Oh Hey, A Life Changing Concert, Booger Swapping, New Directions

Oh hey, November. Where the hell did you come from? The thing I dreaded most about my return trip to life as Peter Teacher was the really horrendous Korean summer. I am sure there are a lot of people out there who have experienced summers way worse than one will find in Korea, and to these people, I must now politely say I have little to no interest in hearing your opinions. I hate summer here. The bugs, the heat, the ten minute walk to work that leaves you drenched in sweat as you jump around trying to entertain large groups of children who come from a race of people who don't sweat, and therefore don't understand your pit stains the size of a Dakota. Not fun. I guess I spent so much time mentally preparing myself for the upcoming summer, that I didn't really notice that it came, was not that bad, and passed. And here we are. November. And with each passing day, I find myself working steadily towards the half way mark of my second year in Korea, which is now less than three weeks away.

When we last spoke, I was spending a large portion of my mornings working with a group of kindergarten students, aged 3-6, who, on a daily basis, brought a smile to my face and demanded, on an average per student basis, 87 in the air high fives. In early August, we began preparing for the annual kindergarten concert extravaganza. This event brings students' families together to listen to classic English numbers performed by toddlers who don't speak English. Adorable.

Days before the event, I made a comment to one of the Korean teachers, who seemed unusually stressed, about how well the students were doing. And to be honest, they weren't doing that well. The line "What is Sally wearing today? Shoes, socks, pants and a blouse," at best, sounded like, "What sorry wearing day? Shocks, shocks, pans and brouse." As the most fluent English speaker in the room, I of course understood that little Sarah was butchering this song, but my comment about how well she was doing was me working under the assumption that it was a universal understanding that a little kid singing a song is cute. I mean, how can one really expect a person to master a song in another language when said child has yet to learn how to use a toilet? The Korean teacher's reply was something along the lines of, "Just what exactly are you smoking?" She explained to me that Korean parents do not work under the same, 'my child is adorable' mindset that parents of kindergartners do in the West. She said that this concert is kind of a test for the school, and that parents expect their children to be flawless in their renditions of "What is Sally Wearing Today?" I didn't take this concern too seriously, not realizing how serious it actually was.

The day of the concert came, the children performed, butchered it as usual, and once again, I thought they did an excellent job. I was wrong. Boy was I wrong. Two weeks later our little kindergarten closed. The Korean teacher, the same one who weeks before, with panic stricken eyes, told me that the kids weren't good enough, was forced to say goodbye to a job she had held for 8 years, the same amount of time that our kindergarten had been open.

Korea, a country of limited natural resources, considers their children to be their greatest resource. This mindset, though in some ways is maybe really sweet way to value your kids, places an ungodly amount of pressure on students. This is something I have noticed since arriving in Korea nearly two years ago, but I never thought the expectations extended all the way to kids this young. And while I would like to say that I am very open minded to all cultural differences, I can't help but question this practice and mindset. I love Korea, I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity given to me and thousands of other Westerners to come here and help educate their natural resources, but I can't help but feeling sorry for these kids who are stuck in an educational system that all but robs them of a childhood.

Fast forward to today, I am still happily employed, my academy, though once heavily supported by Kindergarten tuition fees, still hosts around 200 elementary and middle school aged students. My schedule is much more like it was last year, I begin my day at 2 and finish around 7 or 8. I love my kids and couldn't be happier with my boss and the environment of the school. And I even got to hang on to two of my favorite Kindergarteners. David and Rosy, who you may remember as happy couple #1 from July's Kindergarten wedding, still attend the school an hour a day for private lessons. This means I get to spend a lot of time with two of my favorite people under the age of 5. We do really fun educational things such as shuffling around the room making peace signs and pretending to be lobsters (I don't really see the connection either, but David gets it, and that is the most important thing). David* has even started calling me father. We have also had lots of fun bonding moments like that time I made him pee a little bit when I popped out from behind a table on Halloween dressed as Shrek, and that time I watched, in what felt like slow motion, as he picked a giant little something from his nose, extended his hand, and then stuck said something in my own nose. As scarring as this may be, if I had to choose a single person in the world to put their own booger in my nose, it would be David, hands down.

