubescent kid in Korea has named himself after a suspected pedophile. Yes, R. Kelly was recently acquitted on all counts of diddling. That doesn’t make this okay.
Thankfully, R. Kelly Student is not one of my own. If he were, I would spend my days in class with him wondering if he had any idea that R. Kelly was suspected of diddling. It would dawn on me that perhaps the kid knew and thought he was pulling a hilarious prank. Or worse, he knew and felt that R. Kelly was a real man’s man; a role model, even. Here, I start to feel queasy. But it gets worse. Much worse. I realize eventually that it’s quite likely that neither the student nor his Korean Teachers have any idea that R. Kelly is a suspected diddler; that R. Kelly Student simply fell in love with the “music” of R. Kelly and decided to honour his idol. The idea that somebody might feel that moved by R. Kelly’s “musical works” might actually be more upsetting than the possibility that we have a future diddler on our hands.
When I get to about this point in this line of thought, I start to convulse and try to forget that this ever happened.
But it did.
It’s not uncommon for the students, or their Korean English Teacher, to select an English nickname that nobody in the English speaking world would ever assign to a human being. For example, just the other day one of my students stopped short of begging me to switch his nickname from “Howard” to “Genesis”. I looked at him quizzically and asked, “The beginning of what, exactly?” Howard Student looked confused. After explaining to him what his desired name meant, he agreed that this was less than awesome. As further illustration, one of my students has been assigned the name Gate. Apparently his mother insisted that he be named after Bill Gates and somebody dropped the ball on either naming him “Bill” or “Gates”. While even “Gates” would be adequately stupid to suffice a mention here, seriously: why drop the “s”? Now, instead of carrying the name of a millionaire dweeb, he’s represented by the word for a movable barrier which covers an opening. We may as well just rename him Hymen.
It’s also not unheard of for the students, or their Korean English teacher, to select an English nickname that nobody in the English speaking world would assign to another human being. That is to say, that they may select the name of an individual who happens to be infamous rather than famous. And this unfortunate hopefully-not-a-growing-trend brings us to what I intend to be a weekly supplement, but probably won’t on account of Total Laziness: Student Name of The Week. I informally polled a number of my friends, and while I should probably save the best for last, I simply can’t sleep another night knowing that I’m withholding this level of Absolute Awesome from the world. Of course, by "the world", I mean the 5 of you who actually read this far. So, without further adieu, I share with you the best English nickname ever; and by "best", I do mean worst: R. Kelly Student.
No, seriously.
R. Kelly Student.
Yeah, that R. Kelly.
Take a few moments to digest that, if need be. It really doesn’t get any better. There is absolutely no reasonable explanation for this. Somewhere along the line, somebody dropped the ball. Huge. And the end result is that some prepubescent kid in Korea has named himself after a suspected pedophile. Yes, R. Kelly was recently acquitted on all counts of diddling. That doesn’t make this okay.
Thankfully, R. Kelly Student is not one of my own. If he were, I would spend my days in class with him wondering if he had any idea that R. Kelly was suspected of diddling. It would dawn on me that perhaps the kid knew and thought he was pulling a hilarious prank. Or worse, he knew and felt that R. Kelly was a real man’s man; a role model, even. Here, I start to feel queasy. But it gets worse. Much worse. I realize eventually that it’s quite likely that neither the student nor his Korean Teachers have any idea that R. Kelly is a suspected diddler; that R. Kelly Student simply fell in love with the “music” of R. Kelly and decided to honour his idol. The idea that somebody might feel that moved by R. Kelly’s “musical works” might actually be more upsetting than the possibility that we have a future diddler on our hands.
When I get to about this point in this line of thought, I start to convulse and try to forget that this ever happened.
But it did.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Cane My Bottom, Please.
One of my co teachers stopped me in between classes last week to ask permission to ask me a question. Every now and then I like to respond to this silliness by telling him that he can’t, and it’s totally lost on him that I’m just kidding. After yanking his chain, I eventually field his questions because that’s what they pay me for. I tell him as much, and he fails to be as amused by me as I am. This particular teacher tends to ask lots of questions, which is fantastic. I spend many an hour at work in disbelief that I’m getting paid to do next to nothing; helping my coworkers teach English makes me feel like I actually have utility.
This is what they pay me for:
Tony Teacher: Rebecca, can I ask question of you? What is ‘cane bottoms’?
Barbie Teacher: Errrr?
Tony Teacher: Cane bottoms.
Barbie Teacher: Come again?
Tony Teacher: Cane bottoms!
Either because I’m slow or because I’m still not accustomed to deciphering the awkward language that litters our hagwon’s texts, I didn’t have the faintest idea what he was going on about.
Barbie Teacher: You mean… the bottom of a cane? *makes gesture as if holding a cane*
Yes, I actually responded like that. To be fair, his English is somewhat broken. It was entirely possible that he was speaking of the parts of a cane. That’s honestly the first place that my mind went on this one. I might be at least part idiot.
Tony Teacher: No, no, no. *makes a gesture as if to hit somebody in the ass with a stick* Cane bottoms!
Barbie Teacher: *horrified face, quickly wiped away by denial* Errr… can you show me the phrase in context?
I was at a loss as to 1) why he was asking me about caning and 2) why he was wording it as “cane bottoms”. More so, I was still hanging on to the hope that he was looking for a word for the bottom of a cane.
Tony Teacher: *opens his book to a lesson about rewards and punishments*
I realized at this point that I had no choice but to accept what most people would have deduced several minutes earlier: that “cane bottoms” was, in fact, being used to refer to the act of caning. Given that caning isn’t something that I’ve been exposed to in my lifetime, I prefer to think of my delayed understanding as naivety rather than stupidity.
I’m probably wrong.
This is what they pay me for:
Tony Teacher: Rebecca, can I ask question of you? What is ‘cane bottoms’?
Barbie Teacher: Errrr?
Tony Teacher: Cane bottoms.
Barbie Teacher: Come again?
Tony Teacher: Cane bottoms!
Either because I’m slow or because I’m still not accustomed to deciphering the awkward language that litters our hagwon’s texts, I didn’t have the faintest idea what he was going on about.
Barbie Teacher: You mean… the bottom of a cane? *makes gesture as if holding a cane*
Yes, I actually responded like that. To be fair, his English is somewhat broken. It was entirely possible that he was speaking of the parts of a cane. That’s honestly the first place that my mind went on this one. I might be at least part idiot.
Tony Teacher: No, no, no. *makes a gesture as if to hit somebody in the ass with a stick* Cane bottoms!
Barbie Teacher: *horrified face, quickly wiped away by denial* Errr… can you show me the phrase in context?
