Sometimes things really do start with a bang

Sometimes things really do start with a bang…BANG… a flashing pumpkin on the end of a pen greets me, followed by a giggle; all before I ever hear a word from my waitress. The pen had been whacked onto the table and through the joys of science has caused the smiling pumpkin on the end to light up and flash; nothing you’d expect out of a routine sit down at a restaurant, let alone your midafternoon trip to the local Chili’s on some Air Force base somewhere in Korea. The giggle belongs to Alyssa, my waitress, which is something of an oddity in itself seeing as there aren’t too many Korean girls named Alyssa; here you get names like So-Ri or Juen Li or even Hye Kwong; never Alyssa.

I won’t lie to you, this isn’t the first time I’ve been to Chili’s. When I first arrived and was holed up in the base hotel, I came here quite a bit. It’s right in the heart of the base, across from the BX and library, next to the movie theater and in front of the hotel; you really can’t miss it. I know how it is, when you hear someone you know is going to some far off place, you really hope they don’t spend all their time eating at McDonald’s and IHOP; or in this case Chili’s. It was a moment of weakness. I had actually just been off base surrounded by local restaurants, but had to come back on base to pull money out of the ATM which would then be taken back off base and given to the insurance company. It was time to get car insurance; my car has been sitting in Seoul for a week and it was probably time I went and got it; $500 FLYING out of my wallet. It’s a bit depressing, money FLYING out of my wallet here, money FLYING out of my wallet there. When will it end? Starting over can be expensive. My plan had just failed, there is a limit on how much you can withdraw in a day and I had just attempted to surpass that limit. I could certainly still go off base and eat, but what’s the point; screw it, I’ll just go to Chili’s. Instead of bo-kim-bop or bulgolgi, I’ll get a hamburger. And even though I’ve given up french fries, fries will come with the burger, I’ll eat a few, think they’re nasty, and regret the whole thing.

Then again do we ever really know what to expect?

BANG… pumpkin starts flashing, a giggle is heard and Alyssa appears. You can’t just let that go. You don’t whack your pen on a table, make it light up, laugh and then dispassionately ask for someone’s order. It’s not the laws of physics but it’s certainly the laws of sanity. Crazy people do that and I honestly think there aren’t too many crazy people in Korea; they’re all back in the states. Who knows maybe in Korean society crazy people are quietly “taken care of”. Perhaps they’re taken to the North. Alyssa tells me that she got her pen at the biggest amusement park in Korea and that it cost $6.00, that that’s too expensive, and then produces a skeleton pen. From the looks of it this one doesn’t light up.

This is all a bit sudden for me, a second ago I was worrying why my foot hurt, why my money keeps leaving me, and when I’m going to find time tomorrow to get back to the insurance place (and once again, give them a bunch of my money). In times like these the mind doesn’t work too fast. A pumpkin, a skeleton, hhhmmmm? “Do you have a witch pen?”…. That’s what I came up with it. If I had a moment to think I would have laughed pretty hard in my head. Witch pen? Who am I, Homer Simpson? But hey whether it’s a teaspoon or a tablesaw, you can still get started; you just have to have the heart.

Alyssa has been my waitress before and I suddenly remember the bubbliness that goes along with a Korean girl who adopts an American name while working at a chain restaurant on an Air Force base in Asia. And yes, in case you’re wondering, and come on, who are we kidding, of course you’re wondering; she is good looking. If she wasn’t there wouldn’t even be a story to tell, would there? If there was it would go something like this: unattractive waitress acts weird, I efficiently minimize all but the most necessary contact (something I can be quite good at), I eat my food, pay my bill and leave. Life sure isn’t fair and it never will be. I’ve long stopped worrying about that.

It’s not prime eating time; it’s probably around 4:00 and Chili’s would need to be twice as full to even be half full. All this means there is not a lot for a waitress to do, but you have to do something and Alyssa has chosen to talk to me. I learn she is a college student and this is her part-time job. She is studying to be an airline stewardess. As I think now, this should have seemed a bit odd. My brother Dan was an airline steward(ess) for a brief summer and he never did much studying. (I’ll someday have to tell you about the sweet, cheap tickets he got me to San Francisco the summer before last; before the flight home I had a sweet 21 hour stay at the San Francisco airport before saying “screw it” and buying a ticket home on another airline). In any event, Alyssa is studying Chinese, Japanese, and English. At this point Alyssa is doing most of the talking, which is OK because, like I said, she’s good looking. It does dawn on me that eventually I’m going to have to say something or else she’s going to leave which would be bad because, once again, she’s good looking.

