This Time It's Personal

So, I'm back in Korea. What can I say, I liked it so much I had to come back. Seriously, I'm not being sarcastic. I think. Anyway, I'm working at a Middle School in Bupyeong, pretty darn near where I was last year. Things are more or less the same as when I left them. Some folks have come, some have gone, some have come and gone. The buses still barrel up and down the thoroughfares. The neon lights come out at 9 or so every night, still. I'm still eating kimchi everyday. There's beer to be had everywhere. The Goose is still open. And there are Koreans, everywhere...

What has changed is the teaching. This new job is, well, different. I'm teaching at an all boys middle school, and each class has 40 or so 13-15 year old kids. They're not sorted by achievement or level, so in every class I have a handful of hagwon-borne little Einsteins and a handful of empty-headed idiots. It can be frustrating. I also have been gifted a Korean co-teacher in every class, who, depending on her methods, either hovers at the rear of the classroom and menaces the lazy students with a large stick, or parades up and down the aisles to ensure everyone's on task while occasionally translating and/or simplifying something I say. I'm used to being on my own in the classroom, so it's been a bit of an adjustment getting used to having them there.

The English levels of my co-teachers varies, as well, all the way from the one who's abashed at saying hi and greeting me in the morning and who appears to believe every sentence I produce is a puzzle of jigsaw like proportions, up to the one who approached me on day one offering to help any way she could and who's spent several years living abroad. So, with some, there have been some communication problems. An example.

The other day the English teachers were supposed to gather to head over to the neighboring girls middle school to observe and comment on a English class. One of my co-teachers came up to tell me.

Korean co-teacher: Wayine, we go to girl school at 4:30 for watching class, ok?

Wayne: I know, Pearl told me. What time will we meet here to walk over there?

KCT: No, we go at 4:30.

Wayne: Yes, but we go together, right?

KCT: Yes

Wayne: So when do we get together here, at this school, to meet to go there?

KCT: No no no, we go there at 4:30.

Wayne: Yes, we arrive at 4:30. When do we leave?

KCT: 4:30, at girls school.

Wayne: Yes, but we are walking the half-mile from here to there together. When do we leave here?

KCT: We go there at 4:30.

Wayne: Yes, we GET there at 4:30. But when leave here?

KCT: 4:30

And so on. We wound up meeting a few minutes before, downstairs by the principal's office. I really should've learned by now not to sweat the details and just guesstimate...otherwise I wind up embroiled in these sort of perpetual linguistic snafus.

My students, for the most part, are...how to put this...well, they would've benefited from SLP, let's just say that. They are a cheery bunch, they should be credited for that. I can't walk to the bathroom without being greeted with a good dozen or so "Hi's," and an occasional "How are you?" or "Where are you going?" It's almost as if some sort of mythical creature that they'd only heard of in lore and seen in the movies has suddenly come to walk these hallowed halls, perhaps as if a centaur started teaching French in Garner or something.

But I'm used to that, more or less, and I'm used to the unwitting perverse hilarity of the place, too. Just today, I'm walking outside in front of the school while the students're running around, playing games, and dancing madly. What's the soundtrack, blaring from the school speakers? 'It's raining men.' I didn't even allow myself a personal snicker. I'm gonna be fine this year, I think.