RUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE (or watch some lions get owned)
A nod to the amateur tourist video cameraman, who steadily captures all of the action.
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Blocking.
It's happened to all of us. You're in a hurry. You're late to work or for an appointment. You grab your bag and lock your door, take the elevator down and head out of your building. You spill out into the hissing city, breathing in dust and bus diesel fumes. A river of cars chokes the road and you are almost run-down by a Kimbap Chungook deliver ajjoshi riding his scooter on the sidewalk. A grandmother sells lettuce on a cardboard box next to the payphones that nobody uses, and a wizened old man hocks a loogie out of a taxi window, splattering your work shoes with kimchee-flavored saliva.
You, however, are undeterred. You glance at your watch and pick up the pace, steaming ahead, only to find your way blocked by four high school girls plodding down the sidewalk at the pace of valium-popping tree sloths. You slam your feet on the pavement, hoping that the sound of someone approaching from behind will cause the uniformed girl-wall to give way, at least enough for you to squeeze by on the side. But no. They continue talking in machine-gun Korean and frantically tapping away at their cell phones, their speech and actions in absurd contrast with their painfully slow gait. They proceed glacially, oblivious to the fact that you are three inches behind them and can now feel their body heat.
You finally have enough and attempt a pass:
"Sillaehamnida...," you say, pushing around.
Two of the girls, catching sight of your protruding nose and round eyes, shriek in half fear and half amazement. The other two nearly swallow their tonges.
"Ung!"
As you leave them behind, a shrill chorus of "hellos," both playful and cruel, shadows you...
Sidewalk blocking is an everyday nut chafer here in The Special K. But nothing kills me more than Koreans on escalators. The escalators here clearly have a standing and passing lane marked, but as soon as almost any Korean gets on an escalator, every muscle in their body goes into stasis. I often leave the subway and charge up the escalator, only to be stymied by one obstinate and oblivious ajumma blocking my path.
Once, in Germany, I made the stoned mistake of standing in the escalator passing lane, and I was loudly castigated by a stern Bavarian woman for my oversight. The Germans have it right. They let you know when you fuck up.
But it's as if most Koreans are even aware that walking on an escalator is an option. Or maybe it's just a general aversion to stairs. I've seen students at my college wait three minutes to take and elevator two floors down. I'm talking about fifteen seconds worth of downhill walking. Tops.
And don't get me started about the pokey ass "exercising" ajummas who block the bike path down at the river bike and pedestrian paths. That's right. There's one path for people, and another for bikes, but I'll be fucked if the bike past isn't mobbed everynight with 47 year old ladies who seem to have singularly tuned out the frequency of a bike horn telling them to move their visor-wearing asses to the side...
I just got out of a meeting with the department chair and yesterday's thief. The thief is indeed a student, one of my students, to be precise. He arrived at the meeting with his head down, staring at the floor. He delivered to us two handwritten notes of confession and contrition - one in English and one in Korean.
Here's the English version. I'm known by "John," my middle name, at the college.
"Yesterday, I went to your room to be given sam professor's lesson print. There were no professores, then I thought print is on the desk. I looked at deskes accidentally, I saw Bike' key. Ordinary time, I have thought Jone professor's Bike is great. As soon as, I saw the key, I though I'm very wish for riding the Jone' bike. I knew that casue big trouble. with no scared my, my hands went to the key. I stolen Jone's bike keys, as soon as out of room I went down riding the bike, but starting was difficult, I put the bike in an apartment parking space. not catch sight of the bike. Next I ran back to the college. I repented all along from when I stolen bike key and go out of the room. My big troubles scared me keeping up. then I knew mistakes. When I met Jone that stolen the bike, I couldn't tell you the fact. keeping up I was scared when lesson next lesson. I repented keeping up when lesson in the middle. then I got a calling from breaking I gave the key to breaking I know my fault. I beg forgiving to you. stealing professor's precious bike, that I told you the lie sincerly I beg pardon. I'm sorry you."
The verdict?