I was at a loss as to 1) why he was asking me about caning and 2) why he was wording it as “cane bottoms”. More so, I was still hanging on to the hope that he was looking for a word for the bottom of a cane.
Tony Teacher: *opens his book to a lesson about rewards and punishments*
I realized at this point that I had no choice but to accept what most people would have deduced several minutes earlier: that “cane bottoms” was, in fact, being used to refer to the act of caning. Given that caning isn’t something that I’ve been exposed to in my lifetime, I prefer to think of my delayed understanding as naivety rather than stupidity.
I’m probably wrong.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Barbie Teacher and the Short Bus Chronicles
You really shouldn’t need a reason to be happy. And if you insist on being sad, there really ought to be a damn good reason for it. My own default is such that it’s painfully easy to wallow in self pity; it’s a lot harder to put on my happy hat and sing a happy tune. The truth is I used to be completely unable to do so. Reality, should we chose to accept it, changes everything. Knowing that the world has lost somebody who never needed a reason to smile or put others before him makes me want to be more like my friend; I’ll never do it quite as well as he did, but a little bit of effort goes a long way. Or so I keep telling myself. In my last week I may have swallowed bottle after bottle in search of the end to my own insecurities, and I’m probably going to follow this up with more of the same. Yet, rather than write about my struggle towards self love, I’m going to ramble about something amusing that happened in class a while back, if for no other reason than the hope that it might make somebody else smile.
Tuesdays and Thursday end with one of my most advanced classes. Given that my most advanced class can almost have conversations with me, this isn't exactly saying a whole lot. That being said, from time to time I have rather enjoyable banters with these students. The load of suck is that I have to stay an extra hour to do it. I regularly debate whether or not this is worth it, with mixed results. On this particular Thursday, Rhea Student decided to be cute and show up 20 minutes late. I love it when they do that. In the same way that I love Fran Drescher’s laugh. Or rough anal sex. In other words, call me a prude, but I’d really rather that they not show up at all at that point. In spite of my annoyance, as it turns out, the ridiculous banter that was about to hand wrapped for me could not have happened had Rhea Student not stumbled in late.
Rhea Student has a penchant for punctuality, so her tardiness drew the attention of Kevin Student. After allowing 30 seconds of what sounded like light hearted Korean mockery, Rhea Student threw her book at Kevin Student. Confused, I asked Kevin Student what he had just told her. He calmly explains to me that Rhea Student was late because she “took the short bus to school”. Rhea Student promptly throws another book at him. At this juncture I had two options: I could either tell Kevin Student that he’s not being nice and to cut it out, or I could play dumb and ask what this whole “short bus” deal was all about. Consummate professional that I am, I chose the latter. Frankly, I was so surprised to hear that “short bus” as a euphemism for retard might translate similarly to Korean, that the former option didn’t even cross my mind. I had to get to the bottom of this. The result was more or less as follows:
Barbie Teacher: Kevin Student, what does “short bus” mean?
Kevin Student: *naïve face* Rhea took a taxi to school! Short bus is taxi!
Rhea Student: *throws pencil at Kevin Student* No! NO! That’s not what it means!
Barbie Teacher: *innocent face* Is it a bad thing? Is he insulting you?
Kevin Student: No! Taxi man!
Rhea Student: Yes! *looks sad that she has run out of items to throw*
Barbie Teacher: Well, how is it an insult? What does it mean?
Kevin Teacher: No, not an isult! *smirk* *insert three minute conversation, complete with illustrations, about how some busses just happen to be shorter than others*
Rhea Student: Teacher! He lies! He's calling me... like stupid!
Barbie Teacher: *chortling* Kevin Student, tell Rhea you’re sorry.
Kevin Student: Rhea Student… I’m sorry that you rode the short bus.
Rhea Student: *pouty face*
In other words, 5 minutes of awesome later and neither of them definitively confirmed my assumption that “short bus” serves a similar purpose in Korean as it does English. Later, I naively asked my boss what “short bus” meant. For a split second he appeared to be thoroughly embarrassed for me, before concealing his pity with a puzzled look and shrug of the shoulders. Either way, I walked away happy.
Tuesdays and Thursday end with one of my most advanced classes. Given that my most advanced class can almost have conversations with me, this isn't exactly saying a whole lot. That being said, from time to time I have rather enjoyable banters with these students. The load of suck is that I have to stay an extra hour to do it. I regularly debate whether or not this is worth it, with mixed results. On this particular Thursday, Rhea Student decided to be cute and show up 20 minutes late. I love it when they do that. In the same way that I love Fran Drescher’s laugh. Or rough anal sex. In other words, call me a prude, but I’d really rather that they not show up at all at that point. In spite of my annoyance, as it turns out, the ridiculous banter that was about to hand wrapped for me could not have happened had Rhea Student not stumbled in late.
Rhea Student has a penchant for punctuality, so her tardiness drew the attention of Kevin Student. After allowing 30 seconds of what sounded like light hearted Korean mockery, Rhea Student threw her book at Kevin Student. Confused, I asked Kevin Student what he had just told her. He calmly explains to me that Rhea Student was late because she “took the short bus to school”. Rhea Student promptly throws another book at him. At this juncture I had two options: I could either tell Kevin Student that he’s not being nice and to cut it out, or I could play dumb and ask what this whole “short bus” deal was all about. Consummate professional that I am, I chose the latter. Frankly, I was so surprised to hear that “short bus” as a euphemism for retard might translate similarly to Korean, that the former option didn’t even cross my mind. I had to get to the bottom of this. The result was more or less as follows:
Barbie Teacher: Kevin Student, what does “short bus” mean?
Kevin Student: *naïve face* Rhea took a taxi to school! Short bus is taxi!
Rhea Student: *throws pencil at Kevin Student* No! NO! That’s not what it means!
Barbie Teacher: *innocent face* Is it a bad thing? Is he insulting you?
Kevin Student: No! Taxi man!
Rhea Student: Yes! *looks sad that she has run out of items to throw*
Barbie Teacher: Well, how is it an insult? What does it mean?
Kevin Teacher: No, not an isult! *smirk* *insert three minute conversation, complete with illustrations, about how some busses just happen to be shorter than others*
Rhea Student: Teacher! He lies! He's calling me... like stupid!
Barbie Teacher: *chortling* Kevin Student, tell Rhea you’re sorry.
Kevin Student: Rhea Student… I’m sorry that you rode the short bus.
