JOURNAL: Man Versus the Machine

Well, I have officially begun packing to return to the US. My last work day is July 12; I leave Korea on July 16th, and arrive in San Jose a half hour after I left, according to my ticket...I have a two hour stopover in Narita (Japan); hopefully the Japanese will hold off their counter attack against N. Korea while I am there...

I was penniless when I came here, and now I am jobless as well. I have had no luck on my university job hunt. Sigh. Maybe it is time to flip some burgers....But maybe I am too cocky; maybe working an extra three years to get an MA was not worth it in the end. Maybe it IS just a piece of paper with no meaning behind it. I love literature, and I love the English language. Maybe there is no room for it in this world.

This is my blessing and my curse. I am an academic at heart, an academic who dearly loves teaching AND research. I need the university environment to thrive. This hit me as I began devising Plan B, returning to school for my CELTA certification. It is true that teachers are lifelong learners. I revel in seemingly useless details. I just finished a unit with my second graders on plant reproduction, an area I had never given much thought to (as most of us don't). I learned how a plant makes seeds and how to label their reproductive organs because I had to teach it. You learn in order to teach.

From my students, I have learned a great deal of Korean history and folklore. If asked an essay question on the March 3 Movement in Korea, I could give reasonably accurate details about the Protestant clergymen and students who marched to Topgol Square and declared their independence from Japan in 1911 (causing a bloody massacre). Why does this matter? It doesn't to us; we barely talk about the Korean War (30 years later) in U.S. history class. I didn't even know there WAS a Korean War until I went to college. I have gained a wide-world view from my life here; what happens on a tiny, isolated penninsula has world-wide impact on so-called democracy. Note the current thunderings from "the North."

I have digressed quite a bit from my original intentions, so, without further ado and on a lighter note....

MAN VERSUS MACHINE

I seldom get in trouble at work, but when I do, it is usually a big thing.

On Wednesday, I had a particularly rotten day. I had only one hour of sleep due to a foul, mysterious odor in my apartment. I had noticed it earlier in the week, but no amount of searching could find the source. It smelled peculiarly of "dead mouse;" I know this because while I was in high school, a mouse (caught in a trap) fell from the attic into the wall space of the spare bedroom, whereupon it died and rotted all winter. Well, this night the aroma was especially bad. I traced the source to under my air conditioner (which is directly above my bed) and found the odor to be overpoweringly strong. I stood on my bed and peered up. The entire inside of my A/C was coated in mold, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to sleep, but to no avail.

Bleary and groggy-eyed, I sleepwalked through my day. After work, I went to see the director to verify my last day; there had been some confusion as to when exactly it was. This was at 9 p.m. We hashed out my date to July 12, and then she said something that really made my day.

"By the way, I know you are only her one more week, but I need to tell you we got a parent complaint."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Four students want to drop your class."
"Is it my GT4B5-1 class, by any chance?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Just a lucky guess."
"Well, we at POLY backed you up; I told the parents you had an MA in English."
(Not sure what that had to do with anything, but ok...)
"What was the problem?"
"You know, Rebecca, teenage girls are very sensitive. I have a daughter, and she is very sensitive also, and we need to be gentle with them."
(Where is this going? I wondered.)
"This student says that you are 'mean' and 'hysterical.'"
"I don't see how that can be; I never yell or degrade the students...Ah, this student isn't L___, is it?"
"Well, yes."
"Did she also tell you I gave her a discipline note for drawing on the desk, talking back, and throwing things at other students?"

The director then began to lecture me on the fact that I gave three VERBAL warnings rather than put the student's name on the board. I also told her that I DID lose my temper after the SECOND time a student brought out a squirt gun and shot it off in class. I did not, as she pointed out, follow proper procedure then, either, as I believe that qualifies as a three-strikes-your-out offense. I have also confiscated BB guns on other occasions. This same director, btw, has sent new teachers to observe me because I have "excellent classroom management skills."

As I was leaving in a week, I decided to put it behind me and chalk it up to one more "weird thing that Koreans do." But fate was not so kind as to let me forget that easily.

At 9:30, well past my leaving time, I went downstairs to get money from the ATM. I needed 100,000 Won to pay the landlady my maintinence fee and to have money for the weekend. I punched in my number, checked my balance, and then hit the "Withdrawal" key. The machine hummed and whistled, as it usually does, and counted out my bills. There is a compartment where the bills are counted into, wherupon a door opens and you take your cash out of a deep box. The door opened about a centimeter...and the computer crashed, capturing both my money and my bank card in the machine.
"Arrrrgh..." I screeched. I looked around helplessly. I must have stood there like a dummy for about five minutes.

The building security guard came back from his rounds, and saw me. We are on very friendly terms in spite of the fact that he doesn't speak a word of English; I always greet him in the afternoon in Korean and bow slightly (as he is an older gentleman). He came over to see what was wrong, and in an elaborate pantomime, I managed to convey what had happened. He laughed delightedly at my enactment, as I included sound effects (the ATMs in Korea have beeps and whistles to tell you where you are in the cycle) and ended with a dramatic KABOOM and pointed to the computer screen. He understood the KABOOM, and called the bank security.

The bank security guard came after about 15 minutes, and took the whole machine apart. He was able to retrieve my card, but he was not able to get my money. I tried to convey that I wanted some assurance that the money would be redistributed to my account, but there my Korean ran out. The two men then got into a loud, and completely incomprehensible arguement about what the proper procedure was (I assume). I kept trying to pantomime "receipt" and said the word repeatedly, but no one was listening to me. When Koreans get excited, they gesticulate wildly just like the Italians, except in even less personal space. So, with arms and spittle flying, I dodged and brought out my only weapon, my "handu phone."

I began to call every Korean friend I had, and NOT ONE answered their cell phone. Finally, in defeat, I dialed the one number I had left in my arsenal - the director who had just yelled at me. I knew she was working late, and she did answer her phone. After a few minutes, she came down, and got it sorted out. Heaping coals on my head, she even lended me 20,000 Won after she found out I only had 7,000 Won in ready cash. The money was to be transferred by the end of the next business day. And it was.

As soon as I got it straightened out, I limped home (my ankle was swollen from a slight accident I had). As I went out the door, I received a text message from one of my Korean friends, who asked what the problem was. He then called me, and laughed with me at my loony situation.

"By the way, " I asked, "Just for future reference, what is the Korean word for 'receipt'?"

"'Re-si-tuh.'"