My Apartment Looks Like Ambient Techno.

I am going to describe my apartment in detail now. It is largely furnished thanks to garbage-picking. It is sweet.

We shall start by walking in the front door. The “landing” is a small stone area where you take off your shoes. The floor is a very nice sealed hardwood. To the right, there are closets and small cubbyholes made of a light woodgrain veneer over particleboard. My closets are full of cleaning supplies, a small iron and board, and an obnoxious number of cheap shirts, ties, and pants.

To the left, there is my bathroom. There is a sink and a mirror immediately on your left as you enter. There is then a toilet far too close to the sink. Immediately above the shitter there’s a rack for all my toiletries. When I say “immediately above,” I mean “I started closing the toilet seat.” The room narrows by about 3 inches, and then there is a “shower.”

The whole bathroom is literally a “bathroom.” The removable nozzle shower is separated from the rest of the bathroom by a frosted glass piece from ceiling to floor. This serves to keep the toilet paper dry. That’s the only benefit I see. There is no drain, and no division between the floor of the shower and the rest of the bathroom.

The shower drains to a grate under the sink. Besides the grate, there is an elaborate trap built into the floor. I had to empty it during my first shower in the apartment. A woman lived here before me.  She also put an eerie pink rhinoceros (?) air freshener next to the toilet. The spray from it is foul.

As I walk out into the hall, I turn left and take 1-2 steps. I am now in the part of the apartment where the idea of “open” smacks you. To the right, there is a set of steps (leading to my “bedroom”) and my clothesline. To my left, the “kitchen.” Directly ahead is the general living space. This includes a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks a pretty cool intersection.

As a brief interlude, I am currently listening to a bar waitress sing “Carr Me (Theme From American Gigolo)(misspelling intended)” at the top of her lungs into a karaoke machine. She is promoting a bar on my street.

My loft bedroom is about three feet high. Queen (!!!) bed, one foot tall glass “wall” around the edge, a light attached to the wall, carpeting, and that’s about it.

The general living area now has a fuckin’ SWEET futon. Imagine something between a disco room couch, the bench seat in an old American car, and a futon. This thing is amazing. The same place and time, I also grabbed a seafoam green coffee table. Not quite as cool as the couch, but it’s a coffee table.

I also have a table and 2 chairs in faux walnut that still need a permanent location.

Oh yes, the shelves I mentioned earlier are broken. I fashioned a couple pieces tastefully into a table for my alarm clock. It is next to the couch. This is the furthest point from my bed I could find.

Finally, the kitchen. There is a sink with an elaborate trap. (Once again, I found out too much about my predecessor when I used it the first time.)

There is ample cupboard space, a 2-burner stove, and a horizontal washing machine under the 2 burners. It gets the job done.

I’m done. This will set the pace for my upcoming post “What Greg does every weekday.” It’s coming. I have things to do. Seriously.

*edit one week later*

I am keeping The Bachelor Pad crazy-clean and washing proper size loads in my washer.

Yowsa.

If I had known that my apartment was to be re-papered today, I would have taken down my clothesline. My clothes faired even worse. Ditto for my bedding. The whole place is really humid. They left the weird poster, but just leaned it against a different wall. The pink window thinger is still on the window. Everything, incl. Narkao the Macbook, is covered in this fine paste that is more annoying than anything. It comes off with water.

I have an address. Email me if you’d like it. I am off to eat something I can’t pronounce and brainstorm methods to make 5 year olds distinguish between “l” and “r.

I have pictures coming soon! I promise! I even have something from a textbook to scan for you! My reservations about a curriculum funded by neoliberal corporate propaganda blah blah blah have begun, uh, being right.

The Quick Version of the currently-ending weekend.

This has been an eventful first weekend in Korea.

Greg moved into his own apartment, but there are a few snags. Granted, it’s better than his previous accomodations, but here are his reservations.

-The previous tenant was involved with the Korean equivalent of Mary Kay. This creates some surreal circumstances.

