Just a Little Bit Different

Everyone keeps asking me what it is like over here. I know you're all curious and quite disappointed when I tell you that my life here is not much different than my life back in Hawaii. Well, other than the cold, cold weather and the hell that all brings to my existence (see post below). But truth be told, my life really hasn't changed all that much.

Okay, I'll grant you that there are some radically different sights here. Like, for example, pigs' heads proudly displayed in front of new businesses. "Hey! Welcome to the grand opening of our new flower shop! Please step over the pig's head." That's always a little weird. So is the fact that motorcycles drive on the sidewalks and people walk on the streets. That's kind of crazy (and also attributes to the fact that Seoul has one of the highest vehicular death rates in the world). Or seeing well dressed businessmen stumbling around drunk in the middle of the afternoon. Better yet, disheveled businessmen leaving soju tents** at 7 o'clock in the morning to return to the office after a hard night of "corporate bonding." (soju tents are little orange tents set up on the sidewalk -- out of the way of the motorcycles, mind you -- where Korean rot gut booze is slurped in copious quantities) Or the smell of bundaegi -- simmered silk worm pupae eaten like we would corn nuts (well, I eat corn nuts) -- wafting on the cold Korean air... er... smog.

So, yeah, there are some differences. But basically, my life here is quite the same as ever, with just little twists. The Burger King on post here even has an indoor playground. It's fun for the kids to have something so familiar and a great place to have a little playdate. We were there the other day for lunch prior to dropping Reilly Kate off at preschool. As I was distributing the chicken tenders and french fries, a fashionably dressed, plump middle aged woman sporting a smile bigger than my King sized Diet Coke came up to me.

"Excuse me," she said in heavily accented English (which means it sounded like, "Eggs-uh Cue-suh me"). "Are these your babies?"

Now, my initial reaction was to look and see what havoc my demon spawn had wreaked. I'm thinking that this lady just had ketchup smeared all over her $700 Manolo Blahnik leopard print mules by my shoe obsessed son and she's looking for some reparations. But before terror could get a firm grip on me, she shoved a card in my hand and said, "I am international modeling agent. Do your baby model for picture?"

"No. I mean... We've had their pictures taken at Sears," I told her as if Sears Portrait Studio was just down the street.

"Can I take your baby picture?" she asked while turning on her digital camera and motioning towards the kids. "I can take? I can take?"

"Ummm... Sure. If they will let you." I really don't care if people take pictures of my kids. Even while living in Hawaii, there were plenty of Japanese tourists who would take pictures of my kids. So we're kind of used to it. Just here in Korea the picture taking thing is like ten fold. But whatever. Pictures, if my kids are willing to pose for them, are harmless.

She began happily snapping away. Roman, of course, refused to play her game, hiding underneath the table as soon as he saw the camera. Not easily thwarted, Ajuma (Korean word for older and/or married woman) ducked under the table to snap his picture. When she came back up, she pointed at Reilly Kate who was sitting at the table playing with her new Sponge Bob toy (by the way, the only reason Reilly Kate likes going to fast food joints is for the cheap, plastic toy).

"It's okay? It's okay I take picture?" Ajuma asked.

I nodded, grabbed my King sized Diet Coke and headed up for a refill leaving my children in the hands of a total stranger with a camera. Crazy by American standards, but quite the norm in these parts. So I filled up my half gallon drum of pop and turned around to find, Reilly Kate now standing on top of her chair with Ajuma taking her measurements. No kidding. This woman must have had a tape measure in her pocket. Height. Waist. Head. Shoulders. Arm length. Inseam. Writing it all down in a small little notebook.

I just stood there and watched. It was really quite the sight. A crowded American Burger King at lunch time. Children running wildly, playing in the playground. GIs munching burgers. Old timers sipping coffee. Nothing out of the norm sans one crazy Korean lady taking my kid's measurements as she stands atop a chair. Roman, at this point, had come out of his hiding spot under the table and was now rifling through Ajuma's purse. She turned and caught him just as he was about to pull her wallet out. I think he was a little embarrassed because he just stood there, like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar... or an older woman's purse, and let her take his picture. Then he got the whole measurement treatment, too. This time, she put him on top of the table, I guess so he couldn't run and hide from her.

The whole ordeal took less than five minutes. She was pretty efficient. She then asked for some information from me like their names, ages, our phone number, that kind of thing. As I'm writing this stuff down, she started taking pictures of ME! And that's where I draw the line. Let me tell you, I'll put my kids out there. Sure. They're young and don't know any better. But I am NOT going to get myself into some measly $300 contract to model along side a kimchi fridge or hawk some ginseng magic potion on SkyLife home shopping channels. No way. Not this fat foreigner.

Of course, I didn't say that to her. I just put my hand up, squinted as hard as I could creating wrinkles I hope don't naturally appear for another 15 years, and tucked my chin back quadrupling my already double chin. That, if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, is the international signal for "Don't take my fucking picture!"

So Ajuma went merrily on her way, click clacking in her overpriced shoes, to get herself a Whopper with Cheese. I myself sat there eating the kids' meals (which is the only reason I go to fast food joints) while they played. Everything seemed back to normal. Children playing. Moms gossiping. Employees stealing french fries. Normal America. Until. Seoul struck again.

Not five minutes after Ajuma sat down and started feasting on her #1 with cheese, another fashionably dressed Ajuma came up to me. This one had much better English, really great hair, and a hot little bod for someone I imagine has ten years on me.

"Excuse me. Is she your baby?" Ajuma the Second asked. Deja vu was hitting me like pounds to my derriere. Again, I immediately scanned the play area to find Reilly Kate assuming that she had just smacked this woman's granddaughter upside the head with her Sponge Bob plastic toy.

"I am international modeling agent," she said as she thrust her card into my hand. I could only laugh and nod. It was ridiculous, honestly. I was sitting in Burger King being recruited by "international modeling agents." How insane is this?

Again, we went through the picture taking and the measurements and the name, age, and phone numbers. She only took note of Reilly Kate, though, since Roman, wise to this modeling game now, was hiding under the slide. Just as she was finishing up, Ajuma the First came storming into the play area, cell phone in hand. She confronted the Second and the two of them started yammering in rapid fire Korean. I haven't a clue what they were saying to one another, but I can tell you this: it wasn't a friendly exchange of professional curtesies. The other American moms within earshot were all looking on in horrified confusion and the children, all oblivious to it (except Roman who stayed well hidden), played like this was simply another day in paradise. And I... well, I just sat there munching my kids' chicken tenders enjoying the drama.

They were still in deep discussion (or negociations) when it was time for us to leave. Both Ajumas independently had to tell me that they would be calling me soon. But it seemed that they were parting amicably. Too bad. I was kind of hoping they would throw down on the mat in the play area and give us all a demonstration of Korean wrestling.

So see? My life isn't that much different than yours. I'm just a little more entertained while doing my daily tasks than you are. Boredom is not a problem I will have while living here. Oh, and as an aside, Ajuma the Second called later that night to have Reilly Kate do a catalog photo shoot the following afternoon. I told her to piss off. I don't whore my kids out to just anybody afterall. At least not on a school day.