Short anecdotes seem to work best lately.

This past weekend I had a moment.

I bitch about Korea all the time. There’s plenty to bitch about. The culture is infuriatingly and blatantly hierarchical, repressive, sexist, xenophobic,  and arguably just plain-old backward.

Imagine a place so repressive toward women that one smiles a little on the inside seeing a lady smoking a cigarette on the street, just because to do so is a remarkably bold, rebellious step. A Korean woman who smokes in public may, depending on the neighborhood, draw stares, whispers about promiscuity, and in some circumstances, a loud, abusive dressing-down from elderly strangers.

But then, there was a moment Saturday night that reminded me that this place isn’t all bad.

I was hanging out in front of the convenience store, on one of the chairs provided for just this purpose, drinking the metric equivalent of a double-deuce, with a skateboard at my feet. I see flashing red and blue lights.

The car with the flashing lights comes closer, and then turns left in front of me. I flinch for a minute. I don’t even have a brown paper bag. Regardless, I take another gulp, and put the can down on the table in front of me, also provided for this specific activity.

The cop in the passenger seat smiles, waves, and pulls away