As I think I’ve mentioned in a previous posting, one of the true guiding ideas in my life is “when in doubt, do nothing”. I got this from reading War and Peace while in the Peace Corps. Ahhh Joey and I had many a discussion on the simple beauty and effectiveness of those words. It doesn’t sound right, we Americans always want to go out and strangle all our problems, but maybe we got it wrong; after all doctors are told to “first do no harm” which isn’t all that far away from “when in doubt, do nothing”.

The situation I was in was one where this core belief wouldn’t do; I had to say something. “When in doubt, do nothing” not going to work, better move on to the next one. “When in doubt, do the obvious” or in this case, “when in doubt, say the obvious”. I’ve just been told she’s studying three different languages; one of them is English… “You speak very good English”. Can’t get more obvious than that; it’s not really even true, but it will buy me some time. “No, English is hard, I don’t have a tutor”. Holy shit, it did work, the opening is now there. Oh no, danger. The other waitstaff are giving her looks; we’ve both noticed them, she’s going to have to go. This is a bit of a problem because I’m done eating and now is the time in the sequence where the diner gets the check and leaves; of course I have to actually get the check in order for this to occur.

Alyssa is not coming over for conversations, but is quite frequently coming by, collecting my glasses and refilling them. This goes on for quite awhile which is a bit odd. It’s obvious I’m done, the basket is mostly empty (except for the nasty fries, why in the hell did I get them?), my napkins are crumpled up and thrown on top; classic bring-me-the-check signs; except she seems to be refusing to bring the check and somehow justifying this with refill after refill after refill. I’m actually OK with this, it’s quite obvious to me the decision has been made; there is a reason I continue to sit here. There is one slight problem. My usual beverage order consists of a glass of water and a sprite. Here at Chili’s, like so many other places, they put lemon in the water. This bothers me on some level, I actually like the taste of water; the fruit kind of ruins it for me. I solve the problem by transferring the lemon to my sprite; it’s a lemon-lime soda and thus a perfect compliment. The problem is, as Alyssa quickly passes by and swoops up my half-full glasses, there is no time to tell here what I’ve done and thus I get water in my Sprite and Sprite in my water.

Look at me, sitting here (have been sitting here) drinking varying degrees of watered down soda all because I have a good looking waitress. Is this sadness or is it simply a force too strong to resist?

My phone rings, my ride home (my I-don’t-have-to-pay-$5.00-for-a-cab) ride home calls and let’s me know she’ll be in the BX parking lot in 10 minutes. I can’t leave yet, I didn’t sit here for 15 minutes drinking what I’ve been drinking just to get up and leave now. I signal for Alyssa and with that sad, I-don’t-want-to-but-I-have-to look, I say “I have to goooo. But hey, if you need help with your English, I’ll help you.” A little part of me was quietly laughing the whole time I was speaking; laughing and saying “you’re an idiot”. Isn’t it funny how you can have two completely different things going on inside of you at the same time? Alyssa agrees, this would be a good idea. I rustle through my backpack, find a scrap of paper, and write down my number.

Fried eggs, kim chi, and a mysterious jar

It all just sort of fell together tonight; almost to the point where I’m thinking of giving up planning all together. It started as I arrived back at school after picking up some milk from the commissary (with milk going for $3.00 a half gallon, one of the only real extravagances I’ve bowed to over here. I just can’t give up cereal; as a counterweight cereal is dirt cheap, I can get a box of Count Chocula for $1.70). It was late and as I entered I could see my friend Mr. Lee the custodian. Suddenly the lights in the hall went out and we greeted each other in the dark. My reason for returning to school was to collect my bags and packages (it was a good day at the post office) and head across the street to catch a cab home. As we parted he said “it late, you go home”. To this I silently agreed and for no real reason besides just wanting to be nice I replied “are you done with work too?” Even though his English isn’t great, he got the implied message that I wasn’t trying to imply and said “Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, I give you ride home. I’ll be right back, you wait here.” After putting it all together myself I smiled, I was lugging around a back pack, a large duffle bag with packages and a grocery bag so a ride home was sounding right on, and best of all, this would mean I would go the entire day without shelling out for a taxi between work and home (it was my neighbor’s turn to pay the morning fare).