What else is there to say? Life really hasn't changed that much. When I am not saying "Listen and repeat, 'film!' 'pillim!' 'No, FFFFFilm' 'pillim!' 'FFFFFIllllllmmmmmm!' 'PILLIM!' 'good job guys! moving on!'," I spend my time watching every reality show with 'New Jersey' in the title, hanging out with my few, but high quality friends, and talking about how we really need to buckle down and start saving money as we debate whether or not to order another bottle of wine. I miss blogging, I miss talking about my life in Korea, but the more time passes, the more this place begins to feel like home. The things that stood once out as being really crazy culture shocks are now, at most, small annoyances in day to day life in a home that is surprisingly comfortable and welcoming. I miss my friends and family (who will be visiting in less than two months!) an insane amount, but I am not quite ready to say goodbye to this great little country. It really scares me how fast this six months has passed, and I am yet prepared to let go of my life here and strap on a name tag as one of the countless, unemployed twenty somethings in the United states. The American job market is not one I feel a strong desire to claw my way into, and I am having a hard time justifying leaving a well paying job that I love just because it is in a country that doesn't match my passport. I have decided to extend my contract for an indefinite amount of time, with an end goal of being home for Christmas in 2012.

In closing, I must admit that my comfort in Korea has made writing in a Korean Culture Shock themed blog harder than it was in the past, but I have realized that I still have a lot to say. I am working on a concept for a new online magazine/online community with a great friend from college, a project which I will keep you updated on in future posts. Love to you all, even those who I have never met, and I wish you all the best.

Until Next Time,
Which Will Hopefully Be Sooner Than It Was Last Time,
Ohhhh Time,

Peter Teacher


* Ladies and Gentlemen, I proudly introduce you to David, as he wishes my brother a happy birthday...

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=669490209221&saved

2-4-6-8 Err'body Immigrate

In December of 2009, I landed at Incheon International Airport for the very first time. Eyes wide and full of innocence, I made my way to customs, pretty unsure of what to expect. I looked over the different signs indicating which group of people should go where, and had a difficult time figuring out in which line I belonged. I was certain that I did not belong in the returning Korean citizens line, was pretty sure that the big fancy Visa in my passport disqualified me from the tourist line... this left the immigrant group, but that couldn't possibly be it, I am not an immigrant, I am an American... where was the American line? Hamburger? Anyone?

Then the realization began to dawn, I am an immigrant, and all of the stigmas and stereotypes, benefits, drawbacks and and blatant racism that comes with being assigned this line at customs, suddenly belonged to me. Now that a year and a half has passed since the dawning of my identity at the customs counter, I have found myself frequently examining my role as an immigrant. Is everything I am doing now reflecting not only on myself, but foreigners as a whole, or more specifically, foreign teachers in Korea? Should I be taking offense to the mass numbers of people who come here thinking of it as nothing but a year long vacation, and never acknowledging the fact that Korean families are paying a lot of money for their kids to be educated by foreign teachers?

I will rewind a moment and make the honest statement that in my year and 2 months in South Korea I have felt incredibly welcomed. Almost all of the people I have met here are very hospitable, and any different treatment I have received because I am a foreigner has mostly been embarrassingly in my favor. That being said, the demographic of Korean people who are less than thrilled about the invasion of the foreign English teacher on their homogeneous nation is small, but not insignificant.

When Korean school owners hire foreign teachers, the only contact they have with said teacher before their arrival in Korea is often a simple phone call and a photo. And while many of the foreign teachers here are very qualified for their jobs and their bosses are happy they made the hiring choice they did, it isn't uncommon to come across someone who is, how do I put this nicely... a massive weirdo. The incidence of the weirdo population amongst us immigrants has led to the invention of our technological replacement. I have to imagine that grocery store clerks feel about self checkout lanes the way I feel about this little gadget, designed specifically to replace the foreign weirdo in the Korean classroom. Blog readers (mom)... allow me to introduce you to the aptly named, English Teaching Robot.



