Well, this morning I had a bit of a surprise awakening...I have been ill, so I decided I was going to sleep in until 11 am. At about 10:30, my door bell rang. I was very sleepy when I got up to answer it. About halfway acroos my room, I head someone typing on my keypad entry. I shouted "Hello?" and my door opened. A Korean man entered my foyer; I must explain that each apartment has a deep set area about 6 inches below the floor, usually tiled. It is for people to leave their shoes at. He stood there, obviously as stunned as I was. I rather groggily thanked the Lord that I was wearing a long nightgown, rather than one of my short, Victoria's Secret-esue (hey, satin is nice and cool!) summer nightgowns.
Well, we stared at each other for a few moments, and I suddenly recognized him as someone who worked at the school (the name Justin randomly popped in my head). I went in and sat on the bed as he began frantically making phone calls on his cell phone. He was still on the shoe pad, and I was sitting on my bed, trying to wake up. When he got done with his phone calls, he stared helplessly at me, still not moving from the door. Suddenly, I realized he was waiting for me to invite him in. So I did.
He then came in, and to my astonishment, plopped down on the floor, and picked up a random piece of paper on the floor that had fallen from my table and began to read it. "Make yourself right at home!" I sarcastically thought, but my duties as unexpected hostess prevailed. I offered him a seat on my "couch" - a padded, chaise lounge cushion that you put on the floor. He accepted it, and as I headed into the bathroom to change, I heard the word "couch" and a bit of chuckling as he made yet another call.
I came out, and he said that the engineers to install my DSL Internet were on their way. He offered to stay to translate, which I accepted. The man's English was limited, though we could communicate. As he was making calls, I bustled around the room, picking up a bit (as I have been ill, housekeeping was not stellar this week!). The room wasn't trashed, but it was certainly less than tidy. As I moved about, picking things up here, stashing things there (hiding the bright red bra that was hanging on the corner of my table was job number one!), I suddenly realized I was behaving exactly as the Korean women I went on the church retreat with were behaving. They were always picking up after people, and moving things before I had had a chance to tidy up. It must be the "womanly instinct" or something. I think I was just feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.
The men arrived, and stopped in the foyer. Having learned my lesson, I invited them in. They then spent several moments removing their very impressively complex work boots and padded in with only their socks; I think it kind of defeats the whole purpose of work boots, don't you?
The original man was still there, communicating with the workers. I offered him a chair this time, which he accepted. Not having eaten breakfast or anything, I offered him some tea, which he also accepted. I boiled the water and stared at the pot... you know it IS true, a watched pot never boils. I poured the tea and let it steep. He tried it once, made a face, then let it steep some more. I apologized for my cheap jasmine tea (it is not the best jasmine tea I have ever had either). Aparently, it was better after a few more minutes; I thought so, anyway. He sat to drink the tea. The workmen gave me my password, and left. The man stared at the tea and would not look at me. He would look anywhere but at me - the walls, the floor (I wished my floor were more clean), the table (ditto). He seemed very nervous. After an awkward pause, he put the tea down, half-finished, and fled as politely as he could. Hmmmm.....from a vampyre to a bat out of hell.....Suspicious.
This evening, on my way home from work, I saw my two restaurant guys out as usual.
Yesterday, when I finally emerged from my apartment after running a fever for two days, I weakly asked the older man for the nearest "yakkuk" (pharmacy). He looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili (which to him, I apparently was), and as I feebly repeated the word, he suddenly said, "Ah! Yak guts!" (which is what I thought I had said). He then pointed in a direction, and I pointed too. He shook his head, said something firmly, and pointed in the same direction. I pointed in the same direction, and then he yelled the same word. Close to tears from frustration, delerium, and general weakness, I began to walk off in the general direction. He then yelled and gesticulated that I needed to turn the corner. I did, and found the pharmacy, where, mercifully, the pharmacist spoke English. When I emerged later that evening, I was determined not to acknowledge the yeller, but he spoke to me first. He does not speak English at all, but he pointed to his head, then at me. I pointed to my nose, made coughing gestures, and he then understood.
Tonight, he and delievery boy were standing at their usual posts. I waved cautiously, and as I crossed the street, they approached me, making fun of my McDonalds bag (after two days with no appetite, it returned with a vengeance!). I smiled and said hello. They got in my personal space, as Koreans tend to do, but I am getting more tolerant. The older man (he looks about 50) inquired through gestures about my cold, and said "Hospital?" I said no, but that "No eat for two days." He offered me his stool, but I declined. Curious, I asked him his name. He looked puzzled, and his friend interpreted. It was "Sa" something or other. The cute one is Something Choi (a surname). The older one slyly asked me if I was a Miss or a Mrs. (uh oh, here we go!), and I smiled again and said "Miss." They then asked me how old I was (both of these are common questions, but women usually just flat out ask if you are married, or even worse, how many children you have!). I demurely looked down and said "29." The cute one said he was 37 (close up now, I noticed he had a few deep grooves in his face, but a nice, well-built frame), and the old man said he was "Pretty."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Fritty!"
"Fifty?"
"FRITTY!"
"Forty, " Choi said.
I looked at the older one, and completely deadpan, said, "Ah! Too bad! Too old!" and the younger one roared at his friend's discoposure.
Apparently, Sa ? is like many Midwesterners I know; when he encounters someone who doesn't speak his language, he just gets louder and louder until he is yelling. I suddenly understood this, given yesterday's encounter, and mentally giggled at the thought. What goes around comes around...
So, the long and the short is - I have internet access. My computer is wishy-washy about the whole business; after some experimentation, I discovered that you must boot it up and put the DSL cord in after, or the blasted thing will crash.....I have posted several photos for those who are interested. I will be making an online photo album soon, and will post a connection from this blog.
Good night!
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