Of course nothing is ever as simply as it appears and I soon found myself joining a daisy chain of people heading toward his car; before we’d be off to my apartment we had to drop off three mama-sans at the front gate. When we arrived at the gate, Mr. Lee said he’d be right and headed off with the cleaning ladies. He was soon back and we were off. Once again with no motive besides comforting small talk, I asked him “where is your house from here?” He once again read what was there to read and replied “Oh I show you my house, I take you”. This was met with mixed feeling on my behalf, it had been a long day and I certainly wanted to get home, but I was curious to see the inside of a Korean house having only ever been inside the places they build with us (and our government’s dollars in mind). In the end it didn’t matter, I knew the die had been cast and I knew where the car was headed.

If you’ve ever been to a China town you know the scene, narrow roads, lots of cars and lots of people. Mr. Lee’s apartment was on the top floor of a three story building. As we remove our shoes and enter we are of course met by his wife, a small, strong woman with a permanent scowl. She speaks no English and I speak no Korean which always makes for a somewhat awkward experience; you throw in the scowl and my nature of not wanting to upset anyone and the experience becomes doubly so. Korean society seems to be of the more male dominated variety, so I figured she was going to be nice to me in a there’s-no-real-way-for-us-to-communicate kind of way (I just hoped she wasn’t cursing me under her breath).

Mr. Lee was one of the first persons who were really nice to me when I got here to Osan Air Base. I had it in my head there would be someone, maybe several people, waiting for me upon my arrival, perhaps with a large welcoming van and a hearty “welcome to Korea, we’re so glad to have you”. Of course what I got was a searing hot asphalt parking lot and a physically and emotionally draining death march to the base hotel weighed down by 100 lbs of luggage. As you can tell I still haven’t forgiven this place for that; I mean seriously, they knew I had no idea what was going on, surely someone could have been there. This is after all what I’ve always received in the past, the Army had someone waiting when I got off the plane in Germany; even the lightly funded Peace Corps had someone with a pickup waiting. It’s just bad manners, but I suppose we should get back to the story.

When I first wandered onto the school grounds Mr. Lee was there to say hello and show me around. A few days later he loaded me into his car and took me apartment hunting. He’s completely uninhibited and went around to the apartment complexes randomly trying door handles and when we came across a vacant apartment we went in. When we found one we liked he went around until he found someone who knew the landlord and before you know it, I’m sitting in an office surrounded by Koreans talking a blurred streak while I run my eyes across the wall looking for something interesting to look at. The best part about Mr. Lee is he’s always looking for an excuse to go do something besides what he’s probably suppose to be doing; the sort of quiet rebellion the world needs. Man I don’t think there was one day while I was in the Army that I wasn’t thinking about how I could escape this stupid task and go do something else. I turned the 30 minute paperwork run into the hour and a half Kleber Kaserne breakfast/paperwork run every Tuesday and Thursday. The reason I never became a famous scientist is because working in a lab sucks and I was always wandering the hallways or skipping out altogether and going to the Brewer game smuggling beverages inside in my pants; definitely one of my two favorite Brewer games, my Uncle Chris can tell you about the other one. All this side talk which really has nothing to do with the story at hand reminds me I need to someday soon tell you my quiet defiance Peace Corps story involving Joey Rios and his favorite invention the air conditioner.

So we’re in Mr. Lee’s house and he gives me the tour and it’s really actually very nice; more so than I thought for a school custodian. He shows me all the family pictures and tells me about his kids who it seems have done quite well for themselves; in fact his oldest was somehow involved in the construction of his building which is why he has such a nice apartment. I ask Mr. Lee if he is from this part of Korea and he says “Oh no, no, no; I from rice paddy. City people no good, they don’t help each other out.” Two things stuck me, first I loved they way he said he was from the rice paddy; it’s sort of like someone from America saying they’re from the country, just way cooler. Second it made more sense why he was being so nice to me; that’s the way it was for him, how people acted toward others.

