Due to not sleeping at night, I've been taking far too many taxis to work lately. Given that that my budget scarcely allows for the delicious peanut butter sandwich and ramen noodle (or Mr. Noodles, as I called it in my university days) regiment that I've been following this month, I really should get my ass out of bed half an hour earlier so that I have time to take the bus. Ah, next week.
It usually costs about 4 dollars to go from my apartment to Barbie Hawgon. I've noticed that each of the 37 taxis I've taken this week had new signs on the backs of the seats with a list of fares presented on them. There was one column which listed what I believed to be the daytime fare, and another which I deduced was the nighttime fare. It's always cost more to take the taxi between midnight and 4am. I thought that perhaps the taxi companies were catching on that it might be a good idea to advertise this. Sometimes I'm wrong.
When the taxi pulled up in front of Barbie Hagwon, the meter read 3800 won. I was pleased to see that he was 500 won faster than the guy I had the day before. I was less pleased when he threw one of the fare advertisements in my face and asked me to pay 4700 won, instead of 3800. I immediately started griping at him about how he was making me pay more because he thought I was too stupid to understand that he was actually ripping me off by charging me the nighttime fare. Nobody had been charging me the fare in the second column all week long, so clearly this guy was just an asshole. All of this griping was done in English, of course, rendering it useless. Frustrated, I paid the guy the inflated fare and slammed the door behind me.
Later that day while waiting for my eye glasses (25 dollars for corrective lenses. Win!), a thought dawned on me. I turned to my coworker, who had joined the glasses excursion, and asked what the deal was with the new fare signs I'd been seeing in taxis. She lamented that the fares had officially gone up today, but that it could take a while for the meters to reflect this. We both made sad faces over the taxis being more expensive, and I neglected to mention to her The Incident from earlier that day.
In hindsight, it was fairly obvious that the new fare signs were just that: new fare signs! But, sometimes I'm wrong. The reason that I may be a raging bigot doesn't stem from my being an idiot and failing to notice the obvious; that's a whole other issue. The reason that I may be a raging bigot is that instead of considering that my original assumption - that the signs were listing preexisting daytime and nighttime fares - was wrong, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that the evil taxi driver was trying to scam money out of me, on account of my porcelain complexion. Rather than consider the obvious, I assumed the worst.
Then again, it's possible that I just think everybody is trying to rip me off. Really, would I be wrong?
Showing posts with label racism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label racism. Show all posts
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Barbie and the Pusan Bank Incident - Part 2
As I was waiting to have my money wired home from the local Pusan Bank, The Boss Man and the bank tellers chatted back and forth at one another. The Boss Man did his best to work as a translator between us.
The Boss Man: They say you can send 300 000 won now. Ok?
Me: Why only 300 000 won?
The Boss Man: They say 300 000 won most foreigners can send. Ok?
Me: No. I have to pay VISA. Tell them to look at my papers, which clearly indicate that I’ve twice sent much more than that.
The Boss Man and the bank tellers chat amongst themselves for a while again.
The Boss Man: They say new rule. 300 000 only. Only more if you can show them pay.
Me: You mean the pay stubs that you give me which show how much you paid me? I have those. All of those. Right here. *point to the stack of pay stubs on the counter in front of me, which the tellers had refused to take from me earlier*
The Boss Man looked relived that this might be over, and handed the pay stubs to the tellers. They chatted further, and The Boss Man began to look slightly less relieved.
The Boss Man: They say 300 000 won for foreigner.
Me: WHY?
The Boss Man: New rule.
Me: They said I needed pay stubs. We gave them those. Tell them that I’ve done this process with other branches of Pusan Bank and there was no problem.
The Boss Man and the bank tellers chat amongst themselves again. One of them picks up a phone, which The Boss Man explains to me is a translator who is going to explain to me what is going on. While The Boss Man’s English is good enough to get by, it’s not quite sufficient for explaining bigoted, fabricated bank policies.
Translator: Next time you uh, uh… Pusan Bank, you need uh.. more information.
Me: More information?
Translator: Documents. You need..
Me: Passport? Alien card? Pay stubs? The guy who pays me sitting right here? Bank information for Canada? Previous Pusan Bank statements which indicate that transfers have been made before? What else could they possibly need?
