Fart's War

Let it never be said that Wexford Sunshine will not sink to their level…or anybody’s level for that matter. I hold myself to no higher standards – nay, I am as fallible as the next man, and almost as petty as the next Kim. Thus, I have a confession to make: I fart on old people.

But lest ye judge me too hastily: allow me to put you in context. Some of our earliest readers may recall the description of Wake Me and my morning commute. Although she rides the bus and I the subway, both of us are accosted by the presence, both physical and olfactory, of teeming hoards of Kims as we plod our way to work. More often than you would expect these folk are wicked old and wicked nasty. Nasty both in the sense of reeking of garlic, smoke and rotting cabbage, as well as being mean spirited old hags. The smell comes mostly from the old men, who eat raw garlic every morning and breathe it all over you in the steamy confines of a subway car. Since I don’t have the breath to combat the Kims, I respond with my only other weapon – a well placed fart. Whether or not the male Kims can smell my flatulence, (or indeed can smell anything at all after years of living in Seoul), is questionable. Nonetheless, I try to position myself in front of the oldest, most foul-breathed man I can find before unleashing my morning barrage.

You may think this is a disproportionate response, particularly if you’ve never smelled anyone who eats kimchi and garlic for 3 meals a day. Well in addition to their breath these guys are often jerks - but it’s their female counterpart who is truly vicious. We have occasionally referred in these pages to the dreaded Ajuma – the Korean grandma. It is this creature of darkness that more than any other factor inspires me to make war on my fellow commuters.

Somehow sweet, demure little Korean girls evolve into beastly brutes after they have children. Maybe it’s a result of years of enduring this blatantly sexist and chauvinistic society that finally hardens them, but whatever the justification, the Ajuma is rude and aggressive – and not afraid to drop some elbows as she and her gaggle of accomplices vie for the few available seats on my hour long early morning commute. Don’t just take my word for it though – apparently there’s a Korean joke that goes “there are 3 sexes in Korea: male, female and Ajuma”. The Kims are just as oppressed by the Ajuma as I am, and they are equally baffled by her violent tendencies. When an Ajuma has succeeded in punching you out of her way, she will fix you with the death stare for daring to gape at her behavior. She will then proceed to slam the window shut, no matter how obscenely hot it is in your bus or train car. (I believe this has something to do with the cold blooded circulatory system of the Ajuma, but it may also be connected to a fear of fresh-ish air common to many Kims).

Upon exiting the train the Ajuma will shove past you to be first on the escalator. Since she invariably stands still on the escalator once achieving her position, I believe this is simply a form of primal competition for the Ajuma. She is not actually concerned about getting anywhere quickly. In fact why the hell are the Ajumas even riding the train at 7am? They have no jobs, nor any reason to pick rush hour to take care of some other business. Pondering all of this makes a fellow start to believe that the Ajumas are simply out to fuck with you.

Thus after being stuck behind one too many Ajumas on the escalator as I attempted to reach my connecting train on time, I decided to hold some of my farts until I reach the stairs, depositing them at face level as I push past the unmoving old Kims.

Once I get on my second train of the day I am generally drained of gas. Therefore I spend the rest of my morning eyeing the passengers who have managed to score seats. Which one is about to get off? Is that the old guy who got off at the second stop last week? Once I find my mark I prepare for the last stage of my morning war of attrition. I must make a tactical decision in my strategic battle against the Ajuma – how shall I stand so as to make it impossible for the old bag to grab the seat I’m scoping out if I’m lucky enough to see it vacated. If I flinch for second, or if I start to doze off standing up, she will throw me aside the minute my seat becomes available. Then I will be left to stand on my tired legs for another 45 minutes, slowly suffocating in garlic.

I could be a gentleman of course and simply cede vacant seats to the old people. I could even try to contain my gas, saving the fart for open air. But if I did I would the biggest sucker in Seoul. Absolutely nobody here gives up a seat for an Ajuma or an old man. They may not all use flatulence in their battle, but all the Kims recognize that this is War, and the prize for second place is not getting to sleep through the noxious commute.

Wex of Arabia

The arrival of a certain asshole in our offices today (we can call him Kim So Douche) reminded me of a story I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time.

Two months ago I went on a business trip with the Kims. (There was one other foreigner on board, but he doesn’t count. He’s such an obsequious kimchi-lover he might as well be a spokesman for the Fan Death Association). We went to the Middle East: Dubai, Abu Dhabi and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

That’s right, I was in Saudi Arabia. Why has it taken me 3 months to write about what I did in “the Kingdom”? Clandestine services demands a three month post-op grace period these days.

Saudi was a rather depressing dump, at least the part of it I saw. No sign of the largesse of oil wealth – just a developing country in a desert with a lot of half-finished buildings and creepy unlit highways. I imagine Riyadh must be more impressive, but we were on a trip to the industrial coastline.
So, what’s a business trip like with the Kims? At times it’s like taking your grandparents to Times Square. My boss generally shuffles around blithely, without ever seeming to take much in. But once in a while he’s confronted with something foreign and needs to be shepherded, like how you have to drag grandpa away from the hookers on 8th Ave. Or when you have to convince Grandma that there’s nothing to fear from the pre-op trannies pouring out of “Don’t Tell Mamas” on 43rd.

In general the Kims prefer to stick with what they know. This is why we ate Italian food in Saudi Arabia, and Korean food in Abu Dhabi (after two whole days without pickled cabbage, the Kims were starting to wilt). They’re constantly seeking to compartmentalize the unknown or to break it down into manageable bits that can fit on a powerpoint slide. In preparation for this trip my boss asked me to read a little book on Saudi culture called “Don’t they know it’s Friday”? He wanted a powerpoint overview of how Saudis do business differently. I of course refused to waste my time in such a manner (I’m very popular around the office thanks to this attitude), but to mollify him I did agree to look at the book. I am now the Saudi expert, having read a book by some old British wanker about not shaking hands with Saudi women.

This is pretty typical of Korean business culture. Nobody is prepared to develop any real expertise but they’re quite happy to create pretend experts who can deliver sound bites of knowledge lacking any real depth… but I digress

The real reason I started writing this piece was to tell you about how this asshole I saw today conspired with my idiot boss to screw us all out of $1000. Here’s the situation: as the youngest and lowest ranking member of our business delegation I was given the task of making sure we had hotels booked in Saudi and Dubai (where we had some other meatings). I’m pretty sure there’s an office somewhere downstairs that’s supposed to deal with hotels, but I’m equally sure that it’s staffed with drooling imbeciles – so I thought it best to handle it myself. I told my boss that I’d take care of the hotels, in consultation with this asshole from a different team who lives in Dubai. I had not yet met the asshole – Kim So Douche – but he was meant to be a source of advice on which hotels to choose. I called him and he recommended two hotels.

I booked the hotel for Friday night in Dubai and had one in Saudi for Saturday night. We had to then come back to Dubai on Sunday and Monday, so I made a separate booking for those nights – at a Hotel recommended by Kim So Douche. I told my boss we had reservations and even offered to print him up his own copy. We stayed the first two nights of our trip without incident.

Upon arriving at the Dubai airport on Sunday I discovered that, without ever consulting me, Kim So Douche had booked a separate hotel for our final two nights in Dubai. He had done this the night before – while we were staying in a hotel that I had booked. I later learned that So Douche had consulted with my boss about whether or not I had already booked a room for Sunday. Even though they knew I had booked the first two nights of our trip, it somehow seemed possible to them that I had forgotten to book the final 2 nights. Instead of waiting to confirm this completely ridiculous possibility with me, they double booked the hotels – eventually forcing us to cancel one of the reservations. Since these were nice hotels, the last minute cancellation cost $1000.

Despite the fact that this was completely my boss and Kim So Douche’s fault, they somehow seemed to regard it as a mere miscommunication. I said no – it was clearly my job to take care of this, as evidenced by the fact that we spent the first two nights in the hotels I booked – not to mention the fact that my entire team was well aware that I had booked the hotels (including the useless American who was with us on the trip, and with whom the Kims also decided not to consult before double booking the hotels). Besides, what kind of idiot would only book hotels for half of the trip?