According to an article on i09.com, $45 million will be spent by the South Korean government to bring the English Teaching Robot to 500 preschools and Kindergartens by 2011, and 8,000 schools by 2013. The plan is in motion, if the robot is as successful as tests have indicated it will be, to bring the robot to Elementary schools by 2015. And in all fairness, with how technologically advanced this country is, this robot is maybe not a terrible idea. Honestly, it probably does a much better job than some of my previous coworkers... (see... The Best Outing of a Dick Since Watergate from February, 2010)

The robot is a peaceful solution to the discrimination against the foreign teacher, but some people have taken it a step further. Check out this article from the LA Times entitled "Korean Activists Target Foreign Teachers." (http://articles.latimes.com/2010/jan/31/world/la-fg-korea-english31-2010jan31) The article shines a light on a middle-aged Korean man named Yie Eun-woong, who spends his free time heading an anti foreign teacher organization which specializes in researching (pronounced stalking) foreign teachers with hopes of catching them in an 'immoral act' which they can then report to schools, parents of students, and, when appropriate, Korean authorities. The article says, "Then he follows them, often for weeks at a time, staking out their apartments, taking notes on their contacts and habits." Fun!

A simple Naver (Korea's Google) search of 'Anti English Teacher' brought me to this image, depicting the different sections of an English Teacher's Brain.



Again, in all fairness, this is a not entirely an unfair stereotype when looking at a small percentage of English teachers in Korea. But, on a larger scale, is this stereotype not applicable to a decent sized demographic in any population? And, to go back to my original question, are all immigrants expected to conduct a personal lifestyle under the assumption that every action will reflect the morals of their race and or immigrant status as a whole?

An article in The Global Post attributes a big uprising of anti-English teacher sentiments to a Halloween party at a club in Seoul in 2008, where several foreign teachers were photographed with scantily clad Korean women. Though these women were dressed in Halloween costumes (which, if you have seen Mean Girls, you understand is synonymous with scantily clad) and were at the party based on their own choosing, the publication of these photos, in the eyes of many Korean traditionalists, reflected negatively on the English teaching population. These photos, mixed with a few highly publicized drug arrests of English teachers, inspired the formation of the activist group "Citizens of Right Education." The group, which currently has over 17,000 members, has a mission of eliminating foreign teachers from South Korea.

Though those who support the presence of foreign teachers in Korea far outnumber those who oppose it, the activists' statements have not been entirely ignored by the government. The activist inspired fear that the spread of HIV was due to the new influx of foreigners has resulted in the mandatory HIV testing of all Visa holders upon entering the country.

This blog post has gone in a different direction than originally intended, and I will leave the examples of anti-immigrant feelings in Korea here. I again feel that I strongly need to emphasize that I do not feel unwelcome in Korea. For every 1 person who dislikes the presence of foreign teachers, there are 100 smiling students and parents thanking us for moving across the world to help educate Korean children.

I guess the biggest thing I have learned from my immigrant status, beside the understanding that my actions do not only reflect myself, but my demographic as a whole, is that we all have to have a bit of understanding for immigrants in own countries. When I returned home last December, I felt aggressively defensive when I heard comments along the lines of, "and my gardener doesn't speak a damn word of English, you are in our country, learn our language." Moving to a new country is a huge life step, one which comes with many challenges you wouldn't expect. Your gardener, waiter, taxi driver, English teacher... they are all working a full time job, and are trying to support themselves and maybe an entire family with probably not a very high paying job. (And not everyone is as lucky as I am to be an immigrant in a country with such great health care...)Learning a language is hard, and you have no right to assume that they are not doing, to the best of their abilities, what they can to learn the native language. The most important thing to remember is that we are all people, and with that human title, you will find a lot of really great individuals, and some massive weirdos in the mix, but you should not judge someone based on their immigrant stamp in a passport.

Much love to you all, unless of course you are Yie Eun-woong...

Peter Teacher

In Sickness and in Health, Until Lunch Time Do We Part

Do you take (Bride/Groom Name) to be your lawful wedded (wife/husband) to have and hold from this day on, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?

What powerful, truly moving words. These words have brought together bajillons of couples across the world, and have, in all likeliness, been around for hundreds of thousands of years. I would be willing to wager a pretty won piece that these words were spoken over some of the most signifigant weddings of all time. They surly must have been said at the nuptials of Fred and Wilma, they were whispered with quiet elegance at the union of King Louis XVI and Kirsten Dunst, were enunciated loudly and clearly in attempts to drown out the sounds of slot machines as two became one in season 5 of Friends when Ross and Rachel were joined together, and most recently, were said with fun accents as the balding prince married that British woman who may or may not have once been a Spice Girl. So much history, and I, Peter Ramsey Teacher, had the blessed opportunity to be a part of these historic, binding words, just a few weeks ago.

