The Seoul Train

Here is Miles Teacher on "Market Day" in our language institute. As the photo was snapped I was surreptitiously giving away our monetary reserves. You see, the students had- for months- been accumulating points for various classroom activities. For instance, showing up with your homework completed: 1 point. Correctly spelling words on daily vocabulary tests: 1 point for each correct word. And so on. Then on "Market Day" these points could be exchanged for laminated, miniature copies of US currency. The students would then enter the "market" and "purchase" from a wide selection of cheap toys, stickers, cards, dolls, etc. and, the more popular than I thought, teacher-cooked Dokboki.
I had two roles. First, and foremost, I was to regulate transactions between the student and the market. I would wait for the students to approach me with hastily crafted English sentences and then I would respond in turn. You see, before the students could 'purchase' a desired item they had to ask the price in English. Here the system broke down. The students were to young or maybe apathetic to care about the difference in bills- 1 not being the same as 20 and so forth. They would whip out a question and shove a bill in my face. Waiting for the answer never crossed their mind. Negotiating, for that matter, never did either. So I used the "prices" listed on the items as a suggestive price. This market was not so strictly regulated.

My second obligation was to act as market teller and exchange big bills for smaller denominations. This means I was walking around with millions of market dollars! What can I say, our reserves were at the mercy of my students. I just wanted them to have a good time. At the end of the day my boss summed it up with the comment, "Wow. That was the first time we have ever sold out all of the items in our market..."

Tony, Joe and Jim. Joe, the unlikely lad with hand in mouth, is the miscreant who caused me to age prematurely. He is escorted into class every Thursday by his mother (escorted because- due to his youthful age of just now 4- he would never be able to make it there on his own). He enters the room, standing just inside the closed door, always suspicious of what he must think is the "oddest Korean man I have ever seen." He will then take his bag off and slam it on the table and then terrorize the room at full clip. Knocking things over, dumping trays, dropping phones, throwing remotes... Things are better now. We have instituted a meritocracy for my kindergarten and young elementary classes. You would not believe its effectiveness. Night and Day. That story deserves its own post.

John (right) and his buddy. His buddy is not a student at our Hakwon. No, he just comes to hangout. John is a diligent worker. He is always eating. Always eating spicy dry ramen. "Ahhhh!! Teacher! So hot! SOO HOT!" Crunch crunch, "Ahhhh!" as sweat pours down from his temples. What a cute kid. His shirt though is what seals the deal. I almost offered him money for it. He doesn't remember where his mom bought it. Absolutely brilliant.

Class #6. Always uncontrolable yet respectful. It's hard to explain.

There are many options for the frequent public transportation user. You can let the rides be relaxing and brainless; the world of Seoul washing over your unobservant eyes. You can read or look at homemade note cards. Devour gimbap. Devote all your attention to phone calls. No matter what you do, you don't have to preoccupy yourself with the basic task of getting somewhere. There is no accompanying anxiety with the public transportation trip itself.
I will admit this before I release my observation. I never used public transportation in America. I don't know what it is like. Quite possibly there are some similarities.
Most frequently the following occurs in the morning. I'm riding the subway or bus in an atmosphere of relative silence. Maybe the radio is quietly entertaining the driver. Maybe the driver is honking at imbeciles who have failed to negotiate a rotary correctly, inhibiting his timely passage. There are your basic phone conversations. But then, every now and then, there is a burst of ferociousness from an Ajuma receiving a telephone call. I am not embellishing this time. It is always an aged Korean woman, an Ajuma, who does the shrieking. Listening to these unintelligible rants during early morning commutes is brutal and disquieting. There is the blinding sunlight, which leaves me with my eyes closed, leaving my ears alone to take the blows. A mental image appears from this deathly, piercing sound. I pity the target of the rage, no matter what this person has done I pity them. Through my sun blasted squint I can only envision the violent ripping of this person apart with the wild discursive rant. I have tried to imagine to what degree these middle age women have been wronged but I cant put it together. I have made women yet at me before but not like that. No, not like that.
I don't know what they are saying either. But whatever it is they aren't shy or ashamed about it. This a full volume discursive public disemboweling of a digitally connected enemy, who probably was and ultimately will remain an acquaintance.
My mornings will never be the same no matter where I live or what I do.

This is a picture of one of the subway seats on Seoul's line #2. They began replacing these seats with less comfortable and more bland looking seats. The new seats would also be less flammable. There was an incident last winter where some wank set a subway car on fire; the removal of padded seats like these seems to be the consequence. I snapped this photo to document comfort. They had begun removing and replacing the seats car by car. Yes, I realize this is the handicapped seat. And, no I never sat there.