Next thing you know we are sitting at the kitchen table and food is about to be served. This is where things start to get interesting. Unfortunately I’m hungry and tired so they’ll have to get interesting tomorrow (usually this is the time I would go scramble a couple of eggs for a nice bedtime meal, but that’s not going to happen tonight for reasons that will become clear shortly)

We are now beginning day 3 of this story, it really must be finished tonight.

After the tour we end up at the kitchen table and start eating these large nut-like things. They have obviously been boiled and once you get inside the shell they taste surprising like a boiled sweet potato. I tell you this with great confidence, as a former Peace Corps volunteer in Papua New Guinea I know many things about the taste of boiled sweet potato (and fried dough, but that’s a whole other story; there is surprising variety to fried balls of dough). I soon learn we have been guided to the table for a reason as Mrs. Lee brings two plates of food to the table; I really would have preferred she had brought three plates and joined us, but Korean society doesn’t seem to work like that. On my plate is some very interesting looking purple rice and two fried eggs. Nature is way more amazing then the average American diner would know. I’m sure most think all rice is white except perhaps the Californians with their commune grown organic brown rice. Purple rice? never would have thought it. Once again this took me back to my Peace Corps days during training when we would all meet up after spending time in our respective villages and you would hear crazy talk like “my family served purple kau kau (sweet potato)”. I didn’t really believe it until I saw it for myself and of the sweet potato varieties, the purple were just about the best. The purple rice was actually quite good, it had little extra purple nuggets in it, almost like flavor crystals or the marshmallows you find in Lucky Charms. The eggs were simply eggs, I do prefer my eggs scrambled and find the fried egg fairly tough to get down, but it was obviously a nice gesture and a free meal on top of it.

As I’ve mentioned earlier in this blog, I’m big into fluids and normally follow every bite of food with a satisfying drink. The problem this time was there was no drink... that is until about half way through the meal. After another round of quick fire verbal Korean between the two, a rather strange looking large jar is brought to the table. The jar has all the hallmarks of the kind you see in science fiction movies containing the brain of some unfortunate soul and is topped with a piece of wax paper held tight by a rubber band. Much like the brain-in-a-jar there is something large lurking inside surrounded by a clear slightly off-colored liquid. Once it is set on the table I can that the thing inside is some kind of root. The make shift top is removed and the liquid is carefully spooned into two glasses. Great care seems to be taken in all aspects of the handling of this jar and its contents. Mr. Lee signals his wife to stop adding to his glass and says he’s driving; he doesn’t however make the same request in regards to my glass.

The reverent treatment, the small glasses, the “I’m driving” comment, it was all coming together; this was some kind of mysterious homemade hooch. Mr. Lee signals to me, we raise the glasses and drink. The texture is somewhat thick and the taste very earthy, almost papery. Surprising and fortunate is the lack of any feeling of harshness I felt sure would follow. It wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t good, but considering the jar it came out of, I was somewhat at ease. The added bonus of it all was I know had something to drink, a real plus considering the fried eggs and the damn fried yokes that came along with them which were starting to test my stomach in a way that if failure occurred, it would be most unfortunate.

What I failed to mention earlier was the reason we ended up at the table in the first place. Before entering his building Mr. Lee showed me his adjacent garden and its multiple leafy contents his wife turns into Kim chi, the most iconic of Korean dishes. My reply was that I hadn’t had Kim chi yet which was all that really needed to be said. Coming from the rice paddy, he assured me his wife made great Kim chi which turned out to be right on the mark.

It was really one of the more all-over-the-place meals I’ve ever eaten: bland rice, stomach churning egg yolks, cold spicy pickled leafs of some kind, and fermented ginseng to wash it down. With each bite the eggs were harder and harder to get down, but I persevered and made it very near the end. This did however come at a price. The continuous sips I was taking from my glass began to lead to a slow wave of disorientation rising up my spine headed straight for my head. I hadn’t mixed alcohol and food so thoroughly since the whiskey waffles I used to make in the Army.

