Getting caught would mean a $4000 fine, deportation, and an abrupt end to my career in Korea. It would be a near fatal blow to my career as an ESL teacher generally. I didn't even know it was illegal.
"What was he doing?" you might be wondering.
Sit down and brace yourself because it did involve children. Ready? OK. You've been warned: I was reading to two children in their living room, stopping occasionally to ask them their thoughts about Hanzel & Gretel's insufficiently incautious adventure.
It's not the kind of crime that earns you scars or bragging rights, but it violated the stern conditions of my E-2 visa, given (uh, sold) to me by the Korean gooberment: No private tutoring.
Oops.
And it did result is somewhat of an unrelated, wholly unforeseeable disaster, too.
It was a cold and snow-blowy February morning when my plane touched down in Korea's Jeju, a destination marketed by the gooberment's tourism department as 'the Hawaii of Korea". Sleet was collecting on the dying palmate leaves of imported palm trees lining the streets. I was doing my best to integrate myself into Korean culture, working my day job at a hagwon (private school) and I supplemented my income modestly by teaching a brother and sister in their home.
February 14th, Valentine's day arrives. Unlike in N.America, Korean Valentine's day isn't just for lovers. Everybody gives everybody chocolate. Disappointed kids of the school told me this over and over, with their hand out. "Sorry. I didn't know", I said lamely. They gave me chocolates any way, which rotted my teeth as much as the guilt rotted my mood. So I, with my trousers full of chocolate and my heart full of sorrow, went home at the end of the day.
Well, not home. I went to my covert destination to do heinous things with children: teach them English! Walking in from the snowy streets, I was immediately pleased with warm feet. In-floor heating--a standard in Korea-- rocks. How could I know that it would be instrumental in a looming catastrophe?
As per usual, we bowed informally before beginning the lesson. I sat down on the floor (Korean custom) and began interacting in my English-teachery ways, but within a few minutes, the parents were buzzing around me with tissues and buggy eyes. Unable to communicate effectively in English, they just offered (repeatedly insisted) their tissues. Was this more Korean custom? I didn't think so, but how could I be sure? I took one and put it in my plaid shirt pocket, offering a 'thanks'. But they circled me more tightly with even more of their tissues. I don't know what they were saying, but it seemed like "take it! take it!" Being new to Korea and not graceful under WTF situations, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to see if my nose was bleeding or my brain was coming out of a hole in my forehead. Nothing. One thing was for sure: I couldn't teach under these conditions. What the hell was I supposed to do with the tissues? Did they expect origami?
Be gently stern. I'm new here. They should understand that I don't get their customs yet, I told myself.
I go back to face the tissues and I see, to my horror, a brown smear where I've been sitting. I reflexively grab my ass and blush hotly as my fingers dip into something warm and sickly moist. I look. It's brown. And drippy. My stomach sinks.
The fried noodles, octopus, spiced caggage (kimhi), garlic soups, chili peppers, and unidentifiable meats I'd been eating since I arrived spun through my mind. A bowel-liquefying combination...
I grabbed the tissues and cleaned my mess with no more dignity than a cowering dog. This isn't one of those "well, these-things-happen" moments that you just shrug off. I just shat on their floor.
And the smell...wait a minute. Sweet? Savory even. Then it clicked. My trouser pockets full of chocolates had melted from the in-floor heating. I didn't spring an anal leak! Heavens bless!
And of course I start explaining this as fast as the physics of tongue allow and of course my kind, uncomprehending hosts are looking at me like a deranged, babbling, psychotic foreigner covered in feces who won't get out of their living room. "seriouslyitsjustchocolatebecausemystudentsgaveittomebecauseitsvalentinesdayandthat'swhatKoreansdoandthechocolatemeltedanddon'tworryit'snotshitbutiwillcleanitupanyway"
I only produced some frightened glares.
Body language, I decided. I put some in my mouth and say "mmmmmm. Chocolate". Isn't that a show-stopper. Just imagine. The father looked like he might martial arts my head in.
After I'd produced the wrappers from my pockets, we all had a good old fashioned laugh at my expense. Ha ha ha.
Next blog:
The ridiculous thing I did when they invited me for dinner, the following evening.