The three couples were aged 6 and under. The joyous occasion occurred on 'role play day' in which the 12 students were meant to experience life outside the comfort bubble of Kindergarten. The 3 boys to 9 girls student ratio unfortunately made marriage impossible for 6 of the students, but they happily joined the audience as they wished the lucky girls who were able to snag a boy the best in their new married life, all the while mentally preparing to buy a bevy of feline life partner substitutes.

Before the weddings, myself and the other foreign teacher, Eric, along with the two Korean teachers who were orchestrating the entire event, helped all of the girls dress up in aprons and hairnets so they can prepare for their future. The boys arrived in nice shirts and ties and were promptly given fake cell phones. Despite the fact that they were all really happy and it was pretty hilarious, I couldn't help but imagine the reaction of Western parents when they were told that their little girl was dressed up in an apron to experience what life would be like in the future.

Next, the three girls who were up for gettin' hitched changed from their aprons into a more appropriate floral table cloth and veil, and the wedding ceremonies began. I was told to play the role of 'father of the bride' and Eric presided over the weddings. The kids were elated to be getting married, and when David was told that he may now kiss the bride, he ignored the Korean teacher's directions to kiss her cheek, and planted a big, wet kiss on Rosie's surprised lips. I will take a brief moment to share with you the story of David and Rosie. These toddlers are in love and have been for quite some time. Being given the opportunity to marry Rosie clearly was a highlight in David's 3 years on Earth. His huge smile and "V" sign in every photo instantly made me forgive the cultural sexism brought on by the aprons. He even was able to go an entire class period without peeing himself, which made the day extra special for them both. Take a look...



When the weddings were over, the girls broke into groups of three and went into different 'house' stations. Each of the three boys were assigned a house, and in turn, their wife and two live in girls. Polygamists? Bunnies? I guess we will never know. The girls once again put on their aprons and began fussing about their 'kitchens' complete with plastic food sets, and the boys took their phones and sat in a fake car as they went on a 'business trip.' When they returned, it was time to go to sleep. They sprawled themselves out on the floor and went to sleep. David seized the moment, and I watched in amazement as, with one hand, he did the yawn stretch arm around Rosie move, and plopped the other hand right in a place it really should not have been. The next morning, of course, all of the girls woke up pregnant.

Thus, the day of role play came to a close. The couples did not last, Daniel (pictured below) is no longer attending Kid's Land Academy, David is still visably in love with Rosie, but recently she has been giving a lot of attention to the other boy in the class named Lion. I guess being potty trained really is a way to get the ladies, and David has a long way to go.

Until Next Time,

Peter Teacher

Boomerangs

Warning: This is a pretentious, self examining, angsty post that is not what I usually try to write. I have been blogally absent for a long time and have been terrible at keeping in touch, and I felt like I need a good transition post to explain what has been going on for the past several weeks before I go back to writing about life as a teacher in Korea, and things like poop, elevators, and kimchi . You have been warned.

"What I've written here is a message to myself. I toss it into the air like a boomerang. It slices through the dark, lays the little soul of some poor kangaroo out cold, and finally comes back to me. But the boomerang that returns is not the same one I threw. Boomerang, boomerang." -Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami

This is a really deep quote, which I would like to think I sort of understand. I will now take the opportunity to twist, bend and stretch it into an introduction for my first blog post in over a month, a theme which will attempt to explain my life, mindset, and absence, since arriving in Korea in early June.

Through several long minutes of self reflection before writing this post, I came to the realization that since my graduation from Emerson in 2009, I have been throwing out life boomerangs in a never ending experiment to discover just who the hell I am, and where it is in this world that I belong.