Now I’ve been drunk before but this was something strangely different. It was a very warm almost trippy feeling and it slowly flowed over my head like a warm blanket. This was no ordinary blanket with the standard scene of flowers or racing stallions, this was a warm blanket with a picture of old men and giraffes sitting together on top of a felt table laughing; it really made no sense and my mind couldn’t seem to wrap itself around it.

The newness of the experience made it all the more baffling. I really didn’t want to get drunk let alone looped into a world I’d never been. There is I guess two ways to handle a situation like this, you can mentally fight the oncoming rush or you go along for the ride. I thought to myself what w ould my friends do in such a situation? What would Geisler do? Well the answer to that is pretty obvious. What would Rios do? Completely different answer but just as obvious (now if I was on an international flight, things would be a bit more uncertain). Nope, I was on my own here. I chose to fight, but there really is no guarantee you’ll win. I distinctly remember putting up just such a fight many years ago while listening to the Concert for Bangladesh and playing cards with some guy named Matt who would later become my friend. I lost that fight like no fight has ever been lost in the history of the world. I sat there half catatonic having no idea when it was my turn to lay down a card. This time was different, I felt aware and hopeful about my situation. There was only one stumbling block in my way; only one but a fairly big one, the half full glass in front of me I knew would have to be finished.

Suddenly my heart began to sink; coming toward me in dazed slow motion was a frying pan full of fried eggs. The spatula came out and two freshly greased fried eggs were carefully placed on my plate followed closely by another helping of purple rice. The site alone of all that food on my plate was nauseating, but I was aware enough to know I had no choice; it had to be eaten. I began to swirl the rice with my fork and then swirl it some more, just because you know something must be done doesn’t make it easy to do. I eventually got to work and each bite was once again followed by a sip from the glass I wanted desperately to avoid.

By this time my mind and my stomach were completely out of synch, my minding seeing weird things and wondering if it should fight till the end, or just let go and see where it was taken. My stomach on the other hand was engaged in a slow churn, every bite of egg was forcing the contents of my stomach further and further into my throat. At was at this point I knew something must be done; going down meekly is not something I’ve ever subscribed to.

My big break came when Mr. Lee got up, walked to the edge of the kitchen and began speaking to his wife. It was obvious the rest of this drink had to go, but where? I could pour it into Mr. Lee’s glass; that wouldn’t work, he made a big production of finishing his drink. Time was surely running out and I was completely at a loss… until I stretched my head around the corner and looked into the living room. Sitting right at the junction of the two rooms allowed me arm’s length access to the living room. As luck would have it there was an aquarium nearby. Now before you jump to any conclusions, I didn’t dump it into the fish tank. Standing next to the tank was what looked like a cylindrical garbage can. As I peered at it I only see the inside of the top portion and was unsure whether it was actually a garbage can or a storage container of some sort. Looking back at Mr. Lee and ensuring he was preoccupied, I leaned over as far as I could for a better look. About midway down there appeared to be discarded tissue paper; I couldn’t see to the bottom and therefore be sure, but with the situation critical it would have to do. I quickly grabbed the glass, leaned over and let fly into the garbage can. The whole time this was happening I had vivid thoughts of the time, years ago, when I was out with my friends Matt and Lori Geisler who both wanted very much to do a shot which I wanted no part of. The pressure put on me was annoying so I said I’d do it, but when the time came to throw it down, I threw it over my shoulder instead. Of course I was totally busted by Lori and it still comes up in conversation from time to time. The deed was done; I quickly returned the glass to the table and was comforted to find Mr. Lee oblivious to it all.

Mr. Lee eventually returned to the table and normal eating activity was resumed. By this time I was picking at my food, crying inside with the thought of more fried egg. I then noticed something horrible. As I has eaten this second helping and neatly yet subconsciously eaten around the yolks and was now left with a pile of rice and two neatly excavated fried yolks; the rice was of no concern, that could be downed without a blush. The yolks on the other hand would never in a million years stay down. Brilliant thoughts suddenly entered my head. I had been in this situation before and came out the other end. When much younger and eating at our Dad’s, my brothers Matt and Dan and I made a true art out of concealing food we didn’t want to eat. This is the route I would have to take. My mood lightened and I even chuckled internally as I thought of the Seinfeld episode where he stashes mutton into his jacket.

