Lunch with Chairman Kim

Yesterday at school Mr. Kim (owner) had taken Chanta and me aside. We talked, or tried to, for about an hour. His English is about at the same level as our Korean. He’s the one who said hearing English makes him crazy. Though he runs an English academy. Go figure. How was our New Year? What did we do? Oh, next time we should stay at his condo. How are the students? How are classes? We asked him about his New Year. Chat, chat, chat. Then he said, “Tomorrow. One o’clock. Lunch.” But tomorrow is Sunday. “Yes. My house.” Okay.

Once again, I was faced with the dilemma of what to take as a hospitality gift. I know that Mr. Kim doesn’t drink, so alcohol would be inappropriate. A house plant. That’s always safe. I went to DongA. To where the plant section should have been. But wasn’t. I thought maybe I was in the wrong corner of the store. I walked around, looking, looking, looking. Finally, the employee at the Information desk asked me if she could help me. “Plants. (I pantomimed). Here?” Not anymore. Obviously. “Where?” Nowhere. Okay. So I set out to try to find a florist shop. And did, not too far away. The houseplants were pretty mangly looking, though. So I opted for the cut flowers. I chose a few bright yellow Gerber daisies, some purple iris, and a white lily. I asked the florist to combine them. Which he did. And proceeded to wrap them, and wrap them, and wrap them in an endless amount of tulle. Stop! You’re going to suffocate them! I left the shop using both arms to carry what should have been a modest sized bouquet, transformed into a monstrous web of net.

A few minutes before one Chanta and I arrived to Kate School. And there Mr. Kim was, waiting for us. We jumped into his car and he drove us to his house. “Me, best-a driver.” We laughed. His wife and two daughters, Ah-Ram (15) and Da-Som (12) greeted us. Chanta and I either have, or have had, both of his daughters in class. They are both very good students. Over lunch Mr. Kim would try to say something in English, would get frustrated, and ask his daughters to translate. They both would just look at him, smile, and remain silent. Chanta finally busted out with, “Daadddd. . . it’s bad enough we have to listen to them in school, now you invited them to our house . . . . we’re not saying anything . . .” At which point both girls burst out laughing, but still wouldn’t translate for their father.