The Tale of the First School Dinner...

It is here where it would all begin..Where my outlook of my school, relationships, and of the entire Korean peninsula would be shaped, forever altered from what I initially believed to be true...

So I got word that we would be having our first (after) school dinner right before it happened (as is typical for being on the receiving end of information here). Given all the stories that I had heard about the mandatory, boring, dull, mandatory nature of these functions, I was naturally annoyed that I had to attend one. (As is the general nature of school functions that involve foreign teachers, the Korean staff converse amongst each other and the foreign teacher is largely ignored and left thinking, "Why am I even here??" ...Or the foreign teacher is the central talking point, which also leaves s/he wondering, "Why am I even here??") So this is what I was up against..Bring on the boredom!

So after an all-staff dodgeball game (which was actually pretty hilarious to watch--all these teachers wearing 4-inch platforms and scurrying away from the ball as though their very lives depended on it!), we go to an expensive Korean barbeque restaurant, where you cook the meat yourself at your own table, and the bottles of rice vodka (it's called "soju") and rice wine ("makalee") are seemingly innumerable. I, of course, was seated near Mrs. C initially, but after about an hour of watching her sip her one teeny, tiny shot of soju (drinking scares her, as does riding a bicycle--which is why she never learned to ride one) and listening to her chat incessantly about nothing to the other older ladies who were also seated at the table, I decided to go mingle with the other teachers, who seemed to be in a completely different world of joy and merriment. (This lone gesture would be the cause of all future drama surrounding this lady. No exaggeration.)

So I slide over to the "fun" table (quite literally, as we were all sitting on the floor, shoe-less), where my favorite/secret co-teacher is sitting, along with a few other (older) male teachers. As my co-teacher and I are chatting and enjoying the services, naturally, the men decide to join in on the conversation too (despite not actually speaking English). The computer teacher yells my name and suggests that we do a "love shot," and--as this is a purely "me, too" culture--then the music teacher suggests the same thing, followed by the teacher whom I affectionately refer to in my mind as "He Who Clicks," as, despite sitting next to him for months, I still lack any idea as to what it is that he teaches. In any case, he can always be found sitting stoically at his desk for extended periods of time clicking his mouse, slowly and methodically. (I guess I could just ask him what he teaches, but where's the fun in that??) So the laughter and "love shots" are flowing (saying "no" is considered deeply offensive), and all is good with the universe. Of course this didn't go unnoticed by Mr. S., who quickly came to make his presense known. He suggests that we do a shot (thankfully not of the "love" variety!), and then calls my name and yells that he is single. I smile and politely (always politely--these are some of the most sensitve humans on Earth) assert to him that he is, indeed, nothing of the sort. He then asserts, incredulously, that he is, and that he is actually "playboy," all the while patting his chest with both hands simultaneously. Seeing that ignoring his antics wasn't working, I then ask my co-teacher if Mr. S. is married, to which she replies with a straight face, "of course." So I just shake my head and pretend to be engulfed in eating cooked meat wrapped in leaves, hoping that he'll get bored and drop the subject, which he does. (In all honesty, I strongly believe that the fact that he remained so adamant about denying his marital status is rooted in a whole different issue unique to Korea called "weekend couples." It's too far off the subject to discuss here, but maybe I'll talk about it in a later post?) Naturally, as the jokes and flatteries are flowing, I spot Mrs. C. glaring over in my direction on several occasions, which I conveniently ignore. So goes the mingling and masticating, and alas, it's time to leave the restaurant.

The second phase of school dinner is the singing-room session, where a few private karaoke rooms are booked and filled with--yep, you guessed it--more alcohol. (Despite their love of public baths, Koreans are painfully shy when it comes to singing, speaking, or breathing in front other people, so the massive amounts of soju, makalee, and beer are as necessary as the very microphones used to sing!) So as we're walking to the singing room, Mrs. C. tells me that she felt "left out" while I was talking to my other co-teacher, all the while using the tone of a whiny three-year-old. Just as I am politely explaining to her the fact that it's not fair for me nor the other teachers for me to only talk to her all the time, someone yells my name and grabs my hand. Confused, I look up to see that it is none other than the very important man who presides over all of the school staff, third in rank (which is oh so important here) under the principal and vice principal. (Now not only does he not speak English, but he has probably been the least friendly of all the male staff since my arrival--very shy of course, but oftentimes pretending that I don't even exist!) So now I'm in a complete panic, as this is a culture where people don't even hug or shake hands as a form of greeting, and you NEVER touch someone who is your superior, ESPECIALLY if they are of the opposite sex (Translation: male). A few seconds pass, and I realize that he has no intentions of letting my hand go, and he is, instead, holding it and leading me in the direction of the singing room. Mortified and confused, I look around to see if there are any witnesses around to put an end to this awkwardness, and I spot Mrs. C., whose looks like she's just seen a ghost (as a woman and of lower rank, she was completely powerless to do anything about it), my favorite co-teacher (whose even more powerless) and, who but the very principal and vice-principal (the proverbial kings of the castle  school, and the only people who would have had the power to speak up). They, too, are wide-eyed and speechless, staring at me staring at them. Realizing that no one was going to do anything, and that I needed to make my discomfort obvious, I shake my head and put my hand over my face, and allow this man who I wasn't even sure liked me, lead me down the sidewalk and across the street while everyone watched in shock. (It's interesting to note that we--yes "we"-- nearly got hit by a car, as with his newly-found confidence, Mr. Closeted Cassanova (as I'll now refer to him) decided that he didn't need to wait for traffic to pass, and that, because he was holding my hand, he could instead just traverse the busy street and command oncoming traffic to stop by simply holding out his hand in front of the cars. Judging by the frowns on the faces of the drivers, I'm assuming that they didn't find my presence nearly as magical as he did, but--by the grace of God!--it worked, and we both walked away unscathed.)