I came back from Korea and thought I could easily return to the life that I left in Boston. I quickly discovered that the self boomerang I had thrown when I left for Korea (god this is getting deep) was not the same boomerang that came back, and I found that I didn't know how to approach life in a new way in a once familiar city that no longer felt like home. This is when I began the process of making the decision that ultimately brought me back to Korea. Was this the right decision to make? Was I living life under the same mindset that brought me back to Boston, returning to what is comfortable and not accepting change? When I got back to Korea, though it was amazing catching up with friends, eating the food I have missed so much, and creating bonds with new students, I was really scared to realize that in the 6 short months since I had left, my boomerang had once again changed. I really felt that I had made a horrible decision to come back for another year as Peter Teacher, but unlike my non-committal return tour around Boston, I am contractually obligated to stay here for a full year. This terrified me in my first few weeks, and I haven't really been keeping in touch with anyone because I didn't want to have to explain what I was thinking. Perhaps feeling comfortable enough now to examine the situation and angistly convey it to my readers (mom) is a good sign that things are looking up.

I am still not 100% convinced that coming back was the right decision, but have discovered a new found comfort in understanding that there is no right and wrong decision. Part of life is gaining an understanding that your boomerang is going to change, and that lack of comfort I have found in my my return to Korea is what is going to inspire change in another direction. This year I hope to use this change and my new perspective to create an even more rewarding experience than in Korea Round I.

Now that all of this angst and self pity is out of the way... expect a new post very soon. I have missed posting and am looking forward to sharing stories of weddings amongst 5 year olds, monsoon season, and dog meat. Until next time,

Peter Teacher

Racism, Muppets and Supermodels: A Tale of Travel

This is my first post written from my apartment in Seoul. I now have a full Korea Round II week under my belt, and am happy to say that things are going pretty well. It has been truly wonderful seeing my friends I have missed so much since I left last December, I have eaten my body weight in Korean BBQ in the past week and loved every minute of it, and I even got the chance to sing Norebang until 8 am. That being said, during my period of readjustment, I have experienced every emotion ranging from near hysterical giddiness to mental breakdown/get me the hell out of here. I honestly can't say that I trust trust the consistency of my thoughts enough to talk about life here yet. So, while I am en route to once again loving life as Peter Teacher, I will share with you the story of my return voyage to Seoul.

I love traveling, but I absolutely hate the process of international travel. Sitting that long in seats that small is just not something a human being is built to do. When I finally boarded my plane in Los Angeles, I made my way to the seat which would be my new home for 13+ hours, and was once again comforted to see how much Asiana Airlines one-ups United in every possible way. I was seated at the window, next to an ancient Korean man, the rough size and build of your average Muppet. Next to him was a young Indian woman. The idea of sitting next to two foreigners visibly repulsed this older, stale cigarette smoke smelling gentlemen, and the second I was seated, he began aggressively pounding upon the flight attendant call button. She politely asked how she could be of assistance, and he barked out a Korean version of "get me the hell away from these foreigners." I don't speak Korean, so I can't say exactly what her response was, but given that he remained my seat partner for the duration of the flight, I got the general gist of the answer he received.

Shortly after takeoff, in a continued act of aggression, he began what would become a 13 hour 'jam my elbow into the foreigner sitting next to me' fest. Sleeping in economy class is pretty damn difficult if you ask me, now imagine doing so with a hacking/wheezing/racist Muppet constantly elbowing you in the ribs. The first hour or so I decided to ignore it and politely try to give him time to let it all out, hoping that the elbowing would subside. It did not. After that, I began overly emphasizing my shock and disapproval at each nudge. After another hour or so I began grabbing his elbow each time I felt it buried in my side, and would politely push it back into his designated space. This just seemed to make him even more dedicated to his little Nazi game. In a last attempt to get some sleep, I decided to use my blanket as my pillow, and my pillow to build a protective shield against his ancient, very pointy elbow. Finally I was able to sleep. I must have been out a good five or six minutes when I felt yet another jab in my side. I opened my eyes to discover that he had taken my pillow to use as his own, and was giggling maliciously at what he clearly thought was an act of brilliance. "Mine!" I yelled as I grabbed at my pillow with the composure of Ramona Quimby, age 8. In retrospect, do I regret this act of toddler-esque behavior on my end? Not at all. I would do it again. This barricade building/stealing exercise was repeated several more times throughout the remainder of the flight, and needless to say, I was not at all sad to say goodbye to my little racist neighbor.

