Thursday, November 18, 2010

Thought Roulette #1

Many of my closest family and friends have come to accept my habit of towel lounging, but it's not going so well here.

The first time I answered the door in a towel, it was because the cable man came early and I was still in the shower. Over the sound of the water, I didn't realize what exactly the dinging was until the second or third ring of the doorbell. Completely embarrassed, I let the guy into my apartment. My stomach did a few quick somersaults as I took note of the dirty underwear on the floor, dirty dishes in the sink, and a few other unmentionables scattered around on my bed. Please remember my apartment is about 15'x15', and my bed takes up about half the floorspace. I scurried into the bathroom to change while he hooked up my phone, Internet and cable.

Yesterday, was the second time. I was lallygagging around before work, just sipping coffee and deciding what to wear, when my bell rang. This is an extremely rare occurrence so I glanced out my peephole to see two little Korean ladies standing at my door. I thought maybe they were from the census (I've ignored a note or two on my door which supposedly directs me to participate in an online census, but I can't be bothered). Assuming they weren't sexual predators, I cracked the door in my towel to indicate now was not a good time. They shooed me back inside but did not leave, as I hoped they would.

I came back to the door wearing a bathrobe and they started chattering at me in Korean. I stood there, indecent and with a lame grin plastered on my face until they stopped. I chuckled and shook my head helplessly. "No Korean," I said. "You married?" They asked. (I'm not sure if this because of the way I was *not*dressed or in hopes that my hubby would speak Korean.) No.

"You single?" YES. WHAT DO YOU WANT? They handed me a small pamphlet. On the front panel was a demure girl offering flowers. Above: DO YOU HAVE AN IMMORTAL SPIRIT?



At this point I realized I had voluntarily entered a conversation with JoHos and started panicking. And I was still in a towel.

"Where?" they asked. From U.S.A. These proselytizers (disguised as cute little old Korean ladies) turned to a page in what looked like a bible and passed it to me to read. In English, it said Though you and I don't speak the same language, you, too, can join your spirit with God...yada yada...Give us your name and telephone number and we will return with literature for you.

I looked at the page until I thought enough time had passed, then passed it back to them, smiling. Kahmsahmnida (Thank you), I said. "Cell phone number?" they inquired. No phone, I lied, and Kahmsahmnida, good-bye. Then I shut the door.

* * * * *

Call it my first real dose of racism, xenophobia, or simply the way the world works, but I'm losing my patience with cranky old Koreans. I have had MANY wonderful interactions with Koreans here. They are mostly extremely welcoming, helpful, and happy to provide their service, but there are also many old farts who glare at me on Subways. I'm sure they wonder why I am here, why I don't speak in their language, and why I walk, dress, and sit in such an American way. I usually pretend not to notice the stares and instead look pointedly at my shoes or my hands in my lap. Lately, however, I can't help but look straight back at them and offer the pithiest look I can muster until the turn away. I hope they are embarrassed when they catch me noticing their stares.

A common insulting assumption is asking a white girl if she is Russian aka a prostitute. Standing in line for the bus with some friends, an older lady walked by saying something in English. What? I said. "She's saying 'Russian' - asking if we're Russian," my friend answered. Apparently it isn't the way you dress that spurs the question, just the fact that you are a white person in Korea. Still, it took me a minute to shake feeling like a slut for a second and wondering if I should have been wearing Birkenstocks and a high-collared,floor-length dress. Koreans still harbor a great deal of resentment (with good reason, I s'pose)about the Japanese invasion. Maybe the next time I asked "Russian?" All answer with a question of my own. Japanese?

* * * * *

"Yellow dust" (I certainly can't see it) has been blowing over from China the last few days. The air is full of disgusting toxins that make my eyes weep and my lungs cough. It's been really awful. Springtime is supposed to be the worst.

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