No big deal, u might be thinking. I mean, there’s no way my boss, a Vice President, would ever ask a lowly underpaid assistant manager to help pay for such a mistake…right? Plus, isn’t it part of Asian culture that the older, richer guy has to shell out for the poor young guy? Not this time. The bastard made me and the other American guy cough up $250 a piece to pay for this error. He paid for $500. My boss refused to ask HR to compensate us for the Hotel, which they certainly would have done. He also refused to even ask Kim So Douche to chip in, even though it was his hotel hubris that caused the problem. His reasoning was that it would make us look bad if other people in the company found out about the gaffe. As for justifying taking my money – he claimed that it wasn’t really my money anyway, since we all had a per diem for the trip and I hadn’t spent all of mine on food. Apparently my unspent compensation is up for grabs. Next time he goes on a business trip I’m going to drive his company car off a bridge – it’s not like it was really his car after all.

Pheasant Executioners

Korea is unique in its ability to – as a friend of mine here put it the other day – make you want to root for the other guy, even when it seems that Korea is actually in the right for once.

Case in point – Have you heard of Dokdo? Or Takeshima? If so, you’ll know that they’re both the same place, and the name you use depends on where you’re from, or maybe simply on whether you prefer Japanese (Takeshima) or Korean (Dokdo) food. I’m not going to get into details, but suffice it to say this is a land-dispute between Korea and Japan that has been on-going since Japan annexed the peninsula in 1905, over an island so small that one of the other names it goes by is the Liancourt “Rocks”. Korea, still flaming pissed over having been occupied by Japan for the first half of the 20^th century, has made Japan-bashing a national pastime - so when it comes to Dokdo, winning the dispute with the Japanese is a matter of national pride.

Anger over the issue dies down periodically, but every once in a while Japan does something to bring it back to the forefront, either by driving a coast guard ship a little too close to the rocks for Korean comfort, or by denoting the island as officially Japanese in school textbooks, as they recently did. Wexford insisted that I pin some of the blame for the continuous nature of this dispute on the Japanese, for obnoxious yet subtle actions such as these. And when it comes down to it, it does seem as though Dokdo truly is Korean territory. But the vehemence with which Koreans insist Dokdo is theirs, the disgusting actions they resort to in protest of Japanese claims, and the in-your-face nationalism that emerges in support this meaningless pile of rocks, makes me want nothing more than to see it officially recognized as Japanese.

A friend of mine in Washington DC described to me how Korean lobbyists are gaining a name for themselves as enormously unsophisticated, so intent on pushing the “Dokdo is Korean” cause that US Congressmen and women are forced to remind them that there are more pressing issues to deal with – for example, their unruly neighbor up North. The Kims whine about it so much that on his recent trip to Seoul President Bush was obliged to rename the Rocks Dokdo in official US documents so the that air would be clear to calm them down over one of the other irrational obsessions here – American beef.

Part of the reason I’m so incensed with this stupid affair stems from my own recent run-in with the issue. I had been scheduled to speak at a “world” conference in Japan this month, organized by a consortium of Korean universities and think tanks, and held in a different country every year, where speakers discuss various issues surrounding Korea. Unfortunately, this was right around the time Japan started bragging again that Takeshima was a Japanese territory. A few weeks later I got an email from the organizers informing me the conference would no longer be held in Japan, but would be moved to Korea - all because the bitchy Korean academics were upset about their precious rocks. It’s like a couple of kids on the playground fighting over marbles, except all the kids have PhDs and still believe in fan-death.

The most despicable reaction, however, came a couple weeks ago, when a group of Koreans staged a protest outside the Japanese embassy in Seoul by decapitating pheasants, the Japanese national bird. It was a small group of bird murderers, but the overwhelming feeling of anger demonstrated at the protest permeates the entire country and is emblematic of how seriously folks around here take a bunch of useless rocks.

Korea may be right, Dokdo might really be Korean territory, and Japan may just be rubbing salt in a decades-old wound. But until I can have a conversation about international relations in this country without someone bringing up Dokdo, until I can watch the news without seeing some nationalist head-case beating an innocent creature to death, and until Korean citizens start paying as much attention to their starving and persecuted brethren up North as they do to this insignificant group of rocks seven hours off the cost of the peninsula, I’m with Japan on this one.

The Good, the Bad, the Douchey

Dearest Readers,

Long has it been since my dulcet odes to Korea graced your browser. You may have imagined that I finally became accustomed to this miserable country and no longer felt the need to lambast its shortcomings through the magic of the internets. Sadly this is not the case. I have either been busy trying to get myself the hell out of here, or too depressed to do anything other than watch old Guns and Roses videos on Youtube. But never fear, there are many absurd episodes to recount.

First up, let me tell you about my run in with the law. Today I’m heading down to the Yongsan police department to sign a statement that will officially put an end to what was a bizarre, frustrating, occasionally amusing and once even inspiring affair.

It would take too long to get into all the details, but the story does demand some explanation. My band did a photo shoot for an incredibly pathetic local magazine called Rokon. This sorry rag is so phony that despite claiming on its cover to be an “indie source magazine”, it often featured Maroon 5 stories and ran a glowing review of the new Mariah Carrey record next to our Indie band article. Thus, when the editor of this lame excuse for a rock magazine refused to give me the photos from our hilariously overwrought shoot, I was rather incensed. After I politely but firmly told him that he had no reason to withhold our photos, he started acting like a bitchy prima donna, and eventually sent me a rude email.

Now, you may imagine that Wexford Sunshine is capable of responding to rude emails with abusive diatribes that will offend your average poser magazine editor. But this douchebag was more than offended by my scathing response, in which I referenced both his lame mag’s Mariah Carrey piece and his own ridiculous myspace page - which I claimed was clear evidence of his problems with a diminutively apportioned penis. Cut n paste this (blognazis at google don't seem to want me to link it), I think you'll agree with my assessment:
http://www.myspace.com/konghaus

Douchebag proceeded to loose what feeble control he had over his tiny mind and sent me approximately 30 text messages in a 24 hour period, which got increasingly more violent and threatening. I wasn’t terribly worried about it until he showed up outside my house the following day and threatened to sick his thug friends on me. At this point Wake me, my lawyer pal Alfonso Izquierda Esquire and I decided it would be best to bring the matter to the police. Before you go calling me a pussy, bear in mind that in Korea I would most certainly be blamed for any fights I got into – regardless of who started them. The Douchebag was apparently born in America, but he’s Korean American and I had to assume his posse would include Koreans who could lie to the cops about the whole thing. As you’ll see in a moment, I was right to be suspicious of the Korean justice system.

So we went down to the police station with a Korean friend of mine named David, prepared to get the whole thing on record. We knew the Douche wouldn’t get tossed in jail or anything, but I figured filing a complaint against him would at least give me the authority to beat his ass with a crowbar with legal impunity – in self defense of course.

Let me pause here to give props to my man David, and all the other people involved in this silly episode, including Alfonso Esq. and his attorney pal Kil-ho Esq., as well as my main man Jun and my boy Dennis (who provided the crowbar, and some damned fine whiskey). David spent 4 hours with me in the police station, translating, explaining and even getting finger printed for me. The rest of the crew was behind me the whole way, whether it meant translating, giving legal counsel or promising to bring the ruckus if anybody had to get thrown a beating. I often criticize the Kims but one thing’s for sure – a Korean friend will stand by you no matter how crazy shit gets.

Sadly, we never did get to kick any poser magazine editing ass. Shortly after we finished filing the report at the police station we discovered that some of the threatening texts I’d been getting from people I thought were Douchebag's violent posse were actually all sent by him alone. Apparently in Korea you can change the phone number that accompanies your text message, so it looks like it was sent by somebody else. Turns out Douche was not only short in the pants, but short on friends too. Furthermore, after the detective called Douche to tell him to come to the station, he proceeded to desperately phone me and my band mates, claiming he couldn’t afford to pay any fines and that the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding.