Translator: When send more than uh, uh, 300 uh, hundred… no, 300 thousand.. need documents. Legal…
Me: I have any legal documentation that they could possibly need. This is not a legal matter; this is a matter of institutionalized bigotry. I even have the guy who pays me, legally, sitting right here, and they can’t wire my money?!
Just short of breaking out into a tirade of expletives, I pounded the phone on the counter. “I’m done talking to him”, I told The Boss Man. The translation service that the bank called actually employed a guy who didn’t have working knowledge of English numbers, and spoke even poorer English than The Boss Man. And he was supposed to be able to properly explain imaginary bank policies to me? Oh.
The Boss Man and the tellers chatted again for a while, looking a touch uncomfortable to be in the presence of somebody so seemingly volatile. This went on for at least 5 more minutes – the bank tellers would explain something to The Boss Man, he would try to explain it to me, and I’d tell him to tell the bank tellers that I thought their bank was bigoted, that there was no reason they couldn’t send my money home, and that if they weren’t going to send it home immediately, I wanted to close my account. Now. I then pulled out my KB card (another bank here) and told him to tell them that I’d go there, where perhaps racism wasn’t all the rage. He was confused as to what I meant by racism. I pointed at my cheek and told him that they’d wire my money to Canada if I didn’t look so foreign. It was about this time that I started to feel a little bit embarrassed for having made The Boss Man the official translator between my temper tantrum and the fucking bank tellers.
In the end, the bank tellers agreed to wire my money that day, so long as The Boss Man promised to fax them something that they already had right in front of them: proof of payment from the place of employment listed on my working VISA. When I got back to Barbie Hagwon with The Boss Man, he had Rambo Teacher explain to me what the bank translator couldn’t: that Pusan Bank had a new, imaginary bank policy, whereby if you send more than 3 million won (about 3000 dollars) out of the country in one year, you need your boss to complete some bullshit paperwork in order to send any more. When The Boss Man then asked it was okay now, I nearly went off again. But then I realized he was just asking if I understood – not if I liked it. And really, The Boss Man was fantastic throughout this entire ordeal. So, I told him that all was well and thanked him profusely for his assistance.
I can’t even being to comprehend how utterly, fucking stupid this entire situation was. I later consulted with several of my friends, who also used Pusan Bank, to confirm my suspicion that my local branch was creating bank policy out of their asses. There was no legal reason for them to make it so difficult for me to wire money home. This was not a universal Pusan Bank policy. There wasn’t a single piece of documentation that they could have asked for that I didn’t have with me. The very man who sponsored my working VISA, the address of who’s institution is permanently etched on said VISA, who pays me out of his own Pusan Bank account, was sitting right there, with identification! Yet, they couldn’t just do their job. They were simply dicking me around because nobody has yet distributed the memo around Korea that dicking around foreigners just because you can, isn’t cute. My temper tantrum, complete with accusations of bigotry and cries of institutionalized racism, wasn’t exactly cute either. But that’s what it took
The Boss Man and I decided that next time I should go to a larger branch. I decided that if I have any hassles from Pusan Bank again, I will close my account with them. I’ve been here 10 months, and this is the first time I’ve had to deal with bullshit of this magnitude. Really, I’m fortunate. That said, if this nonsense ever becomes the norm here, I won’t be back.
The Boss Man: They say you can send 300 000 won now. Ok?
Me: Why only 300 000 won?
The Boss Man: They say 300 000 won most foreigners can send. Ok?
Me: No. I have to pay VISA. Tell them to look at my papers, which clearly indicate that I’ve twice sent much more than that.
The Boss Man and the bank tellers chat amongst themselves for a while again.
The Boss Man: They say new rule. 300 000 only. Only more if you can show them pay.
Me: You mean the pay stubs that you give me which show how much you paid me? I have those. All of those. Right here. *point to the stack of pay stubs on the counter in front of me, which the tellers had refused to take from me earlier*
The Boss Man looked relived that this might be over, and handed the pay stubs to the tellers. They chatted further, and The Boss Man began to look slightly less relieved.
The Boss Man: They say 300 000 won for foreigner.
Me: WHY?
The Boss Man: New rule.
Me: They said I needed pay stubs. We gave them those. Tell them that I’ve done this process with other branches of Pusan Bank and there was no problem.
