Some dance to remember, some dance to forget
Well well well. I sure didn’t expect the birthday bash to turn into what it did, but it did. It started out on the fourth floor of a sashimi restaurant just next to school with Mr Lee, Debbie (the Assistant Director), her husband Mike (Canadian who is also teaching English here), Amy (the secretary) and the 3 teachers; Alex, our manager, had the day off. Here, raw fish is called “whey.” I’d been warned that with this meal, the food just keeps on coming, so not to indulge in a dish too early on. It just so happened though, that one of these dishes was a bit too weird for me to indulge in. We’d had the usual side dishes and then the first dish of raw fish came out, but it was not the main course. Yummy! Then some soup, some rice, more side dishes. Then came the main dish of fancy raw fish. They were served on beds of noodles that looked somewhat like clear white Easter grass—they were cooked, but you don’t eat them. On the side of this main course was something I have never seen before on a dinner table and hope never to again. I could’ve been an Olympic gymnast with the way I flipped out when I saw it. They say raw, but I never thought they meant still moving!! This plate of wormy looking something or other was SQUIRMING! One of the little guys even crawled off the plate. HURL! You don’t throw them into the boiling soup in the middle, either, you put it on your kim (seaweed paper), and EAT! THEY ARE ALIVE! My face turned red and I couldn’t look at it. I had to make the people at my table hide it on the side of the big dish in the center, because I would completely lose my appetite if I had to watch squirming things being eaten while I was trying to have dinner. If you really want something that raw, why not just bite the durn thing while it’s still swimming? Oh man, it was the grossest thing I’ve ever seen on a dinner table in my life. I took a picture, though Mr Lee asked me not to because he’s afraid I will misrepresent his country. I said, “No way! THEY ARE MOVING!” There’s a difference between raw and living. None of the tuna or other sea fish I consumed had an ounce of wiggle in it. To top it off, that wasn’t even the end of the live dishes! This red straw shaped thing with a cone at the top came out on another plate with other raw fish. You could look at these things and just watch the light change on them because they apparently weren’t comfortable where they were. PEOPLE EAT THESE! They have no qualms about popping some little creature into their mouths that is the epitome of rare! Absolutely horrific. I thought I only had one rule for things here I wouldn’t try, and that was that they couldn’t have eyes. Now I have to add another, and that’s that it cannot be moving. Sick.
After dinner, Mr Lee wanted to go to a nightclub. Not the kind we’re used to at home, but there are individual rooms in Hotel Nostalgia, where we all went. There are 3 couches, in a “u” shape, a table, and all you need for karaoke. They delivered trays of meat and fruit and Mr Lee ordered a nice bottle of scotch (Andy and I guesstimated that he shelled out upwards of $500 on the entire night). There was Korean music as well as American (plenty of Britney Spears, of course), so no one was left out. We all sang some tunes and though the Koreans seemed to have more talent than I expected, I think I was sufficiently terrible. Nonetheless, no one cared, and if I knew the words or rhythm better than whoever had one microphone, they’d hand me the other and tell me to sing it. Amy drug me down the hall and the stairs to the dancefloor where there was one lonely guy trying to cut a rug. The stage had 3 Korean guys in red suits with no shirts underneath doing synchronized dancing. I was a cheerleader in high school for a bit, so I noticed that their moves weren’t sharp or tight, so in my opinion it was a bit sloppy. Regardless though, they had lots of energy and seemed to enjoy what they were doing. Amy and I proceeded to join the solo dancer and make fools of ourselves for just a couple of minutes. The people sitting in tables and chairs around us either thought we were so awful that they wanted to minimize embarrassment and help us out by hiding us in a sea of people, or they figured they couldn’t possibly look as terrible as we did, but all at once about 70 people got up and came to the dance floor to join. Feeling we’d done our parts, we returned to the karaoke room with the rest of our coworkers. Amy and Andy then left to dance some more, and Amy returned to retrieve me to join again. Andy was like “You have to come dance with this guy—he’s the funniest one out there!” so I was pulled into a circle of people and danced with a short, silly, man probably in his 40s. The crowd is definitely an eclectic mix. The guy told Andy and I that he wanted to teach us a Korean dance. He hiked up his right pants leg, kept his leg in the air, and hopped around. No pattern, no step, nothing. Just hopped around. I think he was attempting to make a fool of us, but we joined in even so. I had enough and returned to the karaoke room again. We sang some more, made our last one Hotel California, and then decided that at 1:30, we needed to head home. Mr Lee started handing out cash to pay for peoples cab rides home, and even