The Brilliance of My School

Sometimes I question the intelligence of people around me. I often question my school. Frequently, things happen that make me wonder who thought this was a good idea? My favorite example of a lack in logic was the construction of a plexi-glass wall in between the teachers' room and the rest of the office. All of the teachers are squeezed into one room, which is packed full of desks. At one of our useless Tuesday meetings, we were informed that there would be some construction taking place the following weekend, but not to worry, it would not disrupt us in the slightest. The construction was to make the upper half of the wall plexi-glass. This would cosmetically enhance our school. Oh yeah, they would also be moving the wall back two feet, thus reducing the size of the already small teachers' room (this part was muttered as an afterthought). Well, the construction began on Friday morning, and it was earsplittingly loud. It was sort of disruptive because it we still had to teach on Friday. Also, all of the Korean staff had been displaced into hallways and the computer room, which several classes needed to use to take tests on the computers that day. Also, they unplugged and took away all but one of the teachers' computers, which is where the tests and handouts we need to teach our classes are stored. Oh yeah, and all of the photocopiers, except one that was broken, disappeared. The broken photocopier was then plugged in outside of the teachers' room. After a few hours, all of the teachers were rounded up to help move the desks out of the way for the construction. I was annoyed at being "not disrupted" by the construction, but I laughed it off, thinking it would only be for one day. However, the construction lasted another week or two, but don't worry, it wasn't disruptive at all. Just like the time when a mysterious man came into my class to use his electric screwdriver to fix things during the middle of my class. Using power tools isn't loud at all. Sometimes I feel like I am supposed to teach an obedient class in the middle of a circus tent. "Oh no, kids. Just ignore the juggling bears and listen to my enthralling lecture on American history." The chaos almost drives me to insanity, especially when it is over something as silly as half of a plexi-glass wall that, in my opinion, didn't make the room look any better. Especially when the Korean staff stacked shelves up to the ceiling on their side. Now the teachers have a wonderful view of the back of cheap cabinets. I don't know about you, but I don't find the sight of particleboard stapled together to be pleasing. What was wrong with the wall that we had before? Who thought that this was a good idea?



Along with the utterly useless plexi-glass wall, we got a glass door that doesn't open because of the piles of crap shoved in the way. To my knowledge, no one has ever gone through this doorway.

I Think I'm Getting Weirder and Dumber

People who come to Korea fall into two basic categories. There are the people who are running from something, and then there are the social rejects. People running from things include the guy who told Ariel and me in our first conversation with him, "Yeah, I wore out my welcome at home." By this, he meant going to rehab eight times for cocaine. The other category includes those people who are so awkward that they don't really know how to have friends. We are talking Napolean Dynamite style, never had a girlfriend, wearing a pocket protector, watching Battlestar Galactica. These wonderful people are brought together in Korea. Sometimes I wonder which of these groups I fall into. Well, I don't have a drug problem, but I don't play Dungeons and Dragons. I like to think that I am one of the few "normal" people in Korea, but some people may disagree with me on that. Anyway, in Korea, you are friends with the people around you because they speak English, not because you actually chose to be their friends. In a way, it's good because it teaches you how to be friends with different types of people, but there is a downside. Ariel and I have decided that there is a spectrum of weirdness in Korea that applies to all foreigners. On one end are the real weirdos, and on the other end are Ariel and me (a.k.a. the anomaly of normal people). In order for the two ends to hang out, we must meet somewhere in the middle. This is good for the weirdos because they become more normal, but unfortunately, the normal people become more awkward.

I believe that there is another unfortunate spectrum in my life right now, which I like to call the Dumbness Scale. It is much like the Weirdness Spectrum, only it measures intelligence. I like to think that I am on the smarty pants side of the scale, but again, this may be disputed. Many of the people that I am around throughout my day are on the other side of the scale. There is the scheduling woman who isn't sure how to count. When Ariel pointed out her mistake, she replied,"Oooohhhh, it goes 1,2,3, not 2,3,1." Or there is the girl who forgot to wear a jacket the day after it snowed. "I just forgot to wear one," she explained to me in the freezing temperatures. And then there are the kids I spend my day with at school. "Teacher! Cold!" means The air conditioner is on too high. Would you please turn it off? Sometimes it's not just the language barrier that makes me crazy. I explain the exact same thing everyday in my writing class: how to write a four paragraph TOEFL essay. I have explained it different ways. I have shown them examples. I have made them practice. I have been doing this for months. Do you think that they write four paragraph essays? No, they don't. I say the same things over and over, and they never seem to get it.

So when I come home, I may have changed a bit. I may not be a sharp as I once was. I may stand awkwardly in a group of people, not knowing what to say. I may forget to use articles when I speak. I may over-explain everything. Hopefully, the effects will not be permanent.

Miscommunication

Sometimes communication can be difficult in a foreign nation, especially when you don't learn to speak the native language. My Korean is so bad that I can't say much more than "How much is this?" Since I can only say about three sentences and understand maybe five sentences in Korean, the conversation has to continue in English if we ever want to get beyond "I am a teacher." This does not work well if the other person speaks as much English as I do Korean. Often I just talk to people in English while they respond in Korean, neither of us knowing what the other said. This situation is acceptable if you are talking to the taxi driver or waitress, but other situations can turn disastrous. When I try to explain a problem with my schedule to a Korean staff at my school, the schedule inevitably comes back wrong about five times before I stop trying to explain the problem and decide to ignore it. I suppose it is my fault for being in Korea and not learning the language, but I do work at an English academy. One would think that they would hire English speaking staff. While most of the miscommunication I experience here is due to the language barrier, I experienced a different kind of miscommunication on Friday. It was the kind of miscommunication where you think back to what someone said, and you think to yourself She totally lied to me!

I went to a dermatologist for rosacea. Rosacea is what makes my face red. Basically, the blood vessels are too close to the skin. I've tried lotions and prescriptions before, but I decided to look into laser surgery, thinking it would be cheaper in Korea. The doctor spoke English, and we talked about it for a while. She made it seem like it wouldn't be a big deal so I decided to try it. She told me I could start right then and there. I told her that I needed to be at work in a couple of hours, and she reassured me that it was ok. The only warning that she gave me was, "You will be a little red." Remember that quote because this is what I feel lied to about. So I went ahead and had the laser treatment done. It felt like a lot of little bee stings. When I stood up to leave, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my face wasn't "a little red." It was covered in purple bruises. I had spots like a leopard, and I had to go teach children. Deciding that bandages on my face looked better than the spots, I tried to look inconspicuous. I told my students that my cat attacked me in the middle of the night. The doctor lied to me, so I lied to the kids. Maybe it's not lying, maybe I just miscommunicated the information.