Rhea Student: *pouty face*
In other words, 5 minutes of awesome later and neither of them definitively confirmed my assumption that “short bus” serves a similar purpose in Korean as it does English. Later, I naively asked my boss what “short bus” meant. For a split second he appeared to be thoroughly embarrassed for me, before concealing his pity with a puzzled look and shrug of the shoulders. Either way, I walked away happy.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Barbie Reflects; Deeps Thoughts Are Lacking
I’ve been in Korea Land for six months. It’s countdown time, contractually speaking. I was going to try to write a meaningful summary of my experiences here so far, the good, the bad and the unmentionables. Somewhere between then and now I got the distinct taste of bile in my mouth over the thought of doing so. I’d really much rather discuss how I’d like the Washington Ovechkin’s to spend the first round of the playoffs bending over, how my white comforter is looking a trifle grey since I washed it with a red sweater, how there is a fine film of dust building up as a result of my refusal to clean my apartment, or why my potatoes look green. Should I still eat them?
Korea Land was originally intended to be a one year break from the rather bleak reality that was my life in Canada Land. The purpose was to travel a bit, pay off some debt, and take a hiatus from Everything That Sucked. I somehow failed to consider the possibility that this much time away from home would merely fuel my lust for travel and experience; that it would be asinine to ever again tolerate Everything That Sucked when I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t have to be That Way.
My father has been calling me out for being self centred for as long as I can remember; probably not long after I learned how to speak, which led to many an hour spent verbalizing thoughts about myself. That I blog on end about myself, people I know, and what we do, does nothing to refute his claims. Bearing this mind, I came over here hoping that time in Canada Land would just sort of stop. That is, that nothing of note would happen when I was gone. Nobody would breed, marry, or die. In my mind, these were simple requests to ask of the universe. I certainly don’t plan on doing any of those things anytime in the foreseeable future; it confuses me when people have other ideas.
When you make the choice to move abroad for a period of time, you do so knowing that life will go on without you ; you just kind of hope that it does so with little fanfare. I like to hear that everybody back home is healthy, happy, and that no, nothing is really new. Same old, same old! While weddings themselves are a bit of a snore, the after parties tend to be worth the price of admission. Knowing that I missed one saddens me a touch. Other people’s babies are cute and lovable. The best part about them is knowing that they aren’t coming home with you. It saddened me a bit to learn that my life long friend would have hers in my absence; I would have liked to have been there for it. Both of these things only sadden me because I’m missing them; at the core I’m happy for both of my friends. When another friend passed away suddenly in January, there was no happiness to fall back on.
Sometimes, there is no silver lining; no upside to lean on or optimism to be found. Time doesn’t heal all wounds; it merely allows for the worst to become bearable. Time allows us to make sense of what we can’t control by focusing on what we can. The choice to make a life change following tragedy resets the control scales. My choice was to see myself as a whole, rather than individual pieces to dissect. This will not undo the damage that has been done and might not even make me a better person; it’s the perception of moving forward, that my choices still matter, which is important.
Separation anxiety aside, six months removed from Everything That Sucked has done me a world of good. The extended holiday has been so good to me that friends from home occasionally express concern that I might not return. No worries – or an abundance of them, depending on how much you like me – I’ll be returning to Canada Land when my contract comes to an end mid October. To stay here would be to run away from Everything That Sucked; everything doesn’t have to suck quite that badly, anymore. Nor is my only option whatever becomes of Everything That Sucked. My promise is to return to Canada Land – not to stay there.
Korea Land was originally intended to be a one year break from the rather bleak reality that was my life in Canada Land. The purpose was to travel a bit, pay off some debt, and take a hiatus from Everything That Sucked. I somehow failed to consider the possibility that this much time away from home would merely fuel my lust for travel and experience; that it would be asinine to ever again tolerate Everything That Sucked when I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t have to be That Way.
My father has been calling me out for being self centred for as long as I can remember; probably not long after I learned how to speak, which led to many an hour spent verbalizing thoughts about myself. That I blog on end about myself, people I know, and what we do, does nothing to refute his claims. Bearing this mind, I came over here hoping that time in Canada Land would just sort of stop. That is, that nothing of note would happen when I was gone. Nobody would breed, marry, or die. In my mind, these were simple requests to ask of the universe. I certainly don’t plan on doing any of those things anytime in the foreseeable future; it confuses me when people have other ideas.
When you make the choice to move abroad for a period of time, you do so knowing that life will go on without you ; you just kind of hope that it does so with little fanfare. I like to hear that everybody back home is healthy, happy, and that no, nothing is really new. Same old, same old! While weddings themselves are a bit of a snore, the after parties tend to be worth the price of admission. Knowing that I missed one saddens me a touch. Other people’s babies are cute and lovable. The best part about them is knowing that they aren’t coming home with you. It saddened me a bit to learn that my life long friend would have hers in my absence; I would have liked to have been there for it. Both of these things only sadden me because I’m missing them; at the core I’m happy for both of my friends. When another friend passed away suddenly in January, there was no happiness to fall back on.
Sometimes, there is no silver lining; no upside to lean on or optimism to be found. Time doesn’t heal all wounds; it merely allows for the worst to become bearable. Time allows us to make sense of what we can’t control by focusing on what we can. The choice to make a life change following tragedy resets the control scales. My choice was to see myself as a whole, rather than individual pieces to dissect. This will not undo the damage that has been done and might not even make me a better person; it’s the perception of moving forward, that my choices still matter, which is important.
Separation anxiety aside, six months removed from Everything That Sucked has done me a world of good. The extended holiday has been so good to me that friends from home occasionally express concern that I might not return. No worries – or an abundance of them, depending on how much you like me – I’ll be returning to Canada Land when my contract comes to an end mid October. To stay here would be to run away from Everything That Sucked; everything doesn’t have to suck quite that badly, anymore. Nor is my only option whatever becomes of Everything That Sucked. My promise is to return to Canada Land – not to stay there.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Nazis. Skin Cream. Oops?
A Korean cosmetics campaign has drawn the attention of the Simon Wiesenthal Center. The folks at SWC were less than impressed to find an abundance of "Nazi imagery" in Coreana Cosmetic's Co.'s recent commercial for skin cream. The 30 second spot featured some general military imagery, with a swastika thrown in for good measure. The original version of the same ad reportedly contained the slogan: "Even Hitler didn't have the East and West." Apparently somebody at Coreana Cosmetic Co. decided that subtly was a lost art form and nixed that part. Either way, the SWC wasn't particularly amused to find that the advertising department at Coreana Cosmetic's failed to receive the memo that giving Hitler a spot in your commercial might be considered just a tad insensitive.
Even after having a couple of days to sit on this, I'm shocked that this one snuck by the Korea Land censors. Stunned! It's not like there's a Hitler HOF in the same neighborhood as my school, or anything. There's simply no way that a civilized society would allow for something so potentially offensive to stand.
