Observation Post

It's not really a coffee shop as a Seattleite would expect. It's more a breakfast item/coffee vendor tucked in the second floor of motel on base, but it has a few reasonably comfortable chairs, tables near outlets and nobody gives you the stink eye if you hang out for hours with your single drip coffee.

Often when I'm killing time, I bring the trusty old lappy along and settle in a corner to catch up on news, whittle away at email, peruse facebook, read blogs or even browse Failbook if I'm really trying to kill time. However, even better than the amusements the interwebs hold is the people watching at this particular establishment- a little slice of military life.

This little cubby is apparently a hot spot for folks waiting at the hotel to PCS (permanently move) out of the country and I've been privy to some fascinating conversations, as summer is when many people move to accommodate school schedules. From the drawl-tastic Southern young man frantically trying to corral his two small children while his wife texted indifferently in the corner, to an older couple browsing the newspaper and chatting, to the mom with two teens challenging them to a game of hangman, it's fascinating to be a fly on the wall during their upheaval.

I've witnessed a correlation: those who seem to have more time in the military often have the same conversation ("Yes sir, we can't leave the country without x, y and z documents. Any chance we can get them today?") with far less panic and frustration than those who are visibly newer to the service. I can only imagine where I would have rated on that scale during our first move, and ponder how many moves one has to do before putting all your belongings in crates (every 1-3 years) and shipping them to a new country in which you have no home, no friends, no language skills and knowing that everything will turn out in the end. As much as I may poke fun of the concept, that definitely qualifies as Army strong.

Vocab of the day:
Korean: 사람들  (sah-rahm-dil) = people
Military: OP= observation post

Snuffles, Slippers and Stick Shifts

Mr. Snuffles.
On the way back from the Lantern Festival, my husband and I encountered a woman in the Seoul subway station hocking adorable, sweet, fuzzy baby bunnies! We hesitated for a moment (well, I might have grabbed one and started envisioning our life together), and we decided this was another presentation of our recent desire to add to the family and left before we could do anything rash. It seems many couples who have this desire fill it by having babies, but just we tend to talk about getting dogs, cats, baby snow leopards, orangutans, koalas... and I guess bunnies.

About three subway stops later, we started to discuss why a bunny would actually be a great option for a pet-- shedding less than a cat, lower maintenance than anything but fish, still cuddly, and we could take it home in my ever-present big bag of crazy and name him Mr. Snuffles and live happily ever after! About four subway stops later, we decided that they'd probably be cheap and we should turn around carpe bunny while we could. Unfortunately, this revelation came about 5 seconds before the subway door closed. The hubs made it out, I did not. Our flurry of confusion and surprise and miming and waving from opposite sides of the glass led to not a few giggles from the folks around us, and one older gentleman who then continued to laugh and smack me on the arm until the next stop.

When hubs and I finally reconnected I nearly mobbed him to see the little bun-bun, only to find out the bunny-vending woman had moved. For the hour long drive home, we both mourned the mishap of Mr. Snuffles. (Later to consult the wisdom of the Googles and find out bunnies can be mean and destructive.)

Slippers.
And there I was, doing my first real interview in Korea in slippers. This is not unusual for Koreans (shoes and outside ground are considered grossly dirty, shoes are removed in homes and some businesses), but I also had no idea what the blue blazes was going on. I'd submitted my resume for an earlier part-time job to this hagwon (English teaching school) which was already taken, so when the principal called and asked if I could come in that day, I assumed it was for a similar position and didn't want to be the pushy American needing to know everything. Upon arrival, I had the strangest career-based conversation I've ever had with a very nice guy with pretty limited English skills. (Which I've now learned is pretty common for the folk who run these English-teaching schools. Weird.)