The Boss Man and the bank tellers chat amongst themselves again. One of them picks up a phone, which The Boss Man explains to me is a translator who is going to explain to me what is going on. While The Boss Man’s English is good enough to get by, it’s not quite sufficient for explaining bigoted, fabricated bank policies.
Translator: Next time you uh, uh… Pusan Bank, you need uh.. more information.
Me: More information?
Translator: Documents. You need..
Me: Passport? Alien card? Pay stubs? The guy who pays me sitting right here? Bank information for Canada? Previous Pusan Bank statements which indicate that transfers have been made before? What else could they possibly need?
Translator: When send more than uh, uh, 300 uh, hundred… no, 300 thousand.. need documents. Legal…
Me: I have any legal documentation that they could possibly need. This is not a legal matter; this is a matter of institutionalized bigotry. I even have the guy who pays me, legally, sitting right here, and they can’t wire my money?!
Just short of breaking out into a tirade of expletives, I pounded the phone on the counter. “I’m done talking to him”, I told The Boss Man. The translation service that the bank called actually employed a guy who didn’t have working knowledge of English numbers, and spoke even poorer English than The Boss Man. And he was supposed to be able to properly explain imaginary bank policies to me? Oh.
The Boss Man and the tellers chatted again for a while, looking a touch uncomfortable to be in the presence of somebody so seemingly volatile. This went on for at least 5 more minutes – the bank tellers would explain something to The Boss Man, he would try to explain it to me, and I’d tell him to tell the bank tellers that I thought their bank was bigoted, that there was no reason they couldn’t send my money home, and that if they weren’t going to send it home immediately, I wanted to close my account. Now. I then pulled out my KB card (another bank here) and told him to tell them that I’d go there, where perhaps racism wasn’t all the rage. He was confused as to what I meant by racism. I pointed at my cheek and told him that they’d wire my money to Canada if I didn’t look so foreign. It was about this time that I started to feel a little bit embarrassed for having made The Boss Man the official translator between my temper tantrum and the fucking bank tellers.
In the end, the bank tellers agreed to wire my money that day, so long as The Boss Man promised to fax them something that they already had right in front of them: proof of payment from the place of employment listed on my working VISA. When I got back to Barbie Hagwon with The Boss Man, he had Rambo Teacher explain to me what the bank translator couldn’t: that Pusan Bank had a new, imaginary bank policy, whereby if you send more than 3 million won (about 3000 dollars) out of the country in one year, you need your boss to complete some bullshit paperwork in order to send any more. When The Boss Man then asked it was okay now, I nearly went off again. But then I realized he was just asking if I understood – not if I liked it. And really, The Boss Man was fantastic throughout this entire ordeal. So, I told him that all was well and thanked him profusely for his assistance.
I can’t even being to comprehend how utterly, fucking stupid this entire situation was. I later consulted with several of my friends, who also used Pusan Bank, to confirm my suspicion that my local branch was creating bank policy out of their asses. There was no legal reason for them to make it so difficult for me to wire money home. This was not a universal Pusan Bank policy. There wasn’t a single piece of documentation that they could have asked for that I didn’t have with me. The very man who sponsored my working VISA, the address of who’s institution is permanently etched on said VISA, who pays me out of his own Pusan Bank account, was sitting right there, with identification! Yet, they couldn’t just do their job. They were simply dicking me around because nobody has yet distributed the memo around Korea that dicking around foreigners just because you can, isn’t cute. My temper tantrum, complete with accusations of bigotry and cries of institutionalized racism, wasn’t exactly cute either. But that’s what it took
The Boss Man and I decided that next time I should go to a larger branch. I decided that if I have any hassles from Pusan Bank again, I will close my account with them. I’ve been here 10 months, and this is the first time I’ve had to deal with bullshit of this magnitude. Really, I’m fortunate. That said, if this nonsense ever becomes the norm here, I won’t be back.
Barbie and the Pusan Bank Incident - Part 1
Fuck Pusan Bank.
A couple of weeks ago, I swung by the Pusan Bank near my school so that I could wire some money home. Sending money home so that I can pay off the disgusting load of bills that are waiting for me in Canada Land is the primary reason that I came to Korea. Seeing the world and pretending that I’ve become more culturally enlightened is fun and all, but if it didn’t pay to be here I’d still be drinking Coors Light at my local drinking hole, wondering why opening day of the NHL season isn’t a national holiday. Anything that comes between me and the dissolution of my disgusting load of bills provokes ire that can only be extinguished by my causing a minor public spectacle.