"What was he doing?" you might be wondering.
Sit down and brace yourself because it did involve children. Ready? OK. You've been warned: I was reading to two children in their living room, stopping occasionally to ask them their thoughts about Hanzel & Gretel's insufficiently incautious adventure.
It's not the kind of crime that earns you scars or bragging rights, but it violated the stern conditions of my E-2 visa, given (uh, sold) to me by the Korean gooberment: No private tutoring.
Oops.
And it did result is somewhat of an unrelated, wholly unforeseeable disaster, too.
It was a cold and snow-blowy February morning when my plane touched down in Korea's Jeju, a destination marketed by the gooberment's tourism department as 'the Hawaii of Korea". Sleet was collecting on the dying palmate leaves of imported palm trees lining the streets. I was doing my best to integrate myself into Korean culture, working my day job at a hagwon (private school) and I supplemented my income modestly by teaching a brother and sister in their home.
February 14th, Valentine's day arrives. Unlike in N.America, Korean Valentine's day isn't just for lovers. Everybody gives everybody chocolate. Disappointed kids of the school told me this over and over, with their hand out. "Sorry. I didn't know", I said lamely. They gave me chocolates any way, which rotted my teeth as much as the guilt rotted my mood. So I, with my trousers full of chocolate and my heart full of sorrow, went home at the end of the day.
Well, not home. I went to my covert destination to do heinous things with children: teach them English! Walking in from the snowy streets, I was immediately pleased with warm feet. In-floor heating--a standard in Korea-- rocks. How could I know that it would be instrumental in a looming catastrophe?
As per usual, we bowed informally before beginning the lesson. I sat down on the floor (Korean custom) and began interacting in my English-teachery ways, but within a few minutes, the parents were buzzing around me with tissues and buggy eyes. Unable to communicate effectively in English, they just offered (repeatedly insisted) their tissues. Was this more Korean custom? I didn't think so, but how could I be sure? I took one and put it in my plaid shirt pocket, offering a 'thanks'. But they circled me more tightly with even more of their tissues. I don't know what they were saying, but it seemed like "take it! take it!" Being new to Korea and not graceful under WTF situations, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to see if my nose was bleeding or my brain was coming out of a hole in my forehead. Nothing. One thing was for sure: I couldn't teach under these conditions. What the hell was I supposed to do with the tissues? Did they expect origami?
Be gently stern. I'm new here. They should understand that I don't get their customs yet, I told myself.
I go back to face the tissues and I see, to my horror, a brown smear where I've been sitting. I reflexively grab my ass and blush hotly as my fingers dip into something warm and sickly moist. I look. It's brown. And drippy. My stomach sinks.
The fried noodles, octopus, spiced caggage (kimhi), garlic soups, chili peppers, and unidentifiable meats I'd been eating since I arrived spun through my mind. A bowel-liquefying combination...
I grabbed the tissues and cleaned my mess with no more dignity than a cowering dog. This isn't one of those "well, these-things-happen" moments that you just shrug off. I just shat on their floor.
And the smell...wait a minute. Sweet? Savory even. Then it clicked. My trouser pockets full of chocolates had melted from the in-floor heating. I didn't spring an anal leak! Heavens bless!
And of course I start explaining this as fast as the physics of tongue allow and of course my kind, uncomprehending hosts are looking at me like a deranged, babbling, psychotic foreigner covered in feces who won't get out of their living room. "seriouslyitsjustchocolatebecausemystudentsgaveittomebecauseitsvalentinesdayandthat'swhatKoreansdoandthechocolatemeltedanddon'tworryit'snotshitbutiwillcleanitupanyway"
I only produced some frightened glares.
Body language, I decided. I put some in my mouth and say "mmmmmm. Chocolate". Isn't that a show-stopper. Just imagine. The father looked like he might martial arts my head in.
After I'd produced the wrappers from my pockets, we all had a good old fashioned laugh at my expense. Ha ha ha.
Next blog:
The ridiculous thing I did when they invited me for dinner, the following evening.
1 comment:
Wow, my first comment.
Thank you for the relevant and thoughtful response. Good luck with your life as a spammer.
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