The huge window with a great view is covered in a deep pink cling wrap with some Korean writing and a phone number in Arabic numerals.

As one enters the apartment, there is a huge poster advertising “Dermaesthetics ‘ Beverly Hills Formula of U.S.A., INC.”

Greg has inherited a bamboo plant. It will require a name. Further bulletins to come.

He has also inherited a pink hippopotamus that sprays air freshener. She lives next to his toilet. She may require a name, also.

The wallpaper is trashed. Greg’s employer assured him that it would be replaced. Greg does not like the idea of wallpaper installation while he isn’t home. He spent almost 5 hours on its initial cleaning.

The night before moving into this soon-to-be-happening-bachelor-pad, Greg went out with a new friend. No, not a girl. There is a batshit-crazy Canadian guy living in the apartment next to one of Greg’s coworkers. His name is Brad. Brad likes to drink very much. He also likes filipinas. There are bars, not brothels, where one buys a girl eight dollar iced teas for the privilege of talking with her as long as you are buying her eight-dollar iced teas. Greg bought the girl that Brad invited over “for [Greg]” 3 rounds while Greg drank a beer. Over. Rated. Greg and said Filipina talked about Shania Twain while several of her coworkers did a pathetic song and dance show.
As a footnote, the Canadian wore a sport coat over a black turtleneck and slacks. Classic toucher attire.

Greg’s first grocery shopping trip was frightening. He will discuss E-Mart in detail later.
Saturday night Greg went out with his two male coworkers. They had a huge pitcher of beer and a pile of 1/2 chickens. It was yum-licious.

Sunday, Greg went sightseeing in Itaewon, with someone he met on a message board for foreign English teachers in Korea.

The trip began predictably. Greg didn’t ask for directions. Mind you, he has an English-speaking coworker who travels to Itaewon regularly. The audience knows Greg’s fondness for doing this sort of thing. “Things will work out,” he will assume. As if the gods reached down to fulfill Greg’s prophecy, a very old and wise Korean man decides he will help Greg reach his destination.
Now, for ANY OTHER LOCATION in Greater Seoul, this would be simple enough.
Unfortunately, getting from the Incheon line to the Korean metro system’s orange line defies metaphor. After about half an hour on a total of 2 subway trains, the old man tells Greg it’s time to exit the train. The old man accompanies Greg. A transit cop tells the elderly man that they are best served walking, or getting a cab. Being an old man and, well, Greg, the two are not about to pay 5 bucks on top of the buck Greg (Seniors get free unlimited subway use) just paid to get this far. After about 1 kilometer, the old man says either “Fuck it,” or “Here you go. I will not accompany you one more Kilometer because I’d like you to maintain your dignity with the person you are meeting.” This man speaks no English, and Greg still isn’t sure why the man did this. Greg doesn’t even know this man’s name. The Man With No Name refused offers of something to drink, a meal, etc.
A 2 buck cab ride later, he is at the assigned meeting location; Burger King, Itaewon.
Greg recommends a Korean meal. Said someone from internet informs Greg that there are no Korean restaurants nearby. Greg curses the need to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken, Subway, McDonald’s, Burger King, Outback Steakhouse, or Dunkin’ Donuts at luxury prices.
Greg ate a value meal at Burger King. BBQ Bacon combo, with a Coke. Koreans do not put ice in Coca Cola. They also do not use disposable cups. The meal cost about six bucks.
Greg got to see a used book store (“What the Book” – he didn’t think it was very clever, either), and picked up a few titles. He purchased Naomi Klein’s “No Logo,” a book on the theory of history that he purchased because of a quote from a “The Nation” review and a skim that cited Herodotus. He also picked up a standard high school English class short story compilation, and a dual-language English-Korean copy of “Lord of The Flies.”
Greg and said person he met via internet saw a temple that was, uh, awesome. (Some Korean dude said “Look, I’m such a badass, that I will waste retarded volumes of space with my playground and then put huge, gated empty spaces around that. There will be limestone dragons, and every imaginable mammal dressed as a Korean warrior and standing at attention. Everything’s going to have these totally sweet symmetrical patterns painted all over with more detail than makes any sense. Then I’m going to have REAL warriors marching, beating drums and standing at attention and shit. They won’t be allowed to move, ever.”)

