It all started on Wednesday. I remember walking to school humming "You are my Sunshine" not because I liked the song but because I was performing it! Maybe I should explain; part of my job is doing English announcements, but they aren't announcements, they simply reinforce the fact that I speak English better than anyone else at the school. The woman I replaced read stories every week when she did broadcasts. When my co-teachers found out I was "musically inclined" they pressured me into playing a song on the guitar for my first broadcast. Yippee. So here I am walking to school, nervous as hell, but thankful that this broadcast is the first thing on the schedule. As I step into my office with my fellow specialist teachers, I am told by the only other male teacher, who barely speaks English, that I am invited to drink Sojo with him and the rest of the men on staff. Nothing better to break up the week. Back to the nervousness, I picked up the art teacher's guitar and continued to practice until I'm phoned to come down to the broadcasting room. As I putter into the small little broadcasting room I am greeted by my fellow broadcaster (aka translator) and some star-struck six graders surrounding the panel the size and complexity of a cockpit. They point me into the broadcasting booth which is about a 6'x6' room with 12 light bulbs. If nerves weren't making me sweat, the bulbs were. As I was incubating, one of the students, known as Chatchi, relaxed me a little complaining about how girls are crazy and he hates them. As Chatch and another student, who I have yet to nickname, set up the cameras I see myself on the screen, pale as a ghost waiting to be judged by everyone in the school. So I open with a little bio about myself, which is then translated long enough for me to notice the beginning signs of heat stroke as I almost nod off to sleep. Then she introduces the song, I pick up the guitar and play! Since I didn't have a pick I plucked the bass chord with my thumb and finger picked the bottom three strings, needless to say my rhythm fell apart during the first chorus (new record!). For some reason I stuck with it, even though it sounded awful, but then as the song closed I switch up the rhythm and gave them something a little more on-beat and up-tempo; at least I thought it was. The important thing was it was over.
As I walked back to my office I was congratulated on my performance, which was nice, but I didn't believe them. However, I'm still motivated to keep practicing and improving so hopefully, one day, I'll actually enjoy it performing sober too. On Wednesdays I only have 3 classes, and the first period is my "planning" time. While flipping in between Youtube, Facebook and random articles, my co-teacher comes and and explains that my third and fourth period classes are cancelled due to a word she didn't know in English. It seems the worst part of my day is over with. So I go through my only class of the day with ease and then I'm back to Youtube, Facebook, and random articles and finishing off The Hunger Games. I can't say I remember my lunch so it was probably the typical kimchi, spicy meet, rice, and soup. Back to the English library, or my second office, to waste away. Off and on students yell as they walk by "Teacha guitar - handsome," which is always a nice confidence boost. As usual my regular movie watcher comes in to watch Shrek 3 in Korean. Once 3:00 rolls around he grabs his knap-sack and puts on his shoes the size of your hand and leaves for the day. At this point I'm hot and more importantly, bored out of my brain. So I laid down on a bunch of soft benches pushed together and turned off my brain for long enough to feel rejuvenated. I got up and chatted with a couple people and was then pulled out early to get to the restaurant. Little did I know what else was coming.
I have only met of a few of these guys before, and the only one I see everyday can't really hold a conversation in English but bless his heart for trying. Upon arriving at the restaurant the savory smells hit my nose and my mouth begins to water. I sit down cross-legged on the floor with everyone else, and maintain my celebrity status and don't ask a single person their name. The only conversation worth repeating is the Korean tradition of buying everyone at the school some sort of cake thing as a way to celebrate my first payday. Be warned, this is no ordinary cake; the new Korean teacher got paid last week. It has beans, or something like them, on it, little to no sweetness, and apart from the beany taste was really bland. I'll let you know about that venture when it happens. Another interesting thing is the Vice Principal is bringing the "go dutch" philosophy to Korea; looks like I arrived just in time, luckily first-timers eat free.
After a dinner of soup, pork products, kimchi, and Sojo (a staple in every man's dinner) we head to bar kitty corner to the restaurant, for what I assume to be one beer and then back home. The bar tender places 10 large bottles of beer on the table for the 8 of us. After the first couple glasses of beer, I am shown the ways of the rich man. The difference is the rich man throws popcorn into his mouth and the poor man places it in his mouth. Who knew? So as we drink our beers they go on talking about everyone's age and all of them were shocking, 30 to 55 year old men that look like they're 25 with no sign of grey or wrinkles. Except for one, and I was sitting next to him, if I had to guess he looked death-bed-bound, then he proudly says, "I am sixty and my daughter is 33 and my grandson is eighty." Both the mistake and the shock this man was only 60 made me knit my eyebrows and cock my head. Then sycophant in me jumped right out to the rescue and replied, "60 no, 45!" He certainly liked that one, so I'm hopefully closer to the good books now.
Once the beers were gone the older guys were slowing down we left that bar. While walking back towards the school one of the hip, younger teachers pulls out his phone; he doesn't call a taxi though, he calls a driving agency. These agencies drive your car around for you while you're drinking, absolutely genius. I don't see this business doing particularly well in North America, specifically any ghetto areas known for GTA like Detroit, Brooklyn, and Liberty City. Either way, my youthful colleagues and I ride off to a Korean BBQ. Of course another two bottles of Sojo (along with some grub) are brought to the table, and we keep drinking like its a Friday. Now with just four of us remaining I begin to lose my edge. As the night progresses more and more people start filling up the restaurant and one teacher seems to meet his entire graduating class, meeting these people who are completely sauced gives me that second wind to keep going, even though its only 10. The big twist is despite knowing only one person out of 4 one clearly totaled classmate picks up our tab.
Finally, we decide to call it a night and the drunkest teacher walks me home, where his wife will pick him up. As we walk home he goes into the grocery store at which point I introduce him to the concept of a Roadie. Sadly he settles for coffee in a can. Once we get to my apartment I thank him for guiding me home as his wife pulls over to pick him up. Sauntering into the elevator, I realize I haven't been here since 7:30 that morning. Since I had the elevator to myself I happily whistle and sing "You are my Sunshine" all the way to my floor. It felt so much better to sing it with no fears about screwing it up. And it just hit me as I'm typing this, but they never once mentioned my broadcast the entire night. I can't think of a reason why... apart from the fact that grown men don't really care about songs meant for children. Whistling away I showered off the day's and night's events and fell asleep thinking of what tomorrow will bring.
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