At this point I thought the whole thing was over and was ready to move on, although part of me had been hoping for a fight (with the law on my side). But the fighting left to be done was not to be physical. It turned out that the asshole detective was too lazy to do his job and file the report on Douche. He wanted the two of us to reach some kind of agreement, so that his office wouldn’t have to press charges. From what I’d seen there wasn’t much else for them to do at the Yongsan police department, but I guess my detective needed as much time as possible for cigarette and kimchi consumption.

Thus he trumped up some bullshit about how he believed that I had threatened the Douchebag in the same way as he had threatened me. At first I laughed at this. Clearly one could not equate making fun of someone’s magazine and calling him out for having a small wang with repeated threats of physical violence and stalking someone at their home. The cop himself had told me that only repeated threats were actually considered a crime. Douche had repeatedly harassed me; I sent two emails. My man Kil-ho called the detective and explained this to him, even translating my emails for him so as to demonstrate their non-threatening nature.

But the asshole detective was determined not to do his job and sadly, this country’s joke of a justice system was on his side. I was informed by my lawyer friends that even though technically I had committed no crime, the prosecutor and judge would generally take the detectives word on such a small case. The detective would claim he thought I threatened Douche, no one would ever consider whether or not he had the authority (or even jurisdiction, considering the emails were in English from US based accounts) to make such a claim. The Judge would rubber stamp some kind of fine for me and I would have to go to court to fight it. Kil-ho and Alfonso both thought that defending my white ass in a Korean court was not worth the trouble. I didn’t want to drag them down with me for such a petty thing, so I eventually agreed to acquiesce to the detective’s plan. I would drop my complaint if Douche would drop his, and give me the photos.

Eventually some of the photos were secured, and I was told that Douche had to embarrass himself considerably to get them. I reluctantly went down to the police station with Jun to sign a statement retracting my complaint. But when I got there, we discovered that the Korean legal system did not have a provision for a conditional withdrawal of a complaint. That means I could not withdraw it solely on the condition that Douche was never allowed to file a complaint against me for my “threatening” emails. On top of that, the stupid cop hadn’t actually gotten the Douchebag to sign anything yet, so once I signed my withdrawal I would have no recourse if Douche decided to press forward with his own ludicrous claim. I yelled at the asshole cop, who once again was simply trying to get rid of me, and walked out the door – dragging Jun behind me and trying to tell him not to apologize for me.

In the end Douche was made to sign his unconditional withdrawal first, and I was prepared to never sign mine. But for complicated reasons Alfonso felt he would be compromised as a lawyer if I gave the finger to the system – so today, I will end the silly affair, which has now dragged on for a month. Now of course I am frustrated by the absurdity of this situation – this could only happen in Korea. But I’m also proud of my friends, who truly went beyond the call of duty to keep this asshole foreigner out of court and out of the hospital. Nice work guys.

The Korean Government Is Trying to Kill Me

It was another miserable day in Seoul when I woke up this morning – cloudy with a hint of 90% humidity in the air – and I headed out the door mentally preparing myself for the 10 minute walk to the bus stop and the subsequent commute (see earlier post for all the gory details). I was unaware, however, what Seoul had in store for me this morning, and wasn’t quite prepared as I set off down the street towards the bus. I was about two minutes into the walk, fiddling with my ipod trying to find a song suitable for the dreary morning, when I first heard it; a loud buzzing, that initially resembled a helicopter or something airborne, though it became quickly apparent that it was much closer. The next thing I noticed as I looked down the street ahead of me was the huge, white cloud expanding quickly and moving up the street towards me at speed that I was unaware clouds of any sort could move. It was still early, so it wasn’t until then that I made the connection – the noise, the cloud – and shouted at no one in particular, “FUCK! ITS THE DEET TRUCK!”

The Deet Truck is the Korean answer to the admittedly absurd amount of mosquitoes that somehow manage to survive here for nearly ten months out of the year, and it is exactly what it sounds like – a truck with a large pipe extending off the back that emits deet into the air in a thick white cloud. I had only seen the Deet Truck once before, but luckily I was in my house and able to shut all the windows before it drove by. This time, unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky.

From the behavior of the Koreans around me – those outside sweeping the street in front of their homes, walking their dogs, etc – you’d have thought that this huge cloud of toxic chemicals posed absolutely no threat whatsoever. Luckily, another foreigner walking behind me and I knew better, and dove for the first taxi that drove by. We had to force the cab driver to roll up the windows – even with the deet cloud coming ever closer he was completely clueless as to why these two foreigners were in his cab acting like lunatics, banging on the windows and gesturing with flailing arms – but we managed to barricade ourselves inside before the cloud engulfed the car. Our cab driver has no idea that picking us up this morning probably added five years to his life.

Once safely in the cab, the other person who doesn’t want to die inhaling toxic fumes and I acquainted ourselves, and commiserated over the obliviousness of the people around us, who were still making no move to get inside and away from the airborne deet. “They used to do this in the small town that I grew up in in the States”, he said (didn’t elaborate on which town that was though), “But they outlawed it”. Well of course they did! It’s DEET for christs sake! On the other hand, this may just be the Korean government’s way of driving the foreigners out, since I’ve only seen the truck around my apartment, which is where the majority of the foreigners in Seoul live. Hmmm…

So my new foreign friend and I made it safely to the station and I headed off to the bus where I would spend the next thirty minutes inhaling kimchi fumes off the breath of whatever passenger was smushed up against me for the duration of my commute. For the first time since arriving in Korea, I didn’t complain.

Considering suicide? Let Samsung talk you out of it!

Apparently I’m not the only one who would rather not live in this country – so many others are in agreement that life here sucks, that Korea has the highest suicide rate in the world (25 deaths per 100,000). Don’t worry about me - I know that finding happiness is as simple as boarding an international flight – but others here might need a little more convincing. Thank god then for Samsung and Hyundai, two of the biggest companies in Korea, that have begun a new campaign to keep their employees from flinging themselves off the roof on a bad day. They now offer courses encouraging employees to “assess their priorities in life”, which include fun events such as writing your will, posing for a funeral portrait, and being buried in one of the many coffins in the “death experience” room and then covered with dirt.

Don’t believe me? Click on this link and check out the slide show from a recent Financial Times article (Notice the detail – they even give you a flower to hold before they bury you!).

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/2e29bbb6-574b-11dd-916c-000077b07658.html

Don’t get me wrong, I do not find any humor in suicide, but if someone is going to seal me in a coffin and ask me to pretend I’m dead, I’m certainly going to have a lot of trouble not laughing my ass off.

Germy, but Toasty Warm

So, it was suggested by one of our dedicated readers that we try to lighten the mood somewhat. I agree that we tend to get bogged down by negativity, but hopefully you understand that we’re just trying to share our impressions and experiences with you, and unfortunately, they don’t happen to be the most positive ever. With that in mind, I’ve spent the past month or so trying to think of something good to say about this place, and I think I’ve finally thought of something. Yes, there IS one thing here that is able to, without fail, bring a smile to my face and temporarily steady my heart rate.

I am cooped up all day in an over-air conditioned office building, where I keep two scarves handy with which to insulate myself, and a pair of fake UGGs (yup, those cheesy wool boots) that I bought for $20 at a stall in the subway, and that wear around the office everyday, no matter if they do look a little silly with my business suit. You get the point – it’s cold. So there is nothing more satisfying than settling down on, you guessed it, the heated toilet seat. I don’t know who invented these things, or why they have them here, where the majority of people’s daily lives are significantly lacking in luxury (or even comfort), but I’m glad that they do. Now, whenever I have to pee, my mood brightens significantly.