Right? Right.
In news completely unrelated to bigotry, last week I was informed by one of my coworkers that "Koreans aren't racist". None of them. "It's different than in Canada". It sure is! More on that later.
Even after having a couple of days to sit on this, I'm shocked that this one snuck by the Korea Land censors. Stunned! It's not like there's a Hitler HOF in the same neighborhood as my school, or anything. There's simply no way that a civilized society would allow for something so potentially offensive to stand.
Right? Right.
In news completely unrelated to bigotry, last week I was informed by one of my coworkers that "Koreans aren't racist". None of them. "It's different than in Canada". It sure is! More on that later.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Barbie Teacher is Monkey!
I am a fairly compensated Talking Monkey. Even my students think so.
I’ll be the first to admit that my job entails very little in the way of skill. If my occasional peak at message boards frequented by other English teachers in Korea is anything to go by, one doesn’t even need a working knowledge of the English language. The check list of qualifications required to teach English at your typical hagwon in Korea is looks something like this:
1 - Are you from Korea? No? Fantastic.
2 - Are you whiter than white? No? Look into purchasing some whitening cream and you’re temporarily forgiven. Good news! In Korea, there is whitening cream in everything, from your facial moisturizer to the dye in your clothing.
3 - Can you speak something that at least sounds somewhat like English? Oui? Fabulous!
4 - Do you have a university degree, or at least a shiny piece of paper that kind of looks like it could be? Yes? Super!
5 - Do you have any interest in teaching? Not particularly, but you’re awfully fond of money? Sold!
Higher paying jobs and those which offer more vacation time tend to be a little pickier than your typical hagwon. They may actually be interested in knowing that you can spell, too. I’ve heard of some institutes that are interested in learning whether or not you’re a qualified educator, but they’re few and far between. The reality for most foreigners teaching English in Korea is that we really are Talking Monkeys. Our job is to provide a foreign presence. If one decides to go above and beyond that and actually take their role as an educator seriously, that’s fantastic. If one thinks that this is lame and would rather stumble into their 8am classes only two hours removed from a serious drinking binge, the sad reality is that they’re probably not going to get fired. As long as they show up on time, they may not even get criticized.
I know my place here. I know that while I chose to arrive at the hagwon half an hour before class, to not drink during the week, and to prepare each lesson, that the vast majority of the time my efforts will go unnoticed. I don’t take my job seriously because I’m vainly searching for praise; I do it because I wouldn’t respect myself otherwise.
Each Wednesday, I begin the day with eight screaming six year olds. They’re just darling. It’s an introductory class, so I spend a good deal of time miming as I speak. The Talking Monkey becomes the Dancing Monkey. It’s a good deal of fun, so I don’t really mind.
On this particular Wednesday, the children weren’t too keen on listening. The activity that we were working through required them to repeat what I said, and nothing more. They so weren’t feeling it, and blabbered at one another in Korean. Dancing Monkey time! I ordered the class to be quiet, and announced that it was time to listen, while grabbing at my ear. Body language excellence! Belle Student either misunderstood my message, or hates me a whole lot. Seeing me grab at my ear resulted in her breaking into a fit of hysterical giggles. The giggling subsided shortly after, because breathing is important. After taking a moment to get some air, she grabbed both of her ears, screwed up her face and said: “Teacher Monkey! Ooo! Woo!” For her efforts, Belle Student won herself a free date in the hallway with Captain Nobody.
While Belle Student wasn’t exactly incorrect in her mockery, Barbie Teacher really doesn’t need six year olds to put her in her place. Even though I found Belle Student’s mockery of my actions rather amusing, I had to put on an Angry Face and feign indignation.
I’ll be the first to admit that my job entails very little in the way of skill. If my occasional peak at message boards frequented by other English teachers in Korea is anything to go by, one doesn’t even need a working knowledge of the English language. The check list of qualifications required to teach English at your typical hagwon in Korea is looks something like this:
1 - Are you from Korea? No? Fantastic.
2 - Are you whiter than white? No? Look into purchasing some whitening cream and you’re temporarily forgiven. Good news! In Korea, there is whitening cream in everything, from your facial moisturizer to the dye in your clothing.
3 - Can you speak something that at least sounds somewhat like English? Oui? Fabulous!
4 - Do you have a university degree, or at least a shiny piece of paper that kind of looks like it could be? Yes? Super!
5 - Do you have any interest in teaching? Not particularly, but you’re awfully fond of money? Sold!
Higher paying jobs and those which offer more vacation time tend to be a little pickier than your typical hagwon. They may actually be interested in knowing that you can spell, too. I’ve heard of some institutes that are interested in learning whether or not you’re a qualified educator, but they’re few and far between. The reality for most foreigners teaching English in Korea is that we really are Talking Monkeys. Our job is to provide a foreign presence. If one decides to go above and beyond that and actually take their role as an educator seriously, that’s fantastic. If one thinks that this is lame and would rather stumble into their 8am classes only two hours removed from a serious drinking binge, the sad reality is that they’re probably not going to get fired. As long as they show up on time, they may not even get criticized.
I know my place here. I know that while I chose to arrive at the hagwon half an hour before class, to not drink during the week, and to prepare each lesson, that the vast majority of the time my efforts will go unnoticed. I don’t take my job seriously because I’m vainly searching for praise; I do it because I wouldn’t respect myself otherwise.
Each Wednesday, I begin the day with eight screaming six year olds. They’re just darling. It’s an introductory class, so I spend a good deal of time miming as I speak. The Talking Monkey becomes the Dancing Monkey. It’s a good deal of fun, so I don’t really mind.
On this particular Wednesday, the children weren’t too keen on listening. The activity that we were working through required them to repeat what I said, and nothing more. They so weren’t feeling it, and blabbered at one another in Korean. Dancing Monkey time! I ordered the class to be quiet, and announced that it was time to listen, while grabbing at my ear. Body language excellence! Belle Student either misunderstood my message, or hates me a whole lot. Seeing me grab at my ear resulted in her breaking into a fit of hysterical giggles. The giggling subsided shortly after, because breathing is important. After taking a moment to get some air, she grabbed both of her ears, screwed up her face and said: “Teacher Monkey! Ooo! Woo!” For her efforts, Belle Student won herself a free date in the hallway with Captain Nobody.