With swift smooth motion a napkin is transferred from the table to my lap; man I was still good at this; quiet defiance, once again the hallmark of my life. I suddenly felt strong and invincible. I comfortably returned to talking to Mr. Lee, waiting and watching. Every time he looked away I smoothly transferred yolk from plate to napkin; after a few waves of the hand the task was complete. The napkin was neatly folded and tucked into a pocket and triumph was mine. The anxiety I felt was gone, I was able to relax and enjoy the disorientation I had so recently fought.

In retrospect I understand why I couldn’t say no and I understand and appreciate the generosity that was shown to me. I was later told by another that the serving of ginseng was something of an honor; you didn’t do this for the casual guest. And of course life isn’t about getting even with those that have helped you but rather bringing it forward to those you are about to deal with. With this in mind when I get a place of my own I want to be just like Mr. Lee; whatever I have will be on offer and fried eggs will be served in abundance.

p.s. I don’t make Kim chi so don’t expect any

Holy hell, I can’t believe it took me 5 pages and thirty-four hundred words to tell this story. I seriously need an editor

Bad moods, dream jobs, and good principals

If all were well I’d be sleeping, but I’m not for see this is my first night in Joy Palace and my palace of joy is offering no joy in the form of sleep. I just moved into my new apartment earlier this afternoon and I must admit I’m having extreme hotel withdrawal. It was bound to happen considering my irrational love of hotels, but it probably wouldn’t be so bad if I had a decent bed to sleep on. I think the Koreans were only given half the story because their beds are nothing than box springs. Sometimes if you’re lucky they stack them for you and you get box spring on top of box spring. This could play into Korea not being a big holiday destination for western families. Dealing with your kid’s concussion the first night after a round of bed jumping is not the ideal vacation experience. I do have an air mattress but pulling it out and dealing with it seems like too much work at the moment.

Well it’s the next night and I’ll have you know I did indeed pull out the air mattress and it turned out to be the decision of the day because I was actually comfortable enough to sleep. I do think I need to go back and add to a little of what was said last night. Everybody has their dream job and everybody’s dream job tends toward the glamorous: astronaut, professional rock climber, neurosurgeon, etc… I’m no different and for the longest time my dream job was U.S. ambassador to Papua New Guinea. While over there we actually got to meet the ambassador, a rather tall woman with a striking resemblance to Janet Reno. I always thought wanting to be ambassador of PNG was a pretty shrewd pick. I’d get to go back to PNG, I’d get to live way up on a hill in Port Moresby in a house surrounded by an 8 ft. restraining wall topped with swirl upon swirl of razor wire. It’s PNG so there probably wouldn’t be a lot of competition among the diplomatic corps. Best of all it’s totally a job I could handle, the U.S. has next to no interest in PNG; we’ve for the most part pawned it off on Australia. A tough day would have been hosting a 4th of July party for the 5 – 10 Americans in the country (this actually happened while we were there. Unfortunately I wasn’t there by our friend Joey and some other Peace Corps people were there and the best part is they actually got charged for the Coke’s they drank which is so wrong it’s funny. Anyways I’ve given up on my dream job, but I don’t feel too bad, most of you are never going to become astronauts either (well there is one of you with an outside chance).

This brings me to my point, I’ve always thought it was a good idea to have a back-up dream job; an achievable one, without all the pretention. My realistic dream job was guy-who-runs-a-big-hotel. You know the excited feeling you get when at an airport, excited because you’re going somewhere; well being in a hotel is a lot like that, just more comfortable. Of course this would only work if it was a big international hotel with people from all over going in and out; running the local Motel 6 doesn’t hold the same allure. I would walk around greeting people, I’m sure I’d be fluent in multiple greetings and could go around giving away complimentary drinks and meals. The best part is I’d get to live in a hotel; a true dream of mine. A dream that might have came true. I’ve seriously considered living in a hotel here in Korea. I had it all figured out, instead of the govt. spending $25,000 a year to live in an apartment I could have stayed in my old hotel room and saved the taxpayers $10,000. Unfortunately I shipped way too much stuff over to make it work so instead I’m stuck in Joy Palace (and you’re helping to cover the extra $10,000).