Sure, electric toilets can be a little intimidating at first – they tend to have more buttons than most washing machines I’ve seen, some with Korean words I can’t decipher. Others just have pictures that look more like ancient hieroglyphics than anything else, and that you couldn’t pay me to push. I’ve heard stories of people approaching electric toilets the way that I tend to approach my Korean TV when I’m trying to switch to DVD mode – just push all the buttons until something happens – but those don’t tend to end well when the toilet is involved.

But once you’ve figured out which one turns the heat on, you’re really all set. You can bring in a good book, your PSP, or settle down for a quick nap – as Wexford suspects many of his co-workers do during lunch. I usually just like to lock myself in and focus on feeling warm for a few fabulous minutes, before I head back to my cube and chug another couple glasses of water. The only thing left to do now is convince Westerners that this is something we need in our homes and offices, so by the time I move back, there will be a nice, warm toilet seat waiting for me.

burn baby bird

Everybody knows the Kims have no love for dogs - unless they come in a pot covered in spicy sauce. In fact, some of the abuse of animals I've witnessed here could probably convince the PETA to sell yellowcake to Pyonyang (and you Know PETA is hoarding yellow cake). But did you know about their secret vendetta against doves? It's true, check this out: the picture above is from the 1988 summer Olympics. If you look carefully you can see a dove on the left about to meat its doom in that monster-truck-sized torch. Apparently it was traditional to release a flock of doves into the air to start the Olympics, as a symbol of international peace. The practice was discontinued after 68 years when the Kims built a torch so friggin huge it roasted some of the poor buggers before they could think to fly away.
Hmmm, I wonder what that giant torch could be compensating for?
Actually the entire 1988 Olympics was one flaming ironic Ferrari for South Korean dictator Chun Doo Hwan, who attempted to use the games to placate his people's demands for democracy.

"No votes for you, but check out this monster torch"!
Care for some crispy dove with that?

Exercising, Korean style

Warm weather is here, which means it’s time for our hero to check out the Seoul sporting scene. Gotta drop that kimchi gut in time for swimsuit season. As you might expect, exercising in Korea is not as pleasant as it could be. Seoul is mostly a massive, disgusting, concrete shithouse - practically devoid of public spaces and certainly low on sporting arenas. Nonetheless, intrepid athletes can find fields and courts if they’re willing to travel, but don’t expect access to be easy or friendly.

Two weeks ago me, my shorty and my boy Alfonso Izquierda went to the river to rent bicycles. The Han River is where almost all outdoor activity takes place in town, unless you can make the hike to the outskirts. The fetid flow spans the width of Seoul, so there are a number of different parks. However these are almost invariably hard to access. Our first bicycle outing was a harrowing experience. We took a cab to the river, spotting the bike rental spot as we drove over the bridge on a highway. Even though we knew where the bicycle rental place was, our taxi driver had a hell of a time getting there. Now this in and of itself is not that unusual – I’m sure my DC readers know how absurd it can be to reach public places in a metropolitan area. But our taxi driver took a unique approach: he stopped in the middle of the highway and left us to hop the guard rail and scramble down a hill to the street below just as he peeled off to avoid getting hit by a bus.

Once down the hill the bike ride was fine enough, although the ever-present oblivious attitude of the Kims often reared its head in the form of people crowding the lanes.

Most Koreans don’t play sports (especially young Kims). Furthermore, the Kims who are not terrified of physical activity have a rather comical conception of what constitutes exercise. Thus one will often find a strange array of useless equipment installed alongside the river, including spinning discs that you are meant to stand on and twist from side to side, and other devices too inane to describe. Received Korean wisdom seems to indicate that shaking around like an idiot must be good for you.

These ridiculous machines are ubiquitous in my new gym, which I am now using to supplement my trips to the river. The most popular machines are ones on which tiny Korean women can be vibrated for hours on end without expending any actual physical energy. Remember the old vibrating belts they sold to fat Americans in the 50’s? They still have those here – jiggle it off while you chew a kimchi flavored Twinkie, fatties!

The Kims often don’t really have anything resembling sports etiquette. This, added to the fact that Koreans are generally lacking in etiquette in all areas, can make for some frustrating athletics. My gym is tiny, only possessing a free-weight area big enough for 4 people at a time to work out. Normal people would recognize this limitation and behave with heightened awareness of their surroundings – but not the Kims. People here routinely take over one of the two benches in the weight room and hang out on it for hours. While they may occasionally lift something, they spend most of their time looking at themselves in the mirror, or doing pointless little exercises that do not in any way require the use of one of the only available benches.

Yesterday I headed to the bench press to find it occupied by a large middle-aged Kim. After watching him finish a set and proceed to sit on the bench for 10 minutes, followed by a 5 minute session of air karate chops (he was sparring with himself in the mirror I guess), I asked him how many more sets he had left. He said one. After he finished his next ridiculous routine I moved in to take his place. I’m not sure what he said next, but the asshole’s general message was that I should wait until he was good and ready to get off the bench. I pointed out to him that we could easily share this bench – and also attempted to indicate that we should be mindful of the dearth of equipment in our gym. The old douchebag was completely baffled by the idea of sharing the equipment. He also seemed oblivious to the crassness of his routine and its air karate chops. Couldn’t he fake fight himself somewhere else? Of course not.

He is not alone – none of the Kims with whom I’ve tried to communicate in various crowded gyms have ever grasped the concept of sharing. It’s simply not done here. What is done resembles some kind of farce: there’s not enough room for everyone on the equipment, so the Kims waste as much time as possible doing imaginary “exercises” that aren’t having any effect whatsoever. It would actually be funny if it weren’t happening to me – but I guess that’s par for the course here.

You vill purchase eine Banana!

Have you ever awoken on a Saturday morning to find yourself in a Nazi death camp? Nein? If you would like to have a piece of that experience and still get to keep the majority of your gold teeth, I recommend spending a weekend in a Seoul residential neighborhood. Every Saturday I awake to some old bastard screaming in a megaphone like an SS Officer:

"Hey Assholes! Buy some fucking bananas right Now! You will wake up and come buy these bananas! Holy crap these bananas are amazing and cheap. Buy them or I will bury you in an unmarked grave"

At least that's what it sounds like he's saying. My Korean isn't good enough to decipher megaphone commands, but the death camp tone is definitely established. I know he's selling bananas, or some other crap you can already easily acquire at any corner store, because the bastard parks his truck right in front of my house. Sometimes he walks up and down the street with a megaphone. Other times he sits in the truck and uses a recording, blasting from the speakers on top of the truck.

The best part is when other trucks come buy selling more shit I don't need - then we get dueling megaphones! Usually it's fruit or fish, but sometimes these assholes have the gall to scream about chestnuts or cheap shoes. I even saw a guy with a hat and visor truck. Who the hell is lying in bed on a Saturday morning thinking to themselves "damn, I could really use a new cheap plastic sun-visor...oh great! the visor truck is here!" ???

What's more, I'm pretty sure I've never even seen anyone buy anything off these obnoxious old bastards. I for one wouldn't buy his bananas and sun visor if I were starving to death on a sunny day - that would only convince him that his Nazi tactics had succeeded.

So the other day I went outside, determined to punish the two trucks together by hurling rocks and epithets. I discovered there was only 1 truck. The banana-selling Himler had the truck speakers cranked, and was walking around in a circle adding his megaphone to the fray. There's no way anyone could hope to understand what the two of him were screaming about, so I can only assume he's been hired by the Korean government to torture me.

Security Duty

Ever wonder what it's like to be a security guard? How about an on-call secretary? Wouldn't it kick ass to somehow be a combination of both?

Well if you work for a korean company, that dream will be fulifilled, whether you like it or not. I just learned that one of my co-workers will be here at the office during our national holiday on friday. Wasting a holiday at the office - she must have some really important project to work on right? Actually no, and not just because none of the projects here are important. She's on an assignment referred to as "Tanjik", which I'm told is a rotating position that at least 2 regular employees are required to fill on every major holiday and most saturdays.