While Belle Student wasn’t exactly incorrect in her mockery, Barbie Teacher really doesn’t need six year olds to put her in her place. Even though I found Belle Student’s mockery of my actions rather amusing, I had to put on an Angry Face and feign indignation.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Barbie Teacher Is Schooled on the "Sea of Japan”
Every Monday and Wednesday I have the challenge of starting my day with screaming 6 year olds and ending it with a small group of men and women in their 30’s. I actually prefer the 6 year olds; they require significantly less work. The students look bored? Easy. Put on a stupid face or make them repeat some random English word three times fast. Laughter ensues. Problem solved. In my adult class, I actually have to put together handouts and what not so that we have extra material to fall back on if the Topic of the Day is a flop. In other words, I have to do work. Work! Totally not what I came here for! As a result, I like my younger classes best because they require the least work. That said, when I can overlook the fact that I’m a lazy twerp, I realize than I learn more about Korea during my discussions with the adult class. All that work creating vocabulary lists and discussion questions (*cough* ten minutes *cough*) is not for naught!
I arrive to each of my adult classes with a Topic of the Day prepared for discussion. The accompanying handout, which is hastily throw together between sessions of facebook and ass scratching during break, is comprised of an introduction to the Topic of the Day, relevant vocabulary, discussion questions, and related articles. When I first started leading these classes I didn’t actually bother to prepare anything whatsoever, because I had no bloody clue what the heck I was doing. Four months later and I’ve smartened up. Barbie Teacher learns quickly! Or possibly just overlooks the obvious for an inexcusably long time before finally acting like Normal People.
The Topic of the Day for the first Monday back from the Chinese New Year was “Natural Disasters”. The previous Monday I had been totally lacking in inspiration and actually selected “Weather” as the Topic of the Day. To me, discussing the weather for an hour is incredibly painful. Surprisingly, they were actually interested. On one hand, this was fantastic. On the other, it was Total Balls since it meant that I couldn’t just change the topic in the middle of class to something that sucked slightly less.
At some point during the “Natural Disaster” discussion, I was talking to my students about how being on the Sea of Japan rather than right on the ocean makes a difference in regards to some weather-hooey. Whatever the Hell point it was that I was trying to make totally died when I uttered: “the Sea of Japan”. One of the men turned his nose up, glanced my way with more than just a touch of disdain, and advised me that the correct name is “the Sea. Just ‘the Sea’” (I looked this up later and determined that South Korea has fought to have it internationally known as “The East Sea”, not “Just ‘the Sea’”… but whatever, we’ll give him a pass). It was at this point that I remembered reading something, months ago, about how Koreans absolutely abhor that anybody refers to this body of water as “the Sea of Japan”. I presume that the underlying issue here is that after hundreds of years of bloody, bloody battles and some outright ass kickings from their not-always-so-friendly neighbor, some Koreans are a little displeased that the body of water which the entire east side of their country borders bears the name of their former bully. Understandable.
I apologized profusely for my blunder, and then proceeded to blame the entire thing on the United States. They nodded and took this as an acceptable passing-of-the-buck. Thankfully, nobody sought further explanation as to why this was the fault of the United States, as I had none to offer.
I arrive to each of my adult classes with a Topic of the Day prepared for discussion. The accompanying handout, which is hastily throw together between sessions of facebook and ass scratching during break, is comprised of an introduction to the Topic of the Day, relevant vocabulary, discussion questions, and related articles. When I first started leading these classes I didn’t actually bother to prepare anything whatsoever, because I had no bloody clue what the heck I was doing. Four months later and I’ve smartened up. Barbie Teacher learns quickly! Or possibly just overlooks the obvious for an inexcusably long time before finally acting like Normal People.
The Topic of the Day for the first Monday back from the Chinese New Year was “Natural Disasters”. The previous Monday I had been totally lacking in inspiration and actually selected “Weather” as the Topic of the Day. To me, discussing the weather for an hour is incredibly painful. Surprisingly, they were actually interested. On one hand, this was fantastic. On the other, it was Total Balls since it meant that I couldn’t just change the topic in the middle of class to something that sucked slightly less.
At some point during the “Natural Disaster” discussion, I was talking to my students about how being on the Sea of Japan rather than right on the ocean makes a difference in regards to some weather-hooey. Whatever the Hell point it was that I was trying to make totally died when I uttered: “the Sea of Japan”. One of the men turned his nose up, glanced my way with more than just a touch of disdain, and advised me that the correct name is “the Sea. Just ‘the Sea’” (I looked this up later and determined that South Korea has fought to have it internationally known as “The East Sea”, not “Just ‘the Sea’”… but whatever, we’ll give him a pass). It was at this point that I remembered reading something, months ago, about how Koreans absolutely abhor that anybody refers to this body of water as “the Sea of Japan”. I presume that the underlying issue here is that after hundreds of years of bloody, bloody battles and some outright ass kickings from their not-always-so-friendly neighbor, some Koreans are a little displeased that the body of water which the entire east side of their country borders bears the name of their former bully. Understandable.
I apologized profusely for my blunder, and then proceeded to blame the entire thing on the United States. They nodded and took this as an acceptable passing-of-the-buck. Thankfully, nobody sought further explanation as to why this was the fault of the United States, as I had none to offer.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Big White Barbie Declares Korea Broken
This just in: Korea is broken. Totally. Fucking. Broken. So, incredibly broken, that I'm not even sure where one begins to explain it. The mind numbs just thinking about it. It appears that I've officially hit That Stage, whereby I feel that I've earned the right to take an obnoxiously negative and culturally ignorant Time Out. After more than two months of dripping in respectful commentary I'm long overdue for a long winded Korean-hating diatribe, if for no other reason than to make other foreigners embarrassed to be associated with me. Not that they shouldn't already be, but there seems to be some gross misconception here that I'm Some Kind of Wonderful. As my friend's back in The Real World are fully aware, this couldn't be further from the truth. Korea's manner of grossly overrating me is perhaps the only thing that it has going for it. That and my paychecks. And possibly the never ending flow of booze.
Now, before we decide to be huffy and get our panties in a twist over the cultural ignorance that is to come, let it be clear that I happen to think Canada is broken too. I've been bitching about how broken Canada is for the past 25 years. I'm tired of Broken Canada. That's why I came to Korea; I ran out of things to bitch about back home. So, without further ado, here are just a couple of reasons that Korean is fucking broken:
1) Koreans are socially retarded. I don't mean this in the sense that I'm socially retarded. They fail to pull off the Drunken Uncle Without Male Qualities character quite like I do. They skip Drunk Uncle and go straight to Are You Fucking Kidding Me?