He flunks my class, his parents are contacted, and some other "punishments" to be admistered by the department.
I argued for expulsion, but the department chair insisted that it was impossible to expel the kid without pressing charges with the cops. Having a criminal record is a huge stigma here, and the kid's clean, so I didn't want to involve the cops.
Do I buy that it was an impulsive joy ride? Or was he stashing the bike next door to take home after class? And why did he turn himself in? Guilt? Or did he learn that he was caught by CCTV?
Who knows...
I'm just glad to have it back and happy that it's in one piece, though I still may make him toss my salad. I could use a good twenty-minute ass eating.
I just got my bike back. It was parked next to the school in the lot of a huge apartment complex. An ignition key was mysteriously delivered by one of our security guys two minutes later.
The student captain for the English Department figured out who it was, evidently. Or the thief got cold feet. I just met with my two bosses and they said we'll continue tomorrow, though they're already pushing for leniency.
Was this just a prank? A thief who chickened out?
What should I do? Press charges? Insist on him being expelled from the college? Accept his apology, if offered, or offer him the justice of the baseball bat?
As if this spring hasn't already shat upon enough so far, someone stole my motorcycle today from the college. It was parked and locked in front of the building where I keep an office and teach all of my classes. I was teaching a class one floor and left my keys on my desk in my office, which I share with Sammy. During that time someone entered my office, took the lock and ignition keys from my keyring, and made off with the bike. I didn't discover it until later, when I went downstairs to take my bike.
It was unregistered, so the police probably can't track it down, but I just received some good news: Supposedly the campus CCTV capture the image of a student riding the bike out of the front gate and then walking back onto campus.
He's fucking toast.
Today is April 1st - April Fool's Day - a day for jokes and pranks and merriment. It's also my father's birthday. He would have been 67. And no - this isn't some April Fool's prank I'm pulling (JUST KIDDING! HE'S ALIVE AND WELL IN CENTRAL FLORIDA!). I wish to Hell it was. During his illness I had repeated dreams of my father miraculously being healed - no more oxygen tanks and blood transfusions - visions of my father in a state of vigor and health, his old self, as it were, readily joking and slapping backs and filling the room with his huge laugh and sheer force of his presence. Last night I dreamt I held him as he died - which isn't too far from the reality of it all - but in my dream it was just him and me, a complete and sad intimacy.
Losing parents is something many of us must go through, and that's what I'm doing now. I'm going through it. It still seems unreal, as all death does, and I expect to ring up and get him on the phone. But that's not going to happen now, and I constantly have to remind myself of the fact. Meanwhile I'm back in Asia living my life much the same as I did before, despite the fact that I do feel different, that what I went through - what the whole family went through - has left me permanently changed.
So April 1st has changed for me. What should be the silliest day of the year takes on an unwanted gravity, but these are not the type of things that we get to ask for. This April 1st,, today, is a day of little joy, though I can only hope that in the coming years I'll be able to find the mirth that is inherent in the day and spin a good lie or pull a good prank, only to reveal the punchline with a big booming laugh.
Because that's how dad would do it.
Happy Birthday, pops.
My computer guy emailed me today. "Bad news," he said, like a solemn-faced doctor removing his bloody gloves and speaking to the family after losing a patient on the operating table.
Motherboard? Completely fried.
Same with my graphics card.
He couldn't access data on either of my hard drives, either, and has since sent them to a recovery specialist.
The monitor is at a monitor specialist, but is likely a lost cause.
All I want, at this point, are the contents of my hard drive. I have some writing there that I neglected to back up. When I think of all the writing I've done over the years and lost - short stories, sketches, even a couple of one-act plays - it makes me shudder and want to launch my lunch over the keyboard.
I took the whole bohemian few possessions thing pretty seriously for much of my life, but now I wish I at least could have hung on to my old notebooks and works that I did manage to bang out. Luckily most of the Piece of Meat stuff survived, thanks to the diligence of two of the other members. If I were left in charge of the archives, they would have all been lost in last year's fire.