The way she described it, my colleague will come in on her holiday and spend 7 hours walking around on each floor of the buidling, checking to see who's here. This is supposedly meant to do more than simply keep a record of who's working overtime (because nobody is paid for overtime, so who really cares).
If there is some kind of emergency, she is somehow expected to deal with it. These emergencies could range from a fire in the building to the death of an overseas employee. She of course has no experience dealing with either of those issues, nor do any of the other countless suckers made to waste their vacation days on Tanjik. The fact that this whole idea is not only a waste of her time but also completely unsuited to her skills is completley ignored. "Where the hell are the security gaurds on these days?", I inquired.

"Well, they really wouldn't know how to handle all the possible situations that might arise", said my boss. Oh really? And who would exactly? My 24 year old colleague who has never seen a building burn nor responded to dead employee phonecalls? Who understand these improbable crises and why would they be any more qualified to do so than our security personnel or our secrataries?

The Koreans have no response to this.

Tanjik is a typical Korean corporate strategy - invent some mythic problem that can only be addressed by an institution which serves no purpose and defies logical explanation. Give this institution a special name, like "Tanjik", and convince your hapless employees that it's somehow an honor to waste your time in this fashion. Equivocate whenever questions are asked and ascribe some sort of intangible values to the ridiculous excercise. Pretend that the whole thing has some honorable and wise tradition behind it when in fact you're just hell bent on ruining somebody's day off.

And why do that? Why spend more effort inventing meaningless tasks than you spend on actual productive work? Because this is Korea. Meaningless bullshit is what we're all about.

If The Fans Don't Get You, Mad Cow Probably Will

I thought I’d continue with the topic from the previous post – Koreans believing things completely lacking in any scientific basis – in the context of the US beef protests that have been going on in Seoul for the past couple weeks. Quick background on the issue: Korea was the 3rd largest import-market for US beef until 2003, when a case of mad cow disease was recorded in the States, causing Koreans to freak out and immediately ban all beef imports from the US. The new Korean President, Lee Myung-bak, has been trying to get the US-Korea FTA signed, and has therefore recently agreed to reopen the Korean market to US beef imports. And man, are the Koreans pissed.

A couple weeks ago people began holding candlelight vigils in protest, and I’ve read that more than 1.2 million Koreans have now signed a petition to impeach the president over his lack of concern for the well-being of the country. I mean, I was sympathetic when Koreans reacted to the accidental deaths of two Korean schoolgirls hit by a US tank in 2002 by holding candlelight vigils, but really - candlelight vigils over a trade dispute? I thought it seemed a little excessive until I heard what all the fuss was about. A Korean “documentary” that aired a couple weeks ago, had claimed that Koreans “carry a special gene that makes them more susceptible to mad cow disease”, sparking the belief that anyone who consumed US beef must have some sort of death wish. The internet has been all abuzz with people here lamenting their inevitable early deaths, like one young Korean woman who cried, “Are we fated to die so young?”, or another who wrote “I just want to live and fulfill my career dreams, not die mad like an American cow!”.

Truly, this is more of an issue of fear mongering within a culture that still struggles with significant levels of anti-Americanism and victimization following centuries of occupation and colonization. But I won’t get into that now. Whatever the influence behind it, I think the main concern here is the fact that such a ridiculous claim could garner such widespread attention and support throughout the country.

The Korean Federation of Medical Groups for Health Rights had slightly less absurd reasoning behind their anti-FTA stance, but no less unsubstantiated. One of their 2006 reports states, “We're so well aware of the fact that there has been no country that improved their people's health, economy, or the quality of the lives of their nation among the ones that agreed to sign FTA with the US. Instead for those countries that signed FTA with the US experienced the downfall of economy, forced to lean on the US, the right for people to their health was demolished and poverty was increased. We know that this is what the US wants. Therefore, we oppose Korea-US FTA agreement.”

Maybe, however, Koreans can rest well knowing that at least they aren’t the only people in the world willing to believe things that make the majority of the rest of us snicker. The Japanese Agricultural Minister, Tsutomu Hata, tried in 1987 to deter Japanese from eating US beef by stating that Japanese intestines were longer than those of Westerners and therefore unsuited to digesting American beef. No, seriously. When I was in Japan nearly 15 years after that statement, I still met Japanese who would tell me, with a straight face, that their intestines were longer than mine.

Fan Death

I almost shat myself when i heard this: many Korean people believe that prolonged exposure to an ELECTRIC FAN WILL KILL YOU. I feel like Jon Stewart covering President Bush over here - I could not make this shit up if I tried! Check out this press release from the Korean Consumer Protection Board:

http://english.cpb.or.kr/user/bbs/code02_detail.php?av_jbno=2006071800002

A buddy of mine has a Korean girlfriend and he had to explain to her that the fan would not "lead to death from an increase in carbon dioxide saturation and decrease of oxygen concentration", as the Consumer Protection Board suggests. This is clearly an hilarious superstition, but even more interesting is their attempt to ground it in scientific terminology. I mean, tell us the evil spirits get blown up your nose by the death fan, then you would just sound like those African guys who think that witches are stealing their penises just because old men can't get it up anymore (and honestly, there must be some sort of devilry in that).

But to acknowledge that you understand what elements are floating around in the air, and then still maintain that it's possible for a fan to somehow blow away only the oxygen molecules - that is some seriously fucked up science. I wonder if this fear also explains why most Kims will not open the friggin windows on the bus even if it's 200 degrees inside - previously i just assumed they wanted to ferment themselves in the reek of Kimchi breath. Caus if a fan can blow away all your oxygen, perhaps the rushing air through a window can blow away all your ability to use critical thinking skills and scientific analysis...Guess it's too late for that.

Now my only concern is weather these evil Korean death fans can also blow their peculiar brand of logic into my unsuspecting brain...I'm already starting to think that motorcycles were meant to be driven on the sidewalk; it's only a matter of time

Efficiency

Perhaps you've heard that people in Seoul work longer hours than anyone else in the developed world? If not, check it out here

UBS recently did a report on Korea, finding that not only do Koreans work more than anybody on earth, their cost of living is also higher (see the article in our "Korea in the news" section). People in Seoul pay 20% more for the same crap than people pay in New York City, and yet New York kicks ass, while Seoul...er what's the word? Sucks?

This might strike you as logical on some level (not the sucking part, but the rest) - Koreans work the longest hours because they have such a high cost of living. They gotta earn more so they can afford this overpriced suck-fest. Sadly, this is not the case. First of all, Koreans employees earn squat compared with other countries. Now, this is partially do to the fact that the Korean system is in no way based on merit, and most rewards are simply doled out to the crooks who've made it to the highest position in the company - most likely by being born into it. Non-executives make nothing. But there's a deeper issue at play: efficiency.

This country has got to be the most inefficient place outside of Africa that I've ever seen. Sure, people stay at work all night long, but they don't accomplish a damn thing. Most of the time the younger Kims are just sitting around holding their dicks while they wait for Kim the Elder to finally leave. When they are working, they perform meaningless tasks because only the top brass is allowed to use their brains in a Korean company. (And we must assume that by the time they reach that level, they've spent too much time inhaling fumes in the bathroom to be of much use).

Take for example my stupid job, wherein I do almost nothing. Last week I got a bit riled at my boss for not including me on important projects and meetings that were clearly within the scope of what I theoretically do here. In response, my boss gave me a task: he asked me to read a book. This book was written by some British guy about how to do business in Russia. Now the fact that this Brit asshole knows nothing is beside the point. (The book is filled with such brilliant insight as : "it's cold in Russia", and "don't mention Communism in a meeting"). The point is that my boss actually suggested I present this book to the entire company. I have never been to Russia, much less lived there - meanwhile we have bona fide Russians working for us, as well as many Koreans who have spent months there on assignment. Why would anyone benefit from my book report on the topic? And yet this is the most meaningful task I have been given in 2 weeks.

Do you doubt me, dear reader? Think that my meaningless life has made me too critical of the Korean workforce? Well consider this: basic economic theory tells us that a worker will be paid the marginal product of his labour. We have already noted that Koreans earn far less than other OECD workers. This means (roughly) that they don't produce as much. We also know that Korea is ranked 31st in overall competitiveness in the world. All this overtime amounts to nothing whatsoever.