To start, Koreans generally meet other people by being introduced via a third party. The Western Way of simply wandering around a bar and talking to complete strangers until you pick one to go home with is simply not done by Proper Koreans. Only Pregnant Foreign Sluts engage in such inappropriate behaviour. And the Japanese, of course. The result is that unless they've been introduced to you, you don't exist to a Korean. The only people that exist are those whom they've been introduced to. Hence, there is no need to be polite to 99% of the population. You can't be polite to people that aren't there! That's crazy talk. Hence, people jump ahead of you in line at the supermarket, shove passed you to get on the subway, and walk right into you when there is nobody else in the room. They're not being rude! You're just not there. Got it?
2) Despite their overwhelming desire to be one, many Koreans hate white people. The Hate-On is so strong that they fail to see the irony in it and appreciate this as the massive inferiority complex that it is. If anybody is equipped to recognize a national inferiority complex, it's a Canadian.
Everywhere you turn in Busan, there is a cosmetic surgery advertisement. For some inexplicable reason, Koreans hate looking Korean. Their ideal is to sport a "high nose", "small face", and a double-eyelid. In other words, their ideal is to have Caucasian features. Being held to such an impossible ideal is grossly unfortunate. Koreans that aren't putting their paychecks on the table to go under the knife in search of a Caucasian identity are no less attractive than those that do. Just don't tell them that! They won't believe you. I've tried.
Everywhere you turn in Busan that there isn't a cosmetic surgery advertisement, there is a little reminder of Uncle Sam. McDonald's, Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts, Hollywood, random MLB signs in shop windows, Coca Cola; Korea is almost the Canada of Asia in this regard. Almost. There is still a distinct Korean identity, which Canadians lack.
What results is that in spite of being held to a Euro-centric beauty ideal, in spite of the abundance of American imports, Koreans are primed from birth to believe that Koreans are the Best People on Earth. Absolutely no other nationality compares to the awesomeness of being Korean. The social hierarchy works something like this: Koreans, other Asians, animals, foreigners. Hence, Koreans pay Random Whitey's a relatively handsome wage to attend their school and Be White. A Random White Face at a private academy is gold to the school's director. Yet, because you're a foreigner, few people actually respect you. You're below chihuahuas on the social hierarchy. It doesn't matter that they want a nose like yours, watch American movies, and just had a dose of McDonald's for lunch. It doesn't matter that you're the native English speaker; the Korean teachers taught them English the correct way, damnit! They're not going to "change-y" it just because some foreigner thinks they know more about pronouncing the English Language than they do. Your place in this society will never be higher than rock bottom. At the end of the day, you will always be the Pregnant, AIDS Ridden, Dirty Foreigner Slut.
Rock on.
Now, before we decide to be huffy and get our panties in a twist over the cultural ignorance that is to come, let it be clear that I happen to think Canada is broken too. I've been bitching about how broken Canada is for the past 25 years. I'm tired of Broken Canada. That's why I came to Korea; I ran out of things to bitch about back home. So, without further ado, here are just a couple of reasons that Korean is fucking broken:
1) Koreans are socially retarded. I don't mean this in the sense that I'm socially retarded. They fail to pull off the Drunken Uncle Without Male Qualities character quite like I do. They skip Drunk Uncle and go straight to Are You Fucking Kidding Me?
To start, Koreans generally meet other people by being introduced via a third party. The Western Way of simply wandering around a bar and talking to complete strangers until you pick one to go home with is simply not done by Proper Koreans. Only Pregnant Foreign Sluts engage in such inappropriate behaviour. And the Japanese, of course. The result is that unless they've been introduced to you, you don't exist to a Korean. The only people that exist are those whom they've been introduced to. Hence, there is no need to be polite to 99% of the population. You can't be polite to people that aren't there! That's crazy talk. Hence, people jump ahead of you in line at the supermarket, shove passed you to get on the subway, and walk right into you when there is nobody else in the room. They're not being rude! You're just not there. Got it?
2) Despite their overwhelming desire to be one, many Koreans hate white people. The Hate-On is so strong that they fail to see the irony in it and appreciate this as the massive inferiority complex that it is. If anybody is equipped to recognize a national inferiority complex, it's a Canadian.
Everywhere you turn in Busan, there is a cosmetic surgery advertisement. For some inexplicable reason, Koreans hate looking Korean. Their ideal is to sport a "high nose", "small face", and a double-eyelid. In other words, their ideal is to have Caucasian features. Being held to such an impossible ideal is grossly unfortunate. Koreans that aren't putting their paychecks on the table to go under the knife in search of a Caucasian identity are no less attractive than those that do. Just don't tell them that! They won't believe you. I've tried.
Everywhere you turn in Busan that there isn't a cosmetic surgery advertisement, there is a little reminder of Uncle Sam. McDonald's, Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts, Hollywood, random MLB signs in shop windows, Coca Cola; Korea is almost the Canada of Asia in this regard. Almost. There is still a distinct Korean identity, which Canadians lack.
What results is that in spite of being held to a Euro-centric beauty ideal, in spite of the abundance of American imports, Koreans are primed from birth to believe that Koreans are the Best People on Earth. Absolutely no other nationality compares to the awesomeness of being Korean. The social hierarchy works something like this: Koreans, other Asians, animals, foreigners. Hence, Koreans pay Random Whitey's a relatively handsome wage to attend their school and Be White. A Random White Face at a private academy is gold to the school's director. Yet, because you're a foreigner, few people actually respect you. You're below chihuahuas on the social hierarchy. It doesn't matter that they want a nose like yours, watch American movies, and just had a dose of McDonald's for lunch. It doesn't matter that you're the native English speaker; the Korean teachers taught them English the correct way, damnit! They're not going to "change-y" it just because some foreigner thinks they know more about pronouncing the English Language than they do. Your place in this society will never be higher than rock bottom. At the end of the day, you will always be the Pregnant, AIDS Ridden, Dirty Foreigner Slut.
Rock on.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Barbie Tells The Boss Man What's What
Wednesday, December 19 is election day in Korea. What this means is that the annoying election vans that go up and down all the main streets, blaring really awful music and probably some useless slogans, will finally go back to the scrap metal heap where they belong. What it also means is that Barbie gets the day off. At least, that's what it's supposed to mean. Election Day is a National Holiday. I read my contract quite thoroughly and insisted that my school add certain details to it prior to my agreeing to sign it. Among these was a guarantee that I would not have to work national holidays. Of course, I don't have to work these anyways, but it's a Hell of a lot easier to deal with your boss when you get what you're legally entitled to written into your contact. As you can imagine, when I found out last week that the school would be open on Election Day and I was to treat this as a regular work day (read: no overtime, no "thanks for coming out!"), I was less than amused. Something had to be give, and it sure as Heck wasn't going to be me. Barbie's not much of a giver. Not! A! Giver!
