We’re Not In Kansas Anymore, Toto…

Okay, I said I would be selective about what I posted, but this is unbelievable. I have to put it out there, just to confirm it really happened. Because when I wake up tomorrow morning, I’m sure I will be doubting.

I had a business meeting tonight. To go over some of my responsibilities as head teacher. Or so I thought.

We started with a couple of beers downtown. Pleasantries exchanged, back and forth. Discussion about allocation of teachers, vacation time, new textbooks for the high schoolers. A few awkward silences, but overall tolerable. After the second drink, my colleague suggested we go somewhere else. Sure, where to?

“I am going to give you a geography lesson of Daegu.” Okay. Sounds good. “Where are we now?” Downtown. “But what is the street’s name?” It doesn’t have a name. No streets in Korea have names. There are no addresses. “Right. But we call it Rodeo Drive. Because all the young people shop here.” I started to protest, then thought better. Okay, thanks.

We arrived at the restaurant and sat at the bar. Three women bartenders came and stood in front of us, handed us a menu, and continued to stand there. Korean, Korean, Korean. Menu closed. Two of the bartenders leave, one continues to stand at attention in front of us. “Well, I hope you like tequila.” Yeah, it’s okay. Why? “I just ordered a bottle for us.” And with that a bottle, a huge bottle, arrived. Jose Cuervo Especial. Dude! What’d you do that for? There’s no way I’m drinking a bottle of tequila. Or half. “Oh, we will talk about many things….” I looked around, took a deep breath, and settled into my seat. It’s going to be a long night….

A platter of fried things arrived. One of the bartenders (all three were back in front of us) took scissors and began cutting them. I picked at the pieces with chopsticks. Korean, Korean, Korean. My colleague turned to me. “She says you use chopsticks very well. She asks you how long you have been in Korea.” In Korean, I said 4 months. I thought. My colleague turned to me with a strange look on his face. “You have not been here 4 years. You’ve only been here 4 months.” Oh, yeah. What he said. More Korean back and forth. “She says you are very beautiful.” I turned to the bartender, Khamsa hamnidaaa. “And that you have many lines on your face and a high nose.” What???? “American’s noses. Very much higher than Koreans.” Okay. To me, this doesn’t sound like a compliment. But, okay. “And the lines on your face.” Wrinkles? “No. The lines. Your face is very defined. It is a compliment. Really. Koreans envy this.” I still don’t know what he was talking about.

A familiar song came on, a bluesy, jazzy laid back melody. Oh, I really like this. “What is it?” I don’t know the name, but it’s a Korean song. I hear it on the radio all the time. He snapped his fingers and a man in a suit appeared. Korean, Korean, Korean. The CD cover was brought over. My colleague examined it. “Lori-ga, it’s an American song.” No, I hear it in Korean all the time. “Maybe. Maybe a Korean version. But it is the theme song from Mo’ Better Blues.” Oh. I guess that would be American. Some more Korean exchanged and the man in the suit disappeared.

We talked some more business. He then wanted to know if I had read about the airplane crash today. No! What? Where? These words inspire fear in me. He explained that a Chinese airline had crashed in Pusan, that over a 100 were confirmed dead. Oh, my god. That’s horrible. So many thoughts were going through my head. “Lori-Ga, do you believe in fate?” I just stared. That’s such a loaded question. Already he has told me that fate brought me to Korea for us to be together. Welllllll. Yes and no. Yes, I do think there is a higher power. And that there is a direction, a plan for us. But, we also have the power to alter that plan. Why? “Have you seen the movie Final Destination?” No, never heard of it. Is it Korean? “No, American. From 2 years ago.” Hmmm. No. He then proceeded to tell me the plot. From what I gathered, some teens are on a plane, one has a premonition that the plane will explode, they get off, the plane explodes, then they all are killed in different ways because it was their fate to die anyway. A phone call was made and minutes later the video was by my side. What’s this? “I thought you might like to see it.”