After chatting about my background and military life (he was retired Air Force in Korea), he asked me if I would speak with a student for a few minutes and evaluate his English. I agreed, trusting my basic subject-teaching skills to help me figure out how to evaluate language acquisition and moved to the next room where I had a lovely conversation with a 14 year old who spoke fantastic English already. After having him read, write, and speak with me I came out to give my verdict, only to be told that the mother expected "a long more intense time." At this point I realize that both me AND this kid are working to get into this school, and now I have to please the mom as well. An hour later after more quizzing the kid, reviewing his performance with mom and principal then setting up lesson times, I finally got to ask about pay, benefits, etc. Only to find it was about half of what private teachers can make. Mamma mia.

But now I have the next two weeks of INTENSIVE English lessons to learn about how to teach ESL and make a few dollars to boot.

Stick Shift.
This one is fairly obvious. I learned how to drive a stick shift over the weekend (thanks hubs!) and took the beast out for our first adventure in Korea yesterday. Best part: while there were a few bumpy times, the only time I killed the car absolutely dead- after a frenetic burst of bucking like a wild bronco- was after getting my ID checked at the military installation gate and trying to pull away. Me, open car window and three gate guards in uniforms with guns trying not to laugh. Classic.


Vocab of the day:
Korean: (cha) = car
Military: CIB = Combat Infantry Bunny (-ish)

Salute!

Two posts this month! I'm on a roll these days.

So I'll leave the travel tales (Lantern Festival this weekend- could make for some good stories) and stick to militaryness for the moment. While adjusting to military wifery life has been a process, one of the things that still strikes me as bizzare is the salute.

From wikihow.com

If you were playing charades and trying to get someone to guess "military" or any derivation thereof, most likely you would salute. While that's about all I knew before marrying into the service, more has become apparent as I've spent time on various installations. For one, the distinction between enlisted service members (soldiers, sailors, guardsmen, airmen) and officers is that usually that officers have gone to college and completed an officer training camp/school. One thing that continues to blow my mind is that the highest ranking enlisted soldier will hypothetically never outrank even the officer who just graduated and joined last month. And when it comes to saluting, the lower-ranking person must always (when appropriate) salute the higher-ranking person, or be viewed as a terribly disrespectful and possibly even insubordinate soldier/sailor/airmen/guardsmen. (Man, those generic terms are gender-unfriendly)

My hubs is a lawyer therefore an officer, and during his training many of his trainers were enlisted members who would both get in his face during the daily 6 mile run and still call him "sir." What a weird parallel universe. I really respect that my hubs (and many others I've met) stay humble to folks who have been in service longer than him regardless of enlisted/officer status. However, military-wide the salute remains to remind of rank regardless of experience, job performance or anything else.

Our first week on base I nearly giggled when a passing soldier saluted my husband as we walked to lunch together. This became a problem, as most people were in uniform (in civilian clothes you normally don't have to salute) and everyone we passed either saluted him (lower ranking) or he had to salute (higher ranking). As unobtrusive as the guy I married is, it was hilarious to me that every few seconds we had to stop our conversation for this rather archaic uber-masculine gesture of demonstrating pecking order.

Even better was the morning when went on base for our driving test. We were running a bit behind, and to ensure we didn't get locked out of the exam room, we began running (me none to gracefully in my slip-on shoes and huge bag flailing about) toward the vicinity. As we approached the correct building, a taxi full of young men in uniform pulled up and began to pile out, laughing and joking, obviously on their way to the same exam. The hubs asked one of them if they knew which room the driving test was given in. One chuckling sandy-haired young man wobbled out of the cab as the others pushed out, then caught sight of my husband and I. He suddenly snapped violently upright, suddenly solemn, saluted and responded emphatically, "Negative, sir!" Never have I seen such an instant demeanor change, made even more ridiculous by our sweaty and bedraggled state. On the way out of the same exam we crossed paths with a bicycling soldier, who stopped to shift his weight and saluted the hubs as he rolled by- which led to a full out gut-busting laugh after he had passed (oh, I wish I had a picture- balanced on bike and saluting is so funny to witness).