Today was Labor Day which poses an interesting question, should you still celebrate American holidays if you’re not in America? Seeing as how I never celebrate Labor Day when in the states not a lot of deep thinking was required. When you wake up in Korea and its raining you pretty well know that when you go to bed it will still be raining. It rained all day and it rained on my mood. I was in a funk most of the day. Part of it has to do with how much of an American automotive slut I am. When you wake and it’s raining and you have plenty of plans but you don’t have sheltered transportation handy, oh and you’re American, a real sense of helpless confusion sets in. I did eventually make it onto the base, but of course it was raining there too. I did a few things but it didn’t stop raining, I got something to eat but it didn’t stop raining, I went to the BX but it didn’t stop raining; of course the whole time my mind stayed true to the weather. Two eventually put me back on the path.

First I ran into my principal (Tim) just I was about to leave and took advantage of the situation by bumming a ride home. Principal Tim is new to Korea as well; he has spent the last 20 odd years in Europe, most recently in Italy. He a tall, slightly awkward, aw-shucks kind of a guy. Incredibly nice and a million miles away from the disaster of an administration I dealt with at St. Cat’s. He tells me he has to stop at the BX (base exchange, essentially the base department store) before we leave and oh yeah, he’s really hungry so we have to go eat (I was cool with both, number 1 I could take advantage of the car and buy a TV, and 2 everyone has to eat). Sometimes when you’re down a nice person is all you need.

We decide it’s easiest to just eat on base at Chili’s (again) and this is where to mood really started to lighten. I’m sitting at Chili’s with my boss, shootin’ the breeze thinking to myself how is this happening? The idea of going out to eat with Christopher Ollie seems absolutely self-mutilation inducing, while the thought of going out to eat with Sister Jane seems awkward in the extreme (Sister Kathy would be no problem and Father Roetzer before the stroke would have been a night on the town). During our entire Chili’s dining experience I notice how Tim continually flirts with our waitress in his childlike, lovable loser way. So not only am I eating with my principal, I’m now watching him work his mack, and with this going on, how in the hell could one be glum? For a brief moment the thought of dining with Christopher Ollie while he hit on the waitress entered my mind, and in my mind I was sure I would leap over the table and stab him in the neck with my fork. Principal Tim even goes so far as to say to me “I didn’t think I’d find Korean women attractive, but I do?” Shit it could have been the 40 year flood happening outside I wouldn’t have cared at this point. I thought to myself “surely this guy’s act will never work”. But then it suddenly dawned on me, of course it’s going to work. Maybe not today with this girl, but it most definitely will work; shit I’m sure it already has, many times. The world is filled with all shapes, sizes and personalities. Certainly I could never use this guy’s playbook, I’d feel like a complete fool, but we’re different people and that’s better; why in the hell would I want to go out to eat with my clone? I’d rather eat alone and free myself to watch what’s going on around me.

The second thing that lightened my mood actually happened earlier in the day, but it but it here for endearment’s sake. I had just walked from the school to the BX under a constant drizzle that had left me damp and worn. Suddenly while wandering the aisles I hear a familiar song, a memory inducing song that takes me back to childhood and riding in my Mom’s HUGE beat up green Buick. I not only felt better, but I actually felt good; the suddenness of the turn was welcome, but hard to believe. I love music and sometimes underestimate its magic. A few times in your life you hit upon the perfect song at the perfect time which is damn well how it ought to be because you put up with a whole lot of shit songs in between. The song I heard was Baker Street by some one-hit-wonder I don’t have a prayer of remembering. I loved that song way back in the late 70’s and I still do. I know you’re all, at this moment, on a computer so your job now is to go to some music sight, find it, and listen to it. If you’re really into today’s “hot” new jams, this song might not be for you, but take a chance.

“And when you wake up it’s a new morning
The sun is shining, it’s a new morning

But you’re going, you’re going home.”