though Amy would actually make a profit on this, she decided to come home with Andy and me, just a few blocks away. She insisted on buying more beer and staying up even later, though I had long been ready to call it a night (at the sight of thrashing edibles, I could’ve gone home!). Luckily, the party at 508 Tres Belle didn’t last too long, and I was able to get to bed before too late. Amy had insisted she take the bed and I have the floor, which suited me just fine. Then she decided that since she’s small, there was room for me. I was okay with this to start off with. Until I turned on my side, and she wrapped her arm around my waist. I rolled all the way over so that she’d let go, and it worked. I was highly uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to be rude to my co-worker whose culture thinks nothing of such behavior. She was speaking a little bit to me, and I wound up rolling back onto my back. She told me about how she’d had the surgery to have a double eyelid—as you know, Asians just have one, which is one notably distinguishing factor in their and our facial features. She said it was expensive, and all they numb is the area around your eye before they begin cutting and the blood begins dripping down the side of your face. I guess pain is beauty, but wow. Anyway, so she decides that after telling me about her surgery she wants to cuddle again, and this time hikes her leg up on to me. I mean, this is totally weird. I know it’s a different culture and all, but she was awake and consciously doing this. If it has ever happened with female friends in the past when one is asleep, you push them away and tell them the next day what a homo they are. So I got out of bed and went to make sure the door was locked, plants were watered, whatever just to have an excuse to move. I got back in bed and it happens yet AGAIN! I just thought, “Okay, maybe I can fall asleep fast and it’ll be fine.” She returns to the surgery talk and asks if it’s true that when American girls turn 18, they get boob jobs. I said some do, yes. To my knowledge, this does not open any door to molestation. To her knowledge, it was reason enough to grab my boob. For the second time in the night I flipped! I threw her hand off and said, “Amy! You cannot grab my boob!” And she says, “Hunh?” clearly not understanding the term. I explained some girls have boob jobs, mine are real. She makes some comment about my size and grabs them AGAIN! I removed her hand once more, flustered and aggravated and say, “Amy! NO! No grab boob!” I guess she gets the point, because for the time being, molestation ends. I’m ill at ease now, but it’s far past 2am and I desperately need to sleep if I expect to get anything done on Sunday. I decide I’ll think about it in the morning, and go to sleep. Luckily, I woke up before my frisker and took a shower—being sure to lock the door in case privacy isn’t common in this culture either. When she woke up, she felt sick from all the alcohol she’d had the night before. She proceeded to go to the bathroom several times, each time giving me a full report upon her return. I just sorta scrunched my nose, raised an eyebrow and didn’t say much. I was really bewildered at the whole turn of events. I mean, I’d seen people eat moving things, I’d seen people dance like fools and even joined them, I’d been molested, and I’d learned the Korean word for bowel movement. It was supposed to be a birthday dinner—what kind of present was all this? So she went on her merry way home, being sure to text me later. (Not to mention, at work on Monday, she smacked my rear end more than once. Last time I checked, I don’t play football. The strangest part is, she doesn’t think anything of it. She doesn’t seem to be hitting on me —I know she has a boyfriend of 2 years — and she doesn’t give me coy looks. She just likes to touch me. I feel like some sort of display at a children’s hands on museum.)
And so! Sunday evening several of us from training got together. Amy (same name as the girl I work with, but this is the one from New York who left the Peace Corps and came here) and I did our usual touring around together before meeting everyone for dinner. We found a great shopping area near one of the women’s universities here and not surprisingly, everything was more than affordable. One we went into had shirts and sweatshirts for $2.50. I bought a long sleeve t-shirt that says, “It takes a lot more action to fight AIDS than by wearing this T shirt, but it’s a good start.” I just thought it was cute, and for less than three bucks, you can’t go wrong. Eight of us from training had dinner at this restaurant in Sincheon that’s known for this noodle soup stuff. What’s in it is SPAM though! All the Koreans said upon arrival of our meal, “This is ghetto food!” It wasn’t bad though, if you didn’t eat the "meat" ;o) Amy and Heeyun and I skipped the bar everyone was going to afterwards and checked out more of the area. I bought a CD, knowing I get my first paycheck today and will be buying a radio/CD player after work tonight. I got a few things to wrap the goods I’ll be shipping back home and then the three of us got some yogurt and called it a night, with promises not to break the tradition next weekend. Hopefully it's the only part of this weekend that gets repeated!
