Memory Lane (V)

T'was December 2000, and the end of my one-year contract was fast approaching. And because I was madly in love (cue Today by The Smashing Pumpkins), and because I was having such a blast living and working in Korea, I decided that I'd like to teach for a second year. That decision was pretty much reached before the end of my first month on the penninsula, but I realized at the time that I might have better options than the school at which I was then employed. It was and still is a great school, but I no longer wanted to teach on Saturdays, and believed a change of scenery is always a good thing, especially if you live in the heart of one of Seoul's biggest nightlife destinations and all the money you earn is going toward booze, designer clothes, and more booze. But where to look?

One night while out and about, drunk and zestful in Hongdae, a Korean girl struck up a conversation with me. She wasn't particularly pretty, and I was already spoken for, but I'm as polite as they come, often to my own detriment, and we talked for a while. She was born and raised in Seoul, but had studied for a number of years in Scotland (home of my ancestry, Clan Sparkles), and her English was impeccable. We made small talk for a spell, and soon -- as all drunken conversations between me and women tend to turn -- we began discussing music. She surprised me: her favorite band was The Pogues. She was also into The Smiths and Greenday. Two out of three ain't bad, I told myself. It was then that she explained she worked part-time at City Beat, a record shop close to Hongik U where I regularly bought CDs (I left my hip-hop collection back home before coming to Korea, which I regret to this day because I still can't find a copy of Main Source's Breaking Atoms, nor Masta Ace's Slaughtahouse). A week or so later, after a long day's work, I walked into City Beat to pick up Outkast's Stankonia and found the "lass" manning the counter. Again we made small talk, and after I mentioned that I was looking for a job, she handed me a card. She worked at a recruiting agency during the day, she explained, and told me to give her a call anytime to set up a face-to-face with one of their recruiters.

2 months passed. With only a month left on my contract, one morning I called the number on the lass's card and set up an appointment at the agency's office for the following Monday. Anyone who knows me, has stalked me, or who reads this blog fairly regularly probably knows where this is eventually heading; but please, for the sake of those who don't, try not to spoil it. I'll buy you a hot chocolate.

I interviewed with a sallow fellow named Andy. I told him what I was looking for (my expectations were modest), and he drugged me, raped me, and left me for dead in a gulch.

Sorry, just making sure you're paying attention.

Over the next couple of weeks I interviewed with half a dozen schools. All were passable, but what I was really looking for was a school that would offer a decent-sized apartment to, hopefully, share with the then GF (when I wasn't hosting cabalistic blood orgies to my demon god, Rosgaroth). For my part, I was totally upfront about this (the GF part, at least) and didn't try to hide the fact. But a lot of the apartments weren't even large enough for me, and I'm roughly as big as a piece of bee shit.

Finally we found a school in Apkujeong offering a small-yet-comfortable-enough officetel apartment in Kangnam. I interviewed, signed the contract on the spot, and left the school with high spirits, elated and relieved that that was taken care of.

But while it was a great school and everything, and the hours were few and the comely secretary regularly offered me fruit juice and kimbap, my recruiting agency found out a week prior to my visa extension's expiration that the school, in fact, was not licensed legally to hire a foreign English teacher.

Bummer.

Double bummer when I found out that the school's manager, unbeknownst to the owner, was threatening my agency that he would report me to immigration for teaching without a visa unless I continued to work at the school. The agency humored him by allowing the school to pay for a ticket for me to Osaka (so I could return to Korea on a tourist visa), but behind the scenes we were planning my escape.

What choice did I have? The Saturday after my trip to Osaka, the agency scheduled a moving truck to transport my belongings (in haste I left behind my collection of potato chips that resemble unicorns) to their office and set me and the GF up in one of the finest yeogwans Sinchon has to offer, free of charge, and my job search began anew.

It's no fun being a man on the run, I've learned, but I soon found a new school in Seodaemun-gu (say that 5 times fast and try to keep a straight face) offering a 2-bedroom apartment and a refrigerator continually restocked with airplane bottles of Beefeater gin. Okay, I made that last part up, but the rest is true.

My second year in Korea had begun.