Then, the two of them went to an open market in a place called Jongno. Jongno is Korean for “Tourist trap.” Just kidding.
There was much pretty craftiness, men beating rice paste for cakes with wooden mallets, beautiful furniture, an overwhelming volume of jewelry, much coffee and tea, elaborate contemporary art everywhere, etc.
Greg, being Greg, forgot his camera. He will return with his camera.
The afternoon ended with a trip to “Cowboy Cafe.” The two drank Pina Coladas and then Tequila Sunrises. They went their separate ways and Greg listened to his iPod on the subway trip home. Thankfully, he got a subway map.

————–

My deepest apologies to all who are getting delayed responses to email.

I am hijacking wifi access from someone in my apartment building. This is a) unreliable and b) technically illegal.

Please rest assured that I am doing fine. I should have a phone shortly. Promise. I will have an address tomorrow. Use certified mail. The postal service here is bad.

Pictures of my apartment are pending. It’s not furnished yet. It’s an open floor plan/loft/whatever with a 2-burner stove, a fuzzy logic washing machine, a sink, and a bathroom that is awesome. The bathroom has a drain near the door. This is where the water drains from the shower. Apparently, Koreans put on socks and pants after all their other needs are met in the morning. My bed is in the loft area. The loft area is 5′ high. It works? I have clothes line-drying constantly.

I am terrible at ironing.

In which things further improve.

The process of gettin’ legal began this morning. “John,” the school’s director, drove Greg and Peter to the immigration office. New York city drivers, for example, are a yawn next to Jeonsu. Things Greg and Peter saw during today’s drive:

5+ blatant red light violations (just the vehicle that John was driving)

3 U-turns away from intersections

2 U-turns in 3-4 lane in each direction four-way intersections.

3ish near misses with mopeds.

Let’s remember that this is from a principal at a kindergarten.

His child safety locks were activated.

Greg and Peter also managed to give away their passports for at least a week. Technically, one needs a passport to open a bank account. Greg and Peter are concerned.

Greg Schroeder’s job expectations are nil. He largely does the hokey pokey and reads out of a really bad phonics book.

He needs to document all of the above in lesson plans. He hasn’t done any work at home just yet. He is also arriving at work at 8:30 am and staying until 7 pm most days. Somehow, this doesn’t seem so bad. He gets pretty good Korean food for free every day during lunch.

There are pretty Korean girls teaching with him (I suspect the students learn something from these women), tolerable to endearing American coworkers, and the screaming, drooling mob is growing on him. First, it was the little girl running away from her mother during a conversation to hug his leg, look up, and smile the way nobody does past age 7.

Then, “Woods” (“Like Tigah Wewds,” according to one of the aforementioned Korean teachers) plays a little prank on Greg. This requires some background.

First, this story assumes you have been around 5 year olds before. If not, you’re SOL.

Otherwise, the school these children attend is 4 stories high. At the end of the day, all the students meet on the 4th floor, in the gym, to say goodbye or something. Greg teaches a class on the 3rd floor.

Classes are notoriously very late for this final meeting. This leads to much screaming, throwing coats and primary colored backpacks, running, and squealing.

The students in Greg’s class use the elevator to move from the 3rd to the 4th floor for the meeting.

Greg herds the class into the elevator. Everyone, even “Kate,” who never does the hokey pokey, is in there. Greg pushes the button, theoretically sending the elevator to the fourth floor. Nothing happens.

Repeat four times.

Greg hears a distinctive giggle.

Woods has been holding down the “door open” button for about 3 minutes. Percy, Sophie, Amy, John, Dave, and even Kate knew it. Everyone except Woods was controlling their laughter. Once again, working with pre-k and kindergarten kids is the only way to know the look on these faces. Somewhere between “This is intoxicatingly fun!” and “You aren’t going to retaliate in a million years so I will do whatever the fuck I want.”