Therefore, the gratuitous extra hours every night still can't make up for the fact that this country is so god-damned inefficient that they can't even properly rip off the Japanese anymore without wasting a few billion Won.

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Wex

Blastin a duke at work

Those of you expats who live in Korea will no doubt be familiar with the strange bathroom habits in this country (the Kims could turn brushing teeth after lunch into an Olympic Sport - but removing the reek of Kimchi is impossible). I can't say for certain, but I'm willing to bet that the following experience basically describes most Asian offices:

You get to work early - say around 7:30 or so. You're dead tired because you had to get up at 6am and you couldn't go to sleep till 1 or 2 because you don't get home till 9pm and u gotta spend at least 3 hours with the wife and kids, plus one hour naked in the bathroom with a gun in your mouth.
After a morning meating during which you fabricate an action plan for the day that sounds remarkably similar to what you did last week, you check emails till about 8:30. By 9am, it's time to blast a duke, so you head to the toilet - empty handed.

I stress empty handed because you never see Koreans roll in with the paper, as we Westerners often do (I actually bring in my PlayStationPortable sometimes, caus there ain't no english papers in this office). Now, despite this apparent lack of reading material, the Kims will proceed to sit on the bowl for as long as 30 minutes. In total silence. Not even shitting sometimes. I'm not shitting you.

How would I, Wexford Sunshine, know that my colleagues regularly spend the better part of their morning ostensibly blasting a duke? Because I have studied. I am no turd-sniffing pervert, mind you. But sometimes a particularly tough game on my PSP requires me to extend my own restroom sojourn to lengths of up to 15-20 minutes. Now, when I roll up on the john, I can see by the closed doors that some stalls are clearly occupied upon my entrance. I also often hear breathing, and of course the occasional Hershey squirt. But in a majority of my mornings, even after 20 minute sessions, I never hear a flush, nor a stall door open.

Thus I have estimated that many guys around here (I will leave it to my associate Wake Me When it's Over to confirm if this applies to women), spend at least half an hour a day on the toilet. What could they be doing, if they have nothing to read, nor any PSP to play games on (I would hear the buttons being pressed if they did)?

I believe they nap.

Every day, most koreans nap on the bowl for at least 30 minutes. Now this should tell us something about productivity in this country. It should also tell us a bit about how absurdly overworked these poor bastards are - and by overworked I mean forced to stay late and arrive early, not given complex yet meaningful tasks that actually require thought and effort.

We'll have more on the topic of Productivity:Working Hours in my next post, but for now I leave you with this thought: What happens to the brain and psyche of someone who spends so much time inhaling restroom fumes? Do they dream of a porcelain paradise? Maybe I'll find out next time I need a nap.

Strange Business Practices and Inappropriate Work Conversations

One thing Wexford forgot to mention in his previous posts on his corporate training seminar was a comment by one of the speakers, a foreign employee at the company who was quite frank with the new employees. “You might think, after working here in Korea for a while, ‘I’ve worked for large international companies before, and this company is doing everything wrong!’”. There will be lots of business practices, he warned, that will seem odd to you, if not downright ridiculous. I think I know just what he means.

At a meeting with some co-workers a couple weeks ago, I was informed that our company used to rely on palm reading to hire new employees. Apparently, they would read your palm before they agreed to hire you, and often they resorted to some “face reading” as well. I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, and assumed that this was something that took place, say, before I or anyone I know was born. But nope, this was regular practice until a few years ago. Another one of my co-workers at the meeting nodded in agreement, pointing to his face to indicate that they had “read” his face before he was hired. The thinking, apparently, was that you could tell what kind of worker someone was by looking at their face. But what if you were just really tired at your job interview and had dark circles under your eyes that made you look crappy?, I wondered aloud. Would they hold that against you? No, they told me, but women with bags under their eyes are considered to be very “sexually charged”. Ok….

With the conversation shifting quickly to extreme impropriety, I found myself at a sudden loss for words. I remember thinking, however, that if I had been in a job interview at that moment, there’s no way I would’ve been hired. The look on my face said it all.

Defied by Korea - a swell vacation

As our loyal readers know, I often complain about the various ludicrous things that happen to me in this country. Perhaps no one has endured more of my whining than my family. Thus it was with some trepidation that I welcomed my sister to Seoul last weekend, fully expecting her to hate the place. Although I have of course always maintained that there are some good people here, in general I've panned Korea as one would pan an all-autistic production of Cats. (I mean, it compares on so many different levels...)

It would seem that Korea, not content to merely thwart me in everyday life, decided to defy me in my family life too - despite all I'd warned, my sister loved her trip. Furthermore, I too had a great time on my mandatory holiday

The stars were with us from the outset (well, I actually caught a case of explosive diarrhea the night she arrived, but that provided some comedy and didn't greatly detract from our vacation). The weather was gorgeous - perfect for a trip to South Korea's most famous mountain: Seorak-san. We arrived at the oceanside town of Sokcho, just 10 K from the mountain, on Thursday afternoon. From the beginning my sis and her girlfriend Emma were impressed with the Korean transportation system, which included an almost empty bus with enormous seats and a driver who's breakneck pace and blatant disregard for human life managed to get us to the coast in just 3.5 hours. We spent the evening wandering the almost deserted beach and shooting off Roman candles.

On Friday we rose early and headed for the mountain. A bright, sunny, breezy, pollution-free day made the treck up to the peak all the more pleasant. Although the steep steel steps hammered into the side of the cliff detracted somewhat from the experience, they enabled us to reach the top in just 2 hours. Once there the view was spectacular. Of course, it wouldn't be Korea if some effort hadn't been made to demolish the aesthetics of the place. The "peak" itself was not at the top; it was a small rock surrounded by steel rails and inhabited by some asshole with a megaphone attempting to sell cheap jewelry and gold "i made it to the top" medals. (See Photo) But the scenery put us all in such a good mood that we laughed off the silly little man yelling in a megaphone at people penned in 5 feet away from him.

On Saturday we returned to Seoul and again my sister and Emma got a treat: a Buddhist festival in Insadong, complete with parades and an incredibly rare multicultural display - plus a small Tibetan demonstration to boot (my hippie sister loves that stuff). We polished it all off with a delicious meal of some of the biggest dumplings I've ever seen.

Well done Korea. For once you've defied my expectations in a supremely positive way.

Mandatory Vacation

With my sister coming to visit last wednesday I was a little concerned about what to do with her during the two days i would be at work. Thus i was pleasantly surprised when i heard that we were being given thursday and friday off - some vacation bonus, probably to thank everybody for keeping their cool during the recent scandal (and by keeping cool, i mean deleting all their files and not talking to the press).

In typical fashion, we were not informed of this vacation, which is the longest one all year, until one week before the event. I thus had to scramble to make reservations and plans. Once all was set in place I heard an interesting rumor. Apparently the Friday vacation day wasn't a real holiday at all - it was a "mandatory vacation day".

Has anyone else ever heard of this? Basically, thursday is a free holiday, but friday we are all simply forced to use one of our personal days. Bear in mind that most new Korean employees only get 5 days of personal vacation a year - and these assholes think it's their right to tell us how to spend one of those 5 days. (I get 15 days, caus i told them to shove their measly 5 days up their asses, but most new employees just bent over and took the 5 day program).

So I was of course indignant - who the fuck are these people to tell me when I can take my vacation? Another thought crossed my mind however: perhaps the Kims need to be told when to take a day off. My colleagues almost never take any personal days. People here are incredulous when I tell them about all the places I've travelled. They will probably shit an entire kimchi pot when I tell them I'm taking off 2 whole weeks for christmas. So while for a foreigner like me the whole thing seems offensive - not to mention probably illegal, the company might just think it needs to prod the corporate family into a little R&R.