Copyright 2005 Olivia R. Reed
After dinner, Mr Lee wanted to go to a nightclub. Not the kind we’re used to at home, but there are individual rooms in Hotel Nostalgia, where we all went. There are 3 couches, in a “u” shape, a table, and all you need for karaoke. They delivered trays of meat and fruit and Mr Lee ordered a nice bottle of scotch (Andy and I guesstimated that he shelled out upwards of $500 on the entire night). There was Korean music as well as American (plenty of Britney Spears, of course), so no one was left out. We all sang some tunes and though the Koreans seemed to have more talent than I expected, I think I was sufficiently terrible. Nonetheless, no one cared, and if I knew the words or rhythm better than whoever had one microphone, they’d hand me the other and tell me to sing it. Amy drug me down the hall and the stairs to the dancefloor where there was one lonely guy trying to cut a rug. The stage had 3 Korean guys in red suits with no shirts underneath doing synchronized dancing. I was a cheerleader in high school for a bit, so I noticed that their moves weren’t sharp or tight, so in my opinion it was a bit sloppy. Regardless though, they had lots of energy and seemed to enjoy what they were doing. Amy and I proceeded to join the solo dancer and make fools of ourselves for just a couple of minutes. The people sitting in tables and chairs around us either thought we were so awful that they wanted to minimize embarrassment and help us out by hiding us in a sea of people, or they figured they couldn’t possibly look as terrible as we did, but all at once about 70 people got up and came to the dance floor to join. Feeling we’d done our parts, we returned to the karaoke room with the rest of our coworkers. Amy and Andy then left to dance some more, and Amy returned to retrieve me to join again. Andy was like “You have to come dance with this guy—he’s the funniest one out there!” so I was pulled into a circle of people and danced with a short, silly, man probably in his 40s. The crowd is definitely an eclectic mix. The guy told Andy and I that he wanted to teach us a Korean dance. He hiked up his right pants leg, kept his leg in the air, and hopped around. No pattern, no step, nothing. Just hopped around. I think he was attempting to make a fool of us, but we joined in even so. I had enough and returned to the karaoke room again. We sang some more, made our last one Hotel California, and then decided that at 1:30, we needed to head home. Mr Lee started handing out cash to pay for peoples cab rides home, and even though Amy would actually make a profit on this, she decided to come home with Andy and me, just a few blocks away. She insisted on buying more beer and staying up even later, though I had long been ready to call it a night (at the sight of thrashing edibles, I could’ve gone home!). Luckily, the party at 508 Tres Belle didn’t last too long, and I was able to get to bed before too late. Amy had insisted she take the bed and I have the floor, which suited me just fine. Then she decided that since she’s small, there was room for me. I was okay with this to start off with. Until I turned on my side, and she wrapped her arm around my waist. I rolled all the way over so that she’d let go, and it worked. I was highly uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to be rude to my co-worker whose culture thinks nothing of such behavior. She was speaking a little bit to me, and I wound up rolling back onto my back. She told me about how she’d had the surgery to have a double eyelid—as you know, Asians just have one, which is one notably distinguishing factor in their and our facial features. She said it was expensive, and all they numb is the area around your eye before they begin cutting and the blood begins dripping down the side of your face. I guess pain is beauty, but wow. Anyway, so she decides that after telling me about her surgery she wants to cuddle again, and this time hikes her leg up on to me. I mean, this is totally weird. I know it’s a different culture and all, but she was awake and consciously doing this. If it has ever happened with female friends in the past when one is asleep, you push them away and tell them the next day what a homo they are. So I got out of bed and went to make sure the door was locked, plants were watered, whatever just to have an excuse to move. I got back in bed and it happens yet AGAIN! I just thought, “Okay, maybe I can fall asleep fast and it’ll be fine.” She returns to the surgery talk and asks if it’s true that when American girls turn 18, they get boob jobs. I said some do, yes. To my knowledge, this does not open any