Let me illustrate Korean attitudes toward America with a wonderful anecdote.
Tonight at a local hostel which we had been at many times before I tried to order a banana (which would have been my dinner) and the young 20-ish asshole manning the bar denied me outright, explaining to me in Korean, which he knew I couldn’t understand, that it was only for breakfast and/or shakes and guests.
At which point I should have gone Jack Nicholson on him and ordered a shake without the milk and the mixer and ice cream but instead I reminded him that every single time I’d been there before I had bought a banana without any issues. Then when he denied me again, I tried to order BREAD.
Not toast. Not buttered bread. Just a piece of BREAD. Maybe 10 cents worth of food.
Again I was denied.
Fast forward two hours, when the OWNER OF THE HOSTEL arrived, and I asked politely for a banana, and not only did he give me a banana, but he gave me THREE bananas at NO CHARGE.
And then he sat down and went on to tell me how much he hated America. So goes the ambivalence of many Korean towards the USA: they (rightly) hate our power and role as world police, but they look towards us for cultural influence and many of the older generation bend over backwards to show the foreigners their hospitality and generosity. Which is okay with me.
Then we left the hostel.
Apparently, swimming in my khakis at midnight wasn’t gansta enough, so after maybe 12 beers or something like that I found myself once again diving into rocky waters at midnight, this time in just my underwear, much more drunk, once again without glasses, in choppier more dangerous waters, and yet somehow I survived not only with only a few dozen scrapes all over my body, but I didn’t lose anything! Not even my keys!
I shouldn’t brag about this, because at one point I was prowling around the rocks in my underwear like an idiot trying to find a backpack and clothing which wasn’t there, for about 20 minutes, until someone came over the hill and was like : “Aaron you blind dumbass I have all your shit get dressed!”
So I did.
Then at three in the morning I had dinner with two Canadians and explained to them that while I was horny all the time I knew better than to say something obviously suspicious like “what a nice dress you have on you should take it off” or “look at my muscles where did you say you lived again.”
Before I got really drunk, we went to the Korean batting cages which may be a ripoff but I don’t know because I haven’t been to any American batting cages. I shouldn’t say anything bad about the guys who were there because I got some helpful tips about using a baseball bat. Someone said “imagine the ball is being aimed at your mother” and after at least ten swings and misses, I not only hit the ball, but hit it over the net at the back of the cage. I don’t know my own strength, I just need the right motivation.
Many hours ago, back at school, my kids wore me down and forced me, against my will, to play scattegories with them. I made it easier, but I hope all readers are sufficiently impressed that one ninth grade Korean not only knew Bangladesh was a country, but could spell it correctly in English. I’m not sure if I should be equally impressed that they knew the English word for “giraffe” but in this life, it may be best to take pleasure from the simple things.
Tomorrow I’m going to wake up and see just how many bruises I have.
My new goal is to swim in the cove sober and be impressed that I can cliff dive not because I’m too stupid to know any better, but because I’m too manly to deny myself the pleasure of being self-aware of your own superhuman abilities.
Culture Time 