While I had heard that dealing with the banks in Korea has the potential to be loads of hassle for a foreigner, my own experiences had been positive. Whenever I needed to send money home I made a point of bringing every piece of legal identification and paperwork involving payments (from my legal place of work) that I had at my disposal. Nobody had actually bothered to look at my pay stubs in the three times that I had wired money home, and one didn't even bother with my alien card, but no matter: I kept bringing them with me, in the off chance that this branch would require them.
Given that I usually spend no more than 20 minutes at the bank when I’m wiring money to Canada, I thought that the 50 minutes I had between classes that day would be plenty. Everything proceeded as usual, right up until the point that the girl who clearly had no idea what she was doing was asked to take over and finish the job that the guy who did know what he was doing, had been doing. How could this possibly fail?! After taking approximately 5 minutes to learn the system and sort out what exactly she was supposed to be doing, the woman proceed to stare at the computer screen and look confused. For ten minutes. Ten fucking minutes. Occasionally, when she noticed me glance at her with impatience, she would fiddle with the papers in front of her and pretend to do something. Then she would go back to staring. She eventually gave up trying to mentally manipulate the objects on the screen so that they’d make sense to her, and called the original bank teller back over. The two of them jabbered for a while, and then began speaking to me in Korean. Because the first several times that they tried to do this, where I explicitly told them I didn’t speak Korean, indicated to them that it would be a good expenditure of everybody’s time if they explained bank policy to each other, as I watched.
As it was clear that I was going to be late for my class at this point, I called The Boss Man. After explaining to him that I was having issues at the bank and didn’t understand what the hold up was, he told me that he’d be right over to bail me out. That was unexpected. I had expected him to be at least moderately annoyed with me, and hadn’t even considered the possibility that he’d come down to the bank to help me out. I had clearly underestimated his degree of awesome.
A couple of weeks ago, I swung by the Pusan Bank near my school so that I could wire some money home. Sending money home so that I can pay off the disgusting load of bills that are waiting for me in Canada Land is the primary reason that I came to Korea. Seeing the world and pretending that I’ve become more culturally enlightened is fun and all, but if it didn’t pay to be here I’d still be drinking Coors Light at my local drinking hole, wondering why opening day of the NHL season isn’t a national holiday. Anything that comes between me and the dissolution of my disgusting load of bills provokes ire that can only be extinguished by my causing a minor public spectacle.
While I had heard that dealing with the banks in Korea has the potential to be loads of hassle for a foreigner, my own experiences had been positive. Whenever I needed to send money home I made a point of bringing every piece of legal identification and paperwork involving payments (from my legal place of work) that I had at my disposal. Nobody had actually bothered to look at my pay stubs in the three times that I had wired money home, and one didn't even bother with my alien card, but no matter: I kept bringing them with me, in the off chance that this branch would require them.
Given that I usually spend no more than 20 minutes at the bank when I’m wiring money to Canada, I thought that the 50 minutes I had between classes that day would be plenty. Everything proceeded as usual, right up until the point that the girl who clearly had no idea what she was doing was asked to take over and finish the job that the guy who did know what he was doing, had been doing. How could this possibly fail?! After taking approximately 5 minutes to learn the system and sort out what exactly she was supposed to be doing, the woman proceed to stare at the computer screen and look confused. For ten minutes. Ten fucking minutes. Occasionally, when she noticed me glance at her with impatience, she would fiddle with the papers in front of her and pretend to do something. Then she would go back to staring. She eventually gave up trying to mentally manipulate the objects on the screen so that they’d make sense to her, and called the original bank teller back over. The two of them jabbered for a while, and then began speaking to me in Korean. Because the first several times that they tried to do this, where I explicitly told them I didn’t speak Korean, indicated to them that it would be a good expenditure of everybody’s time if they explained bank policy to each other, as I watched.
As it was clear that I was going to be late for my class at this point, I called The Boss Man. After explaining to him that I was having issues at the bank and didn’t understand what the hold up was, he told me that he’d be right over to bail me out. That was unexpected. I had expected him to be at least moderately annoyed with me, and hadn’t even considered the possibility that he’d come down to the bank to help me out. I had clearly underestimated his degree of awesome.
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.
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