door to molestation. To her knowledge, it was reason enough to grab my boob. For the second time in the night I flipped! I threw her hand off and said, “Amy! You cannot grab my boob!” And she says, “Hunh?” clearly not understanding the term. I explained some girls have boob jobs, mine are real. She makes some comment about my size and grabs them AGAIN! I removed her hand once more, flustered and aggravated and say, “Amy! NO! No grab boob!” I guess she gets the point, because for the time being, molestation ends. I’m ill at ease now, but it’s far past 2am and I desperately need to sleep if I expect to get anything done on Sunday. I decide I’ll think about it in the morning, and go to sleep. Luckily, I woke up before my frisker and took a shower—being sure to lock the door in case privacy isn’t common in this culture either. When she woke up, she felt sick from all the alcohol she’d had the night before. She proceeded to go to the bathroom several times, each time giving me a full report upon her return. I just sorta scrunched my nose, raised an eyebrow and didn’t say much. I was really bewildered at the whole turn of events. I mean, I’d seen people eat moving things, I’d seen people dance like fools and even joined them, I’d been molested, and I’d learned the Korean word for bowel movement. It was supposed to be a birthday dinner—what kind of present was all this? So she went on her merry way home, being sure to text me later. (Not to mention, at work on Monday, she smacked my rear end more than once. Last time I checked, I don’t play football. The strangest part is, she doesn’t think anything of it. She doesn’t seem to be hitting on me —I know she has a boyfriend of 2 years — and she doesn’t give me coy looks. She just likes to touch me. I feel like some sort of display at a children’s hands on museum.)
And so! Sunday evening several of us from training got together. Amy (same name as the girl I work with, but this is the one from New York who left the Peace Corps and came here) and I did our usual touring around together before meeting everyone for dinner. We found a great shopping area near one of the women’s universities here and not surprisingly, everything was more than affordable. One we went into had shirts and sweatshirts for $2.50. I bought a long sleeve t-shirt that says, “It takes a lot more action to fight AIDS than by wearing this T shirt, but it’s a good start.” I just thought it was cute, and for less than three bucks, you can’t go wrong. Eight of us from training had dinner at this restaurant in Sincheon that’s known for this noodle soup stuff. What’s in it is SPAM though! All the Koreans said upon arrival of our meal, “This is ghetto food!” It wasn’t bad though, if you didn’t eat the "meat" ;o) Amy and Heeyun and I skipped the bar everyone was going to afterwards and checked out more of the area. I bought a CD, knowing I get my first paycheck today and will be buying a radio/CD player after work tonight. I got a few things to wrap the goods I’ll be shipping back home and then the three of us got some yogurt and called it a night, with promises not to break the tradition next weekend. Hopefully it's the only part of this weekend that gets repeated!
Copyright 2005 Olivia R. Reed
posted by LSULiv | 3:46 PM
2 Comments:
Once again I can't remember my log in name, so I am posting anonymously. Please tell me Ward is a member of this blog. Lesbian adventures in your first month. I always knew you had it in you- just be sure to have the video camera rolling next time. With the lesbian undertones and live worm eating, are you sure your not part of some elaborate Fear Factor episode?
Finally, I'd be remiss if I didn't draw attention to your "high school cheerleading" reference. And I get crap about h.s. football stories...
I'm so glad that everyone got such a laugh out of my mammary misfortune!! I think I'm still bewildered by the whole thing, but I'm definitely coping okay. I'm meeting the other LSU guy here after class today for some beer therapy! Woo! Geaux Tigers :)
Frey-- Get them to send you your password. I know they didn't have this technology in high school, but you should be getting accustomed to it by now. Also, you'll notice that I referred to high school once in nearly two months that I've been here. That beats your record a hundred fold. Well, probably more, as I'd guesstimate hearing one story per day MINIMUM!
Smittster-- Probably a bit more than a week? I sent them before I started Korean class, which was last Tues, so def no more than 2 weeks. The first batch arrived in about a week, so I guess it all varies.
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