We continued to drink tequila, me sipping, he doing shots. The three bartenders were still in front of us, doing occasional shots and picking at the fried food in front of us. My colleague turned to me. “What do you miss most about San Francisco?” Oh. The question. That makes me remember my life back there. My life that was so different. My friends. My friends. Definitely. “Who do you miss the most?” My girlfriends. “Tell me about them.” Well, there was Emily. We used to joke that if we were lesbians we would get married. We were that compatible. I went on to explain some of our exploits together, cycling through Cuba, seeing U2 in Miami, the bike rides through the park. “May I have her IM ID?” Excuse me? “I think she would like to hear from me. About you.” No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. But thanks.

He received a phone call. Korean, Korean, Korean. Then turned to me.

“And what else? What else do you miss?” Well, my life is just different here. Not bad. But different. In San Francisco I would go to the gym in the morning, go to work, go to happy hour with friends, meet someone for dinner, then either play sports or go on a date. Every night. I wouldn’t get home until 1 or 2. I used to be very social. “Okay, I will be San Francisco for you.” No, you don’t understand. It was different people. Always different. Many, many people. That I could I talk to. And understand. But thanks for offering. “Well, I know how it feels to be lonely. So whenever you need physical comfort, you can call me.” I just looked at him. No. Not the ‘I will be your sexual partner talk.’ Good god.

Okay, do you know what the term “heart-to-heart” means? “No.” It’s when two people talk very honestly. We need to have one. Now. Can you ask the bartenders to leave? They’re making me very uncomfortable. “They can’t understand you.” I sighed. Okay. Listen. We’re going to have to work together closely over the next 9 months. And to do that, we have to trust each other. I think you’ve lied to me. I don’t like it. “What?” But I could tell, he knew what I was talking about. Remember when you told me that in Korea men only date one woman at a time, and you kept asking me out? “Yeah…” And then you took the other teachers out to the nightclub? “Ohhhhh.” Yeah. They told me what you said that night. And, that you showed up with your girlfriend. Weasel, weasel, weasel, weasel. “Misunderstanding, words don’t translate the same, blah, blah, blah. But we’re friends, right, Lori? I can talk to you. You are so, so, so….” We will only be friends if you are honest with me. Cut out the bullsh*t.

The man in the suit arrived by my side again. He placed a CD beside me. What’s this? “I sent him to get the CD that you liked. But he couldn’t find the exact CD so he got another one that had that song on it.” I was dumbfounded. Thanks. Thanks.

After some noodles (which I ate all of them without splashing – victory!) we decided to go. It was almost midnight. We walked outside, into a steady rain. We made our way to the street, where we tried to hail a cab. We couldn’t, so we ran across the street to get one going the other direction. I started to protest, But, this is the wrong way. The driver will tell us to get out (this has happened to me several times). “Don’t worry. Have I ever given you my other business card?” No. A cab pulled up and we quickly slid in. He handed me the card. “If ever a taxi driver gives you a tough time, just show them this, I have connections. Everyone knows me.” What kind of connections? He made some references that made my mouth drop open. I’m from rural North Carolina. I thought that only existed in the movies.

As we got near my home, I told the driver which way to turn, left, right, left, left. The driver stopped and I began to get out. So did my colleague. Dude! What are you doing? “I want to walk you to your door.” You are *not* coming in. “No, no, I just want to be a gentleman and walk you to your door.” We got to my door. Thanks for dinner – good night. He looked dumbfounded.

I came in and immediately turned on my computer to start typing. Is this a dream? Did this really happen?

Ring, ring, ring. Who could be calling me? “I’m still outside your door. Aren’t you hungry?” No, we ate at the restaurant. “No, that wasn’t dinner because we didn’t have rice.” Oh, yeah, the rice rule. I forgot. “Let me bring you some mandu, or bibimbop.” No. You cannot come in. Not to bring me food or for any other reason. “But I’m so hungry.” Then go to a restaurant. “But all the restaurants are closed. Please let me feed you.”

This is my life in Korea in a nutshell. People offering to feed me. Drunk men behaving badly. And me, not knowing whether I’m really living life or whether I’ll wake up in a year and have Auntie Em by my side, stroking my hair.