 So we get to our destination, and (thank goodness for narrow staircases!) I am finally able to let go of Mr. Closeted Cassanova's hand (without being impolite). I quickly find my secret/favorite co-teacher, and everyone's singing and mingling (except for Mrs. C., who is now seething with envy), and enjoying the night. It gets a little blury here, but at some point as I'm hopping from room to room and rapping along to (upon their request for me to sing, of course) songs like Nelly's "Shake a Tailfeather" and Sean Paul's "We Be Burnin" (Side note: What the heck was I thinking, choosing those songs???! Thank heavens those people didn't speak English! AHAHAHAHAHA!!), a few other male teachers (whom I had never met/seen?) pull me aside and decide to practice their English by engaging in very basic conversations. Of course they also want to toast to something like every half of a second, but by now I'm used to it. As I'm taking to one teacher--out of the blue--Mr. Closeted Cassanova (Mr. CC) walks over and sits next to me. He then proceeds to interrupt the talking teacher's sentence (in Korean), and says something like "go away now." The talking teacher looks surprised, and then continues to talk to me, and then Mr. CC hurls mean Korean sounds (hey, it is a tonal language, after all!) toward him and--get this--proceeds to frown and wave his hand in front of his face rapidly as though he is waving away a pesky mosquito on a hot summer night. The talking teacher, being the obedient Korean public servant that he is (no, really--that's what Korean teachers are referred to as), grabs "his" drink (maybe he simply picked up someone else's old drink, no way to tell really) and walks away like an embarrassed puppy literally with his head down and his tail between his legs (okay, so maybe the tail part isn't literal, but you get the point). He didn't look at me or come anywhere near me for the rest of the night. O.o  Meanwhile, Mr. CC decides that he wants to "talk"...(Used lightly as he.doesn't.speak.English.) Yikes.

The remainder of the night goes on without as much fanfare as before. Mr. S is completely plastered (red face and all), and he has elected to use his turn to sing songs to me. (Maybe this is where he got the genius idea to sing Korean ballads to me later? I'll never know.) "He Who Clicks" is falling on his knees a lot (probably not a good look, on account of his oldness and all), and even through his inability to maintain his balance using only his own two legs (Why o why were humans cursed to be born with only two measely legs?? Tripods almost never lose their balance; surely there's something to be learned from them!), he retains his Korean-style, expressionless face. At some point Mrs. C, having had enough of my fraternizing, stormed off and left completely. (Though I can assure you, she wasn't missed.) At their request, I "sing" (Ha! I suck at singing!) one last song, choosing Sean Kingston's "Beautiful Girls" with no pun intended at all, and then, it's time (Speaking of, what time is it anyway??) to go home.

As I'm waving down a taxi to share with a nice teacher whom I'd never met (but who apparently is aware that we are "neighbors"), I'm told that, upon Mr. S.' request, they would like to continue drinking elsewhere. They explain that by Korean standards, it is still early, and that the party is, in fact, just beginning. Luckily for me, a taxi has appeared (we'd been waiting for a while), and I run toward it while yelling slurred good-byes, ready for it to whisk me far away to my apartment. (Turns out the nice lady wasn't as inebriated and confused as I thought--we were indeed only a 5 minute drive away from home. Imagine that!) I enter my apartment and prepare for work the next day. It's only Tuesday....


The next day, all of the male teachers act strange around me, and generally try to avoid making any eye-contact with me at all. All except Mr. S., of course, who has no shame. He waltzes over to me and tells me that he has a headache and makes gestures indicating a stomach ache, too. I nod in understanding, though I am feeling fine. Mr. CC generally looks flushed and ashamed, and when I finally run-into the principal and vice-principal, they are in such shock with not knowing how I would be reacting that when I greet them they just stare at me with wide eyes, afraid to say a word.


(This would all pass of course, and a few days later, Mr. CC pulled a move from Mr. S.' figurative playbook and stood in my path so that I would have to speak to him. I did so and smiled, as I continued to walk to class with Mrs. C. (who was still bitter, but containing it for now). After we had passed him, Mrs. C. looked back and began to laugh. When I asked her what was so funny, she said, "after you say hi to him, he is only looking up at the sky and smiling.")

 We were indoors.