I decided that the best approach was to wait until two days prior to Election Day to bring it up. Back in Canada Land, I would never have tried to pull last minute stunt like this. Yet here in Korea Land, everything happens at the last minute. Had I approached him a moment earlier, he would have forgotten by the time Election Day actually rolled around. Then, 27 phone calls later, I would have spent the entirety Election Day having the same discussion with him.
I intended to press the issue that I had been sick and needed the day off anyways, yet I was sure to carefully highlight the valid points of my contract prior approaching The Boss Man. Wisely done, as The Boss Man's response to my needing a day off was to babble about the school calender and how taking Election Day off meant reducing our already dismal Christmas holidays by another day. I politely pulled out my contract at this point and explained that while I understand the necessity of following the school calender, that I agreed to come to Hagwon Hell on the premise that I would have National Holidays off work and one week of winter vacation. The Boss Man takes the contract from Barbie and gazes at it in confusion, before grabbing his cell phone and disappearing for a while. I was grossly confused as to what was going on with him and moderately irritated, but I had brats to attend to for the next couple of hours, so I brushed the thoughts aside and made my way to Brat Haven to be fill my role as Big White Barbie.
The Boss Man apparently spent a good deal of time on the phone with other schools in the Hagwon Hell franchise, looking for advice on how to convince the silly Barbie that she does not, in fact, get all National Holidays after work. He was totally just kidding about that whole contract thing! Made you look!
Now, The Boss Man speaks limited English, so he decides that the best means of negotiation is to have one of the least fluent Korean teachers translate for us. Brilliant. The Boss Man starts off by explaining that foreigners at other branches of Hawgon Hell will also have to work election. I tell the Korean teacher to tell The Boss Man that other foreigners have a tendency to either not know what they are entitled to, or to be afraid to ask for it. I know what I'm entitled to and am not afraid to ask for it. The Korean teacher and The Boss Man ramble at each other for a while. Next, The Boss Man explains that Election Day is a "special holiday" that doesn't really count as a "National Holiday" like in the contract. Here, he's clearing insulting my intelligence. Never a good tactic.
I have many character flaws: I'm stubborn as fuck, I regularly say inappropriate things at the worst possible time, I lack tact, my fondness of black comedy has demented my sense of humour, I frequently overlook the obvious, I do everything at the last minute, and I bury my tragic insecurities with a guise of conceit. All that said, I'm relatively easy going. I can take good natured ripping; in fact, you're not really my friend unless you mock me from time to time. Yet, seriously insulting my intelligence is just a major, major no-no. So, when The Boss Man treated me as if I had no idea what I was talking about, as if I hadn't done hours of research on this garbage prior to even coming here, he was in for a real treat. Not only did Big White Barbie know how to read, but she had discovered the internet! And she wasn't afraid to stick up for herself! A dangerous, dangerous combination.
I tell the Korean teacher to tell The Boss Man that I am perfectly aware of what Election Day is and that it most certainly is a National Holiday. At this point I offer to gather some resources for them in Korean if that would help. The two of them blabber at each other for a moment and The Boss Man says that would be nice. So, I tell The Boss Man that I know where the Ministry of Labour is in Busan and that I can go there the next day. The Boss Man and Other Dude start speaking to each other a little more frantically at this point.
Conclusion? Barbie gets Election Day off. And The Boss Man giggles on his way out the door and kindly asks Barbie to never, ever go to the labour board.
Now, I am torn here. Should I be proud that I stood up for myself, or was this profoundly stupid? I more or less put all my eggs in on basket when I pulled the Ministry of Labour Card. Either I was going to get whatever the heck I wanted, or it was going to get really ugly. Given my financial standing at the moment, I can't afford to go home if things get ugly. I also can't imagine allowing my employer to walk all over me for the next 9 1/2 months. If I don't show some spine now, I'm going to get screwed later on because they'll assume that I'm just a Stupid Foreigner Who Knows Nothing. So, I pulled out all of the stops. And still got a ride home from work from The Boss Man that night.
Big White Barbie: 1
The Boss Man: 0
Barbie rarely picks a battle which she can't win.
Stay tuned for the rematch.
I decided that the best approach was to wait until two days prior to Election Day to bring it up. Back in Canada Land, I would never have tried to pull last minute stunt like this. Yet here in Korea Land, everything happens at the last minute. Had I approached him a moment earlier, he would have forgotten by the time Election Day actually rolled around. Then, 27 phone calls later, I would have spent the entirety Election Day having the same discussion with him.
I intended to press the issue that I had been sick and needed the day off anyways, yet I was sure to carefully highlight the valid points of my contract prior approaching The Boss Man. Wisely done, as The Boss Man's response to my needing a day off was to babble about the school calender and how taking Election Day off meant reducing our already dismal Christmas holidays by another day. I politely pulled out my contract at this point and explained that while I understand the necessity of following the school calender, that I agreed to come to Hagwon Hell on the premise that I would have National Holidays off work and one week of winter vacation. The Boss Man takes the contract from Barbie and gazes at it in confusion, before grabbing his cell phone and disappearing for a while. I was grossly confused as to what was going on with him and moderately irritated, but I had brats to attend to for the next couple of hours, so I brushed the thoughts aside and made my way to Brat Haven to be fill my role as Big White Barbie.
The Boss Man apparently spent a good deal of time on the phone with other schools in the Hagwon Hell franchise, looking for advice on how to convince the silly Barbie that she does not, in fact, get all National Holidays after work. He was totally just kidding about that whole contract thing! Made you look!
Now, The Boss Man speaks limited English, so he decides that the best means of negotiation is to have one of the least fluent Korean teachers translate for us. Brilliant. The Boss Man starts off by explaining that foreigners at other branches of Hawgon Hell will also have to work election. I tell the Korean teacher to tell The Boss Man that other foreigners have a tendency to either not know what they are entitled to, or to be afraid to ask for it. I know what I'm entitled to and am not afraid to ask for it. The Korean teacher and The Boss Man ramble at each other for a while. Next, The Boss Man explains that Election Day is a "special holiday" that doesn't really count as a "National Holiday" like in the contract. Here, he's clearing insulting my intelligence. Never a good tactic.
I have many character flaws: I'm stubborn as fuck, I regularly say inappropriate things at the worst possible time, I lack tact, my fondness of black comedy has demented my sense of humour, I frequently overlook the obvious, I do everything at the last minute, and I bury my tragic insecurities with a guise of conceit. All that said, I'm relatively easy going. I can take good natured ripping; in fact, you're not really my friend unless you mock me from time to time. Yet, seriously insulting my intelligence is just a major, major no-no. So, when The Boss Man treated me as if I had no idea what I was talking about, as if I hadn't done hours of research on this garbage prior to even coming here, he was in for a real treat. Not only did Big White Barbie know how to read, but she had discovered the internet! And she wasn't afraid to stick up for herself! A dangerous, dangerous combination.