Training Wrap-Up

Well my corporate training session is finally over, and for the first time in my life I'm actually looking forward to getting back to work. Maybe that's the point of the whole ordeal.

Instead of continuing to reflect on how absurd and pointless the whole thing was however, I thought I'd end on a happy note (for once). In between meaningless lectures and dispiriting "cultural education", I actually did manage to see some beautiful Korean countryside. I'd never been impressed with the landscape of this country, mostly because every town here, large or small, is a miserable shithole. But the tree-covered hills near Everland (which is Korean Disneyland, and is located 10 minutes from our massive Human Resources center), are actually quite beautiful.

The center itself was also gorgeous. And when they finally let us escape to go visit the corporate sponsored auto-museum, that was quite impressive as well. Apparently our ex-chairman used his ill-gotten gains to buy the company some kickass antique cars. which I must say was money well spent.

So it wasn't all awful, and I learned that there actually are some pretty places in this country. But none of that was enough to compensate me for the stupidity I endured during my training.

Fun Facts about Korea

Just a quick thought while I’m stuck here at work in my little cube with one co-worker in the cubby next to me with his feet propped up on the desk reading the bible and another one behind me snoring so loud that I’ve had to crank up the volume on my headphones: I wonder if these people are at all resentful of living in a society in which you’re pretty much required to stay at work until your boss leaves for the day? I’m resentful of feeling guilty about leaving when my work day is actually supposed to end, abandoning my co-workers to their fate of hours more of pointless face-time.

Here’s a fun Korea fact: last year’s OECD Fact Book ranked Korea first for number of hours worked annually, with each person working an average of 2,357 hours. As a point of reference, the average for the other 29 OECD members was 1,777 hours per person annually. One last fun fact: Korea ranked 23 out of the 30 OECD countries for productivity. Wow, that’s a lot of napping!
It’s 5 pm, and I’m going home.

Also Not For the Faint of Heart in Asia: Commuting

Since we’re on the topic of commutes, I feel the need to submit a description of mine, which must top the list of smelliest commutes ever, if nothing else. I take the bus to work – a 20 minute ride when there’s no traffic, but it usually takes about 40 minutes – not a terribly long commute here in Asia. There are, however, so many things wrong with the rest of the trip that I don’t even really know where to begin.

Let’s start with the most overwhelming aspect of riding the bus in Korea; the smell. As has been pointed out in a prior post, Koreans admittedly shower about twice a week. They also eat the national food, kimchi (a concoction of garlic, red pepper, and cabbage, all fermented for optimal pungency), at every meal. Korean men, in addition to all that, chain smoke, go out drinking with co-workers every night until they pass out in the street (see photo to right), and only own one suit. I’m not really sure that you can even get an idea of what the amalgamation of all those smells is even like, but let me try and paint a picture for you.

Garlic, spice, sweat, and alcohol emanates from people who have not showered since the night before when they drank themselves into oblivion and woke up only to take a few puffs on a cigarette, have a couple mouthfuls of kimchi, and put the same suit from yesterday back on before hopping on the bus. By the time I get on the bus, its packed to the seams with people emitting near-lethal fumes – and the fact that I have showered and brushed my teeth that day suddenly seems a waste of a good thirty minutes of what could have been extra sleep. The bus drivers, wanting to make sure that my commute is always a particularly painful experience, jack up the heat until I can practically see the stench hanging in the air.

What really makes it unbearable is the total refusal by all the rest of the people on the bus to allow me to crack a window and get a breath of fresh air (something that really doesn’t exist in Seoul, but hey, its all relative). On numerous occasions I’ve reached across the person lucky enough to have gotten a seat on the bus and opened the window – just a crack, I’m not trying to be rude, I just don’t want to pass out before I get to work – only to have them glare at me and then slam the window shut. Apparently, Koreans don’t like feeling the wind in their hair. Fine. But the refusal to acknowledge that there are other people aside from themselves on the bus who might be feeling a bit stifled is quite extraordinary.

Finally, throw in a bus driver who thinks he’s driving a mini cooper, and you’ve definitely got a recipe for disaster. On a crowded bus the only thing keeping you from being thrown to the ground if you aren’t holding on for dear life is the unlucky person standing next to you. If the bus isn’t crowded, people are routinely thrown off their feet. It’s a commute that would drive a weaker person to quit their job. I’ve merely resorted to moving within walking distance of the office.

Corporate Training - day 2

I'll keep this one brief, because today was too mind-numbing to be more thoroughly analyzed.

We had 8 hours of presentations today, all on the company's corporate values. 8 hours, and then we made a frigging collage depicting the company values. This place is like a juvenile detention center without the meth.

To add to the absurdity, right around the time that we were getting our second lecture about the importance of integrity, our company chairman was giving a press conference - in which he resigned from office because he was indicted for tax evasion and "breach of trust".

This topic was not addressed in the least, despite the fact that this is the single most important event to happen to this company in the past 20 years.

Whatever, at least we had crayons and star stickers.

Corporate Training - Korean Style

My boss is always telling me I need to learn Korean corporate culture, so when I told HR to take their week long "training" session and shove it up their Kimchi pots, he did not approve. He told me it was a requirement, and seemed to honestly believe I would learn something.

Well day one down, and I have indeed learned something: my company training is even more ludicrous than I had imagined, which is a considerable feat considering my expectations.

We began the day with an introduction by some jackass President of the Human Resources Centre. This guy was preceded by a 5 minute powerpoint that simply faded between slides of him shaking hands with people that he thought made him look important. During the show the PA blasted "Can you feel the love tonight" by Elton John...this chump runs a glorified chearleading camp, so i guess he needs all the love he can get.

after lunch we were told to come dressed in excercise gear. we showed up in shorts - this is not what the organizers had in mind. shorts are not allowed. what they meant by "excercise" clothing was unclear even to themselves, because the Kims do not excercise.

anyway an exception was made and we proceeded to spend the next four hours playing some classic corporate team building games. these included jumping rope and a timed volleyball bumping competition. all well and good, except that the whole thing was held in a fucking boardroom. not 20 feet away from us was the most lush garden and soccer field that i have ever seen in this country, and we played volleyball under flourescent lights in a fucking boardroom. When I suggested that we have our sporting excercise outside, I was given the prototypical korean laughing refusal.


Hahaha - why would we do that - hahaha - there is grass out there, and no microphones. Koreans are apparently afraid of grass, and do not generally sit on it unless there is a blanket present.

Once the games were over we had some rather sub par cafeteria dinner before returning to our special teams for group work. It was 7pm, and we'd been doing this stupid shit for almost 12 hours. During group work we were meant to spend 2 hours discussing what made the company special, and then sharing things that made our own country special. By 9pm i was about ready to drop kick somebody through the plate glass windows.

Stay tuned for tomorrow, when I get to sit through 8 hours of presentations on Corporate Values - and then a group "collage". yeehaw

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Crown Royal??

Ok, I know this is a Korea blog, but now and then I'll be obliged to vent my frustrations with the US political process. 'Caus no matter how infuriating Korea is, the inanity of my homeland is still a major reason I left it.

Now I'm sure all our US readers are familiar with Obama's poorly chosen, albeit entirely accurate, remarks about poor folks in America. In response Hilary went out and had some beers and a shot to try to pretend she was human.

Who buys that crap? Not only is she clearly from a far more "elite" background than Obama (not that it should matter - before W we used to expect our President to belong to some kind of elite), but the shot she took was CROWN ROYAL scotch! Who the hell drinks crown royal in a Pennsylvania coal mining town?

Somebody please give that android poser a shot of Old Crow!

all lights green

When I was a high school student I used to muse that the metaphor for a perfect afternoon would be a drive home from school in which i managed to hit all the green lights on the way. Yes, I was a bit of a romantic (pansy) back then.

