Fortunately, Koreans don't carry guns.

Generally speaking, as I crisscross Cheonan on my various errands to the grocery store or the stationery shop or one of many, many restaurants, I feel relatively capable. I don’t know much Korean yet, but I know how to say hello, here, there, how much is this?, thank you, and goodbye, among a few other things. I’m good at picking up context clues and guessing, and I can point to things on a menu like a pro. So, I get a lot of indulgent smiles and people try to put things in my shopping basket when they’re sure I should be buying something else, but I usually feel that I have at least avoided causing an international incident.

Usually.

Yesterday that all changed. I knew it was only a matter of time – some aspects of the expatriate experience are inevitable – but I know now without the merest shadow of a doubt that I’ve finally made a Korean inescapably angry with me. In all fairness, this has probably been a regular occurrence, and I’ve left scores of Koreans strewn frustrated in my wake but have simply been blissfully unaware of the fact. Yesterday I knew it for sure.

It started as such a simple thing – I wanted to make copies of a worksheet for one of my classes and I decided to go to the copy shop on campus (located, without irony or the intention of a joke, inside the coffee shop) where professors have a monthly allowance of copies we can make. I made my seven copies and was ready to sign my page in the blue folder that I always sign, but, alas, no blue folder was produced.

The copy shop man said something in Korean which I failed to understand. Receiving only a questioning look and an “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” from me, he paused then started over in a louder voice. A hand gesture or a prop might have helped, but the copy shop man seemed determined simply to stare at me and say words. (On the other hand, I might not have appreciated any hand gestures he was inclined to produce.) This time I tried to add an apologetic look to the already confused look that I know was on my face. At any rate, it was clear that I had no idea what he was trying to tell me. So he decided to ignore me for a bit – a space of time I wasn’t sure what to do with, so I stood there, feeling a little awkward and lot dumb, but trying not to look it.

When he came back, it was to say more Korean words at me, this time even louder and with a decidedly impatient look on his face. Mysteriously, I still didn’t understand. After I had done my confused face again and he had ignored me some more, he tried one last time. But his words, though quite loud and grumpy-sounding, were still Korean. I know he added extra words this time because it took him longer to finish, but I’m afraid that was all I could discern. In complete and obvious exasperation, he held a calculator up to my face with a number on it.

At last we were communicating, but unfortunately not in a way that was going to help.

He wanted me to pay for the copies I’d made. Now, I could have just paid for the copies and left, and I probably should have – the copy shop was busy, he had work to do, and I don’t know but what he’d already had a stressful day before I got there – but the whole thing was beginning to make me feel undeservedly harassed. Professors get precious few perks for the work we do, so I make sure to use and appreciate my 200 free copies per month in the copy shop.

And granted, copies aren’t that expensive, but I work hard for the money – so hard for it honey – yeah, I work hard for the money, so you better treat me right. Plus I felt like getting yelled at multiple times in Korean in the middle of a crowded copy shop where everyone understood what was being yelled at me except for me probably covered my tab.

So instead of handing over my cash I hitched up my politely and apologetically confused face a little higher, and said “I’m a professor; I need to sign the blue folder,” and made a signing motion.

A lesser woman would have wilted under the contemptuous gaze that was leveled at me then.

Fortunately for the diplomats of both our countries, at that point, a random student who knew a little bit of English came into the copy shop and offered to help/was conscripted into service by an angry copy man. With the nice student’s help, I answered the copy man’s questions. I told the copy man that I was a professor (which he already knew), that I worked in the English department (which was irrelevant), and that I needed to sign the blue folder (which, again, he knew – I’m a regular). And, at length, a slightly crinkled paper was grudgingly shoved in front of me which I signed. It wasn’t the blue folder, but it seemed to be just as official so I didn’t care.

I kept my money, kept my copies, thanked the student sincerely, and left the copy shop never to return (for the rest of the day). I’m beyond certain that the copy man was as glad to see my back as I was to show it to him.

If I weren’t so recognizable, I’d have some hope that my next quest for copies might go smoothly, but really the only person who looks like me around here is me. I’m too tall, too blue-eyed, too pale, and too fair-haired to be mistaken for anyone but myself. Anonymity is not a boon I have around these parts, however much I may wish for it at times. I just know he’s going to see me coming and start to cry.

Maybe after a restful weekend he’ll be in a more forgiving mood come Monday. I hope to high Heaven that man has a restful weekend. I’m giving a quiz on Monday and I need copies.

Is that spaghetti on your pizza?

I decided to take a moment and answer a question that I know has been weighing on you heavily regarding my time so far in Korea. And the answer is, yes, I have been eating spaghetti on my pizza. Along with corn, potatoes, and something that is either cream cheese or something else so similar that the distinction doesn’t deserve to be made. Koreans apparently come from the no holds barred school of pizza theory. If it’s digestible, you can find it on a pizza here. Though I haven’t seen any pepperoni yet. But the spaghetti-cream cheese-corn-ham combo was not actually deserving of the grimace I’m sure you’re making right now. In fact, I had an extra piece the next day for breakfast.

As for the rest of the food I’ve eaten in Korea, I have to say I’ve been pretty pleased. Some things are, of course, pretty spicy, but I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve had so far. Even the tiny octopus. I’m sure it’s lucky that I’m not very picky. I figure if it’ll keep me from starving to death, I probably ought to eat it and enjoy it.

I am also learning the art of tea drinking. (I know certain ones among you will be very proud of me for this. C1 and C2, I’m talking to you.) Actually, to be more accurate, I’m learning the art of consuming whatever is put in front of me. That just usually happens to be tea of some sort. I have to say it’s growing on me. Who knew leaf water could be so pleasant? And I’ve even had a couple of small cups of coffee. Weak coffee, but still. It’s more than I could say before.

And as of today, I’m happy to say, my food consumption has also included two kinds of cake and even some chocolate covered strawberries. Understandably, I’m very excited about this. And I chose the cakes and fruit in question, so I knew I’d like them. You can say whatever you want about Korean pizza, but cakes here are gorgeous.

This cake and chocolatey fruit situation is not an everyday happening around here, but among us foreigners there are two who are having birthdays within the next few days. And if that’s not a good enough reason for a party with cake and chocolate, then you’ll never find one. So I took it upon myself to ensure that joy and gladness would be spread to all and sundry as a result of these happy days. Translation: I wanted cake and found a perfectly legitimate excuse to have some. Some of you may find it ironic that the second newest professor at KNU who has been in country only two and a half weeks is the one doing the party planning, but I think most of you also know what lengths I will go to for chocolate and cake, so maybe it’s not all that surprising.

The bottom line I suppose is that my palate is expanding to include an appreciation for all sorts of ridiculous things that I never would have come up with on my own, but I still know of four bakeries that are within a ten minute walk of my apartment and, if pressed, I’m pretty sure I could recite the entire contents of the candy aisle at the grocery store.