I tell the Korean teacher to tell The Boss Man that I am perfectly aware of what Election Day is and that it most certainly is a National Holiday. At this point I offer to gather some resources for them in Korean if that would help. The two of them blabber at each other for a moment and The Boss Man says that would be nice. So, I tell The Boss Man that I know where the Ministry of Labour is in Busan and that I can go there the next day. The Boss Man and Other Dude start speaking to each other a little more frantically at this point.
Conclusion? Barbie gets Election Day off. And The Boss Man giggles on his way out the door and kindly asks Barbie to never, ever go to the labour board.
Now, I am torn here. Should I be proud that I stood up for myself, or was this profoundly stupid? I more or less put all my eggs in on basket when I pulled the Ministry of Labour Card. Either I was going to get whatever the heck I wanted, or it was going to get really ugly. Given my financial standing at the moment, I can't afford to go home if things get ugly. I also can't imagine allowing my employer to walk all over me for the next 9 1/2 months. If I don't show some spine now, I'm going to get screwed later on because they'll assume that I'm just a Stupid Foreigner Who Knows Nothing. So, I pulled out all of the stops. And still got a ride home from work from The Boss Man that night.
Big White Barbie: 1
The Boss Man: 0
Barbie rarely picks a battle which she can't win.
Stay tuned for the rematch.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Big White Barbie Goes to Work
Rumour has it that I actually have a job. Given my state of affairs prior to departing for South Korea, this likely was met with a good deal of shock from some of you. Before I leave my beloved internet cafe this evening with my reputation as a lazy pain in the ass completely in shambles, I'd like to dispel this speculation before things really get out of hand. Big White Barbie does, in fact, have a job. Given how much time she has to spend at internet cafes writing about herself in the third person, exactly how serious a position she holds is entirely yours to judge.
I teach English as a Foreign Language (EFL) at a small private institute in Busan, South Korea. Such institutes are known as hagwons. My loosely worded one-year contract calls for 30 teaching hours per week, which I'm fairly compensated for. The rent for my apartment is paid for by my boss, as is the airfare to and from Toronto. Hence, my actually pay check is essentially a hefty spending allowance, given the cost of living here.
Based on the stipulations of my contract and the expectations set by my recruiter, I arrived in Korea expecting to work 8 hours per day, 6 of which would be spent in a classroom with a Korean coteacher. I learned quickly that that in Korea, contracts aren't meant to be taken literally and recruiters are never to be trusted. Fortunately in my case, this worked to my advantage. One teaching "hour" is, in reality, 45 minutes. I "teach" 4.5 hours per day. I spend 6-7 hours at the institute. The time not spent teaching is spent talking to coworkers, preparing for class, and generally just sitting around with my thumb up my ass.
I teach students at all degrees of fluency and ages. My youngest student is 5 and my oldest is in her 40's. Some of my students can carry on entire conversations with me. Others, I lose at Hello. Some are wonderfully kind. Others are intollerable brats. I will detail the benefits and drawbacks of my different classes in subsequent posts.
When I'm sitting in a classroom with my students, I take my role seriously. How I define my role is quite different from how I would define the role of a teacher back home. I am not paid to be an educator. I'm paid to be a native speaking English face. While my being white and female is a bonus and certainly prefered, it's not a necessity to finding work here. University educated native English speakers are in high demand here; there are more jobs available than can possibly be filled. Some of these jobs are a scam, but others are quite good. I have been fortunate enough to find the latter. Yet, I'm still not truly and educator. The students don't respect me as they would respect their Korean teachers. Given that my Korean coteachers seemingly put in far more work than I do, perhaps it would be wrong of me to expect the same respect. My unofficial job description is merely to show up on time, go to class, look presentable, and be the Canadian English Speaking Puppet for 4.5 hours a day.
This is how the moniker Big White Barbie came to be. It rolls of the tongue a little better than the former.
So, those of you fearing that I've become a mature, responsible adult need not worry. I'm still a lazy, entitled prick. And I've actually found a place willing to pay fulltime wages for partime work which asks nothing more of me than what comes naturally.
I teach English as a Foreign Language (EFL) at a small private institute in Busan, South Korea. Such institutes are known as hagwons. My loosely worded one-year contract calls for 30 teaching hours per week, which I'm fairly compensated for. The rent for my apartment is paid for by my boss, as is the airfare to and from Toronto. Hence, my actually pay check is essentially a hefty spending allowance, given the cost of living here.
Based on the stipulations of my contract and the expectations set by my recruiter, I arrived in Korea expecting to work 8 hours per day, 6 of which would be spent in a classroom with a Korean coteacher. I learned quickly that that in Korea, contracts aren't meant to be taken literally and recruiters are never to be trusted. Fortunately in my case, this worked to my advantage. One teaching "hour" is, in reality, 45 minutes. I "teach" 4.5 hours per day. I spend 6-7 hours at the institute. The time not spent teaching is spent talking to coworkers, preparing for class, and generally just sitting around with my thumb up my ass.
I teach students at all degrees of fluency and ages. My youngest student is 5 and my oldest is in her 40's. Some of my students can carry on entire conversations with me. Others, I lose at Hello. Some are wonderfully kind. Others are intollerable brats. I will detail the benefits and drawbacks of my different classes in subsequent posts.
When I'm sitting in a classroom with my students, I take my role seriously. How I define my role is quite different from how I would define the role of a teacher back home. I am not paid to be an educator. I'm paid to be a native speaking English face. While my being white and female is a bonus and certainly prefered, it's not a necessity to finding work here. University educated native English speakers are in high demand here; there are more jobs available than can possibly be filled. Some of these jobs are a scam, but others are quite good. I have been fortunate enough to find the latter. Yet, I'm still not truly and educator. The students don't respect me as they would respect their Korean teachers. Given that my Korean coteachers seemingly put in far more work than I do, perhaps it would be wrong of me to expect the same respect. My unofficial job description is merely to show up on time, go to class, look presentable, and be the Canadian English Speaking Puppet for 4.5 hours a day.
This is how the moniker Big White Barbie came to be. It rolls of the tongue a little better than the former.
So, those of you fearing that I've become a mature, responsible adult need not worry. I'm still a lazy, entitled prick. And I've actually found a place willing to pay fulltime wages for partime work which asks nothing more of me than what comes naturally.
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