It is most unfortunate that this very serious sign of solidarity and respect still makes me giggle, but I'm coming to respect it more. Although stories of junior officers demanding of more experienced enlisted soldiers, "Are we not saluting officers today?" make my skin crawl, I'm even coming to find it normal. It's like a wave from passing bus drivers, a bow in Asian culture- it's a sign of acknowledgment and support, even if it does venture on an insiders-club secret handshake. And the good news is that unless I get a crazy streak and decide to join up, I'll never have to.


Vocab of the day:
Korean: 인사 (een-sah)=  salute    *All translations courtesy of BabelFish. I also blame them for funny/horrifying/wonderful mistranslations=)
Military: SALUTE (not the gesture, but an acronym)= Size, Activity, Location, Unit, Time and Equipment.

Namja!!

Quick preface- I've been meaning to write for a while, but previous attempts starting with apologies usually derailed the process so here's the start of what I hope will be a better writing streak!


For any of you who speak any Korean, you know that "namja"(남자) means "man." Fairly simple. And for you who don't, mini lesson in Korean: the L-looking character is an n, the ㅏ is "ah," the box with legs is m, the headless guy is j and then there's ㅏ again. Look! You can read Korean- you're brilliant! This is one of the few dozen words I have acquired in Korean due to the brilliance of Rosetta Stone. I'm still working on such things as "restroom" and "plastic recyclables" (to my dismay each time I take our items down to the apartment complex waste area, only to be rebuked by the guy there). But I digress.

One fine evening last week the hubs and I went up to the Seoul area to hang out with a friend of his who happened to be in the country for a few days. He introduced us to some of his english teaching friends and we had ourselves a right little Cinco de Mayo party all told, complete with any random Spanish music that could be found online and some respectable burritos and even a few Coronas. Afterward some of us ventured out into the pouring rain to find a no-rae-bahng (karaoke house) and enjoy the evening further.

In Korea, people often live with their parents into their 30s/until they are married mostly as an economic arrangement. This has led to a category of business (love motels) aimed at the market of young adults who are under constant parental supervision to facilitate time away with their special someone. Which also happen to be clean, comfortable and wonderfully cheap to the passing foreigner who doesn't mind whatever scorn is directed at such establishments (the parking area ceilings are often shrouded in cloth privacy danglies, lobby doors opaque, cash paid up front, etc).

After our enjoyable evening out, the hubs and I found the nearest motel to get out of the rain and checked in for the night. He then remembered that he had forgotten his backpack earlier and needed to go retrieve it. I, tired, sopping wet and a bit discombobulated from the Cinco partying, stripped out of my wet clothes and sprawled on the bed, beginning to doze off.

The next thing I know, there was a small, loud  and adamant older Korean lady in our room shouting things I can't understand. I tried to both understand and speak to her, belatedly realized both that I was stark nekkid in front of her and that she didn't even knock before entering the room to have this enlightened discourse. I dove under the covers, then tried again to puzzle out what the heck she was trying to convey.

Motel lady: AJGKDJALSD KSDFKNG KSDFG LEHRLTI ONJDKH NAMJA!
Me: Ummm.... oh yeah, namja!
Motel lady: LADSHFIN AKSNDFK DKERN AKSDNFIH KSNDKHA NAMJA?
Me: Ne, namja (yes, the man)
Motel lady: INGKGSDJ TAHGKD PASKMGKH WIENKNSG NAMJA!
Me: Namja? (Shrug)
Motel lady: Namja!
Me: Oh boy.....

This exchange went on for a few minutes, with "namja" as our only common word. I worked out that she was looking for the hubs, but couldn't really communicate that I knew nothing about when he would return. I eventually thought to call him, located my phone and began dialing, at which point the good man stepped in the room and returned the umbrella he had apparently borrowed from the innkeeper. She was on her way with a parting, victorious "Namja!" while pointing at my husband. All for an umbrella. The moral I took from this experience:

1) My current level of Korean is useless, and
2) Deadbolt doors in such motels, or pay the price of naked confused conversation in the future.

Vocab of the day:
Korean: 남자/namja = man
Military: WOA = warning of attack