These days I have no car, although I'm contemplating putting my life at serious risk by purchasing a scooter. (The topic of scooters in Korea deserves its own post so I won't get into it now).

since i'm currently scooterless, my miserable hour long morning commute takes me through two different subway lines, with an exciting transfer at Yaksu station. i say exciting because the transfer is like a staged battle, writ in miniature upon the 2 rows of escalators. every day one stop before Yaksu I join the unwashed korean masses (literally - the Kims tend to bathe about twice a week according to most sources) as we jockey for position at the doors of the first car. Once out the door it's a race through the sharp elbows of disgruntled ajumas - what the hell are these old women doing in the subway at 7am??

the reason people must race for the escalator is the train is absurdly deep in the station; climbing the stairs is unthinkable, and within minutes of train arrival some asshole is guaranteed to decide to stand still on the escalator, blocking all others from walking up. so i drop elbows on ajumas to secure my fast-paced ascent towards escalator two. along the way we merge with the phalanx from the other platform, and now it's a battle for position along the left side of the escalator. again this is inspired by the fact that some people will race to the escalator and then stand still as it climbs. apparently they don't really need to get to work, and just wake up at 6am every morning to go for a leisurely subterranean stroll.

now, how does all of this relate to my serene memories of driving home from high school? well the entire experience would be unbearable without my ipod. i'm not trying to be some lame posterchild for the apple generation here, but i think you know what i'm talkin about. however there are of course a variety of moods that i am pushed through during the first hour of my day, ranging from sleepy and calm to warlike. it's impossible to attempt to musically manage these moods while simultaneously fighting the crowd. thus i often put my ipod on shuffle as i walk out the door and hope for the best.

on some mornings, the bizarre apple algorithm is spot on, starting me off with a nice slow piece (say iron and wine), building up as i reach the first station (a little "Albuquerque" by Neil Young) and finally culminating with some ass-kicking old lady-punching music for Yaksu (today it was "California Uber-alles" by DK).

this morning, the ipod delivered - and i beat the slackers up the escalators to boot. as i squeezed onto the six train for my morning's swansong i thought to myself: good job ipod - all lights green on the way to work.

Learning to Think Like a Korean - A Game You Will Never Win

A couple of weeks ago I had a quintessential Korean experience. It started when one of my co-workers, we’ll just call him Mr. Kim, offered to dump his old furniture off on me, as he was getting married and would be refurbishing the new house with less bachelor pad-like orange pleather couches. The grad student in me (I assume she’ll be around until the loans are paid off) jumped at the chance, and we agreed that he would call me the following day after the couches were on the moving truck and ready to be dropped at my apartment – probably around one o’clock or so. The only catch was that I would pay the extra moving fees for having the furniture delivered. Great deal, I thought.

The next day I decide to head home from work – about a 40 minute commute – after lunch, in order to be home for the furniture delivery. One o’clock comes and goes with no word. At two, I call Mr. Kim wondering if everything is still going as planned. Our conversation goes something like this:

“Um, hi, Mr Kim? Yeah, so I just wanted to let you know that I’m waiting here at home so call me when the movers are on the way over, ok?”
“You’re already at home? I thought that you could ride with the movers from work so they could find your apartment.”
“Um, well, I’m already at home. And you didn’t tell me that yesterday.”
“So, then, can you come back here and then ride in the truck back to your place with them so they can find it?”
“Um, no, that doesn’t really make any sense. Why don’t I just tell you my address and you can tell them where to go?”
“But I don’t know where you live”
“Yes, I know that. But if I give you my address, you can look it up on the internet or something. I mean, this is a moving company – how do they usually find people’s homes? Don’t they have a navigation system?”
“Not today”
“Not today? Really? They usually have one, but just not today?”
“Yeah”
SIGH…… “Ok look, I’m going to give you my address. You give it to the movers. Give them my phone number. Tell them to call me if they get lost.”
“But you don’t speak Korean”
“Um, yes, I’m aware of that.”

Thirty minutes later, the movers – or should I say mover – arrives. I go out to meet him. I see the couches – a loveseat and a couch that could seat about five – and realize, oh great, there is no way these are getting through the front door. I ask him in my crappy Korean, “one person? Just you?”. He says yes. Fabulous. I am in my suit and heels, there’s only one mover, and this couch is going to have to go through the window – the one with the prison bars across the front. He seems to have forgotten his power screwdriver, so I sit around while he manually unscrews all the bolts in the prison bars, then yanks out all the screens and windows from the frame and piles them up on the side of the street. Finally I get to help. Somehow I get stuck being the person who has to carry one end of the couch to the open window, prop it up on the frame, run inside and slip my shoes off (no shoes inside!), then guide the couch in through the window and make sure the other end doesn’t fall on my toes as the mover shoves it through from outside the apartment. We manage to successfully get the thing through the window, go through the whole process again with the loveseat, and then I get to relax on my “new” furniture. I sit down, kinda tired and sweaty, and stick to the pleather. Comfy.
Then comes the best part.

“That’ll be sixty bucks”
“What?! Sixty?! That’s absurd. I just moved the damn thing myself – why would I pay you that much?!” (This last part I say in English and he just stares at me).

I don’t really believe that this is a decent price, so I decide to call up Mr Kim and ask his opinion. I update him on the situation and ask him if he thinks sixty is too much to be charged for moving your own furniture. He says,

“Well, but that’s a really nice couch”
“Wait, what? I’m not paying him for the couch, I’m paying him to move the couch. Except that I had to move the couch, so it should be less, see?”
“In Korea, the quality of the furniture matters in the moving fee.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well that’s how it works in Korea.”
SIGH….. “Ok….thanks again for the couch….”

I go outside and continue to plead my case, though he doesn’t understand what I’m saying, with the mover. We stand there arguing in our own languages, getting nowhere, until a nice Korean woman walks by and offers to help. We get the guy down to fifty, and I grudgingly accept, ready to be done with this transaction. I’ve really been doing my best to try and learn to "think" like a Korean (which I really think is a good skill to acquire when living in country as the confusion of everyday life is otherwise astounding), but so far, much of the time, I’m not really sure that’s even what they’re doing.

No Foolin Kimi

We decided to start this blog on april fools day, because the Korean response to that venerated American tradition really seemed to epitomize all that is bizzarre, sad, and sort of hilarious about this country.

April fools day for koreans consists of teenagers calling the fire department and reporting fake fires...clearly they have missed the point. Being new to the office, as well as the first American on the floor, I felt it beholden upon me to introduce my colleagues to the pleasures of playing pranks on your co-workers (instead of emergency services). They didn't get it.

Koreans have a rather limited sense of humor. They generally only respond to old women - "Ajumas" - screaming at fat people running around in their underpants. This style of comedy is less amusing than it might sound, due in large part to the annoying hi-pitched quality of the ajuma's voices. For people lacking in the humor department Fool's Day is tough, but for the Koreans it presents an almost existential dillema.

While they were aware of the concept of april fools (due no doubt to the numerous fake fire evacuations they had participated in throughout the years), my colleagues could not be prevailed upon to participate in any jokes. The reason I sought to enlist their help was simple - nobody takes me seriously around here to begin with, so my chances of pulling off a convincing prank were slim. Plus I wanted to teach the Kims about humor.

But when I suggested that we play a prank on someone else in the office, the Koreans balked as though I'd just asked them to help me unclog the toilet. "Maybe somebody should do it, but definitely not me". This is the go-to response for almost any new situation in Korea. A brief flash of terror at the notion of stepping outside the normal boundaries. Thus, even when I suggested a simple prank on the other foreigner in the office, whereby one of our Managers would pretend that our VP was very upset and considering firing her, I got no support. An alternative joke? Nope, can't do it...

And of course my own efforts to mess with the Kims were all foiled by the somewhat befuddling incongruity of a person trying to do something fun, at work. They could not grasp the concept of someone playing a joke at work and probably thought I was drunk (which is irrelevant). Work should not be fun you see, because having fun would imply that you must not be working hard enough.

As you may have noticed, we're posting a bit late...this is because google decided our blog was a spam blog - I don't even know what the hell that means, but I assume it is in someway related to korean spam consumption - which by unofficial estimates averages around 500 cans of spam per/person per/annum