Greg was about to wring Woods’ neck. Okay, not really.

Things go well.

Things are better. Greg should have an apartment on Saturday. Greg is getting his visa, state insurance and all that shizz tomorrow. So we’ll see.

My only problem? I am tired. Here is why. I am working 32 hours in the classroom. My classes are 40 minutes. I should be preparing about 1 hour for each class. Do the math.

Fortunately, I am sleeping a lot.

I just met a canadian who lives on our floor.

He is a drunk. He chainsmokes. He never shuts up. He knows too much about sports.

Baby steps.

Work remains drudgery.

Less overwhelming, but drudgery nonetheless. Classroom control is the worst problem. It is mostly a symptom of failed attempts to filling the remainder of forty minutes that the beloved hokey pokey, “Good morning class,” “Good morning, teachah Glehg!” writing uppercase and lowercase letters by specific mapping, or having students repeat the words “book,” “school,” “cat,” “boy,” “girl, “children,” etc. indefinitely does not fill.

The number of books that choose “alligator” for an early example of letter “a” usage disturbs me deeply.

One perk is the endearing obedience of these jabbering small humanoids when relieving or refreshing themselves.

A quiet “wat-uh” or “bafroom” (maybe “toy-let”), a loud-ish door closing behind them, and they return in a reasonable time.

My sorrows are such that I will plunge them into rice-based wine now. Good evening/day, all of you. Rooming with a mick from Little Italy who has taugh esl for years does not help.

I am taking my medication and being gentlemanly with my drink. There are no pictures of funny things. There is some Engrish around. Expose paper to sunlight moderately I will and donate representation to public eye gracefully.

Drooling, screaming, nose-picking monsters around my ankles.

I taught my first 4 kindergarten classes today.

None of them spoke ANY English. Most of them were at school for the first time.

Most of them required repeated “NO KOREAN” instructions.

Soju is kinda gross.

I also don’t know how to iron. The internet is teaching me. The temperature settings are in Korean on the one I borrow from a fellow teacher.

Something else of note: My internet connection is stolen, and sporadic. Be patient.

Arrival.

Greg Schroeder arrived at Incheon International Airport yesterday at roughly 8:30 am local time. He was fortunate enough to sleep through the vast majority of the journey (Thanks in part to free beer from Korean Airlines) (What airline serves free beer?!)

He is temporarily stuck sharing a single loft with a guy from New York whose name he has already forgotten. He is exasperated with his boss/contact (?) with his employer. He went shopping for a few household staples, including a ton of the Korean equivalent of ramen. His total bill was around 212 bucks.

There’s not a lot else to tell. He desperately wants his own place. He got to bed early, and went out for a walk around 5:30 am.

I think that’s all for now.

The beginning of something.

This morning, ice storms in the Chicago area caused many delays at The Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport (CVG).

There are two delays from CVG that should interest you, dear reader.

a) DL 5281 nonstop service to Chicago, departing 9:05 am est on March 1st.

-Delayed until 10:20 am est

-Cancelled

b) DL5656 nonstop service to Chicago, departing 10:50 am est on March 1st.

-Delayed until 11:30 am est

-Had one pretty flight attendant.

-Did not arrive early enough to connect with KE 38, nonstop service to Incheon International Airport.

I am currently sitting nude in a Ramada Plaza hotel room. It cost 60 bucks, plus tax.

I am waiting for a pizza. It cost 10 bucks.

Korea will have to wait one more day for my wrath.

That is assuming that the standby number “11″ gets me on what I presume will be KE38, nonstop service to Incheon, tomorrow.

The hotel bar is expensive, and the nice man on the airport/hotel shuttle told me the nearest liquor store is two blocks away.

The wind is whistling such that it is audible across a large hotel room. A trip to the liquor store does not sound appealing. I will begin searching for inhalants shortly.