I landed in Korea grumpy and physically/mentally exhausted. My interactions with my neighbor had unfortunately reminded me of the downside to being a minority in a country where the nationality of its citizens coincides with their respective race, the Korean food from the airplane was really not agreeing with me, and my decision to pack my belt while going through security meant that, at any moment, I ran the risk of my pants falling to my ankles. It is with this charming collection of emotions that I went through customs, and picked up my obnoxiously large suitcases.

If you have seen me during the months of May through September, you may have noticed that I sweat, like kind of a lot, and this moment was no exception. I guess this is how I didn't fully appreciate the level if attention the two young white women standing in line in front of me were receiving. As we waited to leave customs, I began to notice an increasing number of people asking to be photographed with them. If you have ever been to Asia and are not Asian yourself, you have probably had your photograph taken by complete strangers not too infrequently, but this was just ridiculous. As we walked towards the sliding doors to exit from the international section into the main airport area, I began to hear a loud roar. The doors opened into a scene I have only seen on television, as over 200 Korean paparazzi and fans waited just outside the doors, obsessively photographing these women, who I later found out were visiting Australian supermodels. In order to get out of the roped off area, one had to walk in front of what felt like all members of the Korean press before fully exiting the range of their cameras, and I just happened to walk out with the two people they were all there to photograph.

Looking back, the level of panic I felt at this moment was completely irrational. In a better state of mind I may have actually even enjoyed it. Instead, I began to sweat even more profusely, and broke into a run to get of their way, effectively knocking all of my 4 suitcases off of the cart. I have since spent no less than 3 hours on Google trying to find pictures of the Australian supermodels, with sweaty grumpy me bending over trying to not only collect my belongings, but avoid being photographed and prevent the exposure of crackage sans belt.

This week has moved at the pace of a snail, and I do have many thoughts to share in upcoming posts. Stay tuned for more news of life in Korea.

Love to you all from South Korea-

Peter Teacher

PS... Should you feel the need to send me letters and or hummos, it is much appreciated! I promise to return the favor with a box of Korean something. My address is...

Peter Teacher
Yes Kids Land
3F 195-13, Gocheok 2-Dong, Guro-gu
Seoul 152-831
South Korea

Peter Pooper, PHD; An Epic Journey of Defication, Snot and Tears

Note: This post has little to nothing to do with Korea. Why are you writing it on a Korea themed blog, you may ask? Because I want to, and let me say, I don't appreciate your attitude. I am leaving for Korea on May 27th, at which time I will once again begin my Korea themed posts, but until then....


One of the weirdest things I have discovered about getting older is finding myself earning titles that I thought had been reserved for grownups, titles such as 'teacher.' While sharing beers and funny classroom stories with peers who also work in the field of education, I can't help but picture my grade school teachers sharing funny stories of my awkward childhood antics in years past. Though I can now say I handle every situation in the most dignified way possible, this was not always the case...

Allow me to take you back to 1993, the year of Mrs. Doubtfire and Jurassic Park, the end of the first Bush presidency, and my entry into the public school system. I was a rotund little 5 year old, eager to make friends and a big fan of the playground. I often would play a game I credited myself with inventing, entitled Swans, in which myself and several females in my kindergarten class would run around the playground squawking, and, well, pretending to be swans. Good times. This was also the year in which I admitted to the other swans that I was the only atheist in my Kindergarten class, a mistake which caused me a week long stint as the lone bird on the playground. (This is where I learned the important and lasting lesson that, for the sake of avoiding drama and evangelism amongst fellow 5 year olds, it is sometimes best to lie about your religious beliefs.) This also happened to be the year of my most publicized pant pooping experience to date.

It was a bright Saturday morning and my friend, who we will name Chingu (which just so happens to be the Korean word for friend) invited me to join him and his family at my absolute favorite location. You guessed it. The playground. Little did I know, we would not be going to the comforting Kindergarten playground I had become so familiar with. We would be playing on the middle school playground, a place not even I could feel confident enough to flap my long graceful swan wings. Enough time has passed and I now feel okay with saying this... the middle school playground sucked. There was no equipment, no tree that could play host to a gaggle of child swan humans, just a big dumb brick wall on which a bunch of thuggish looking 6th graders were playing a brutal game known to prepubescents who had yet to discover drinking, as 'wall ball.' Lost and insecure, totally out of my element, and with an uncomfortable cramping feeling in my stomach, 5 year old me felt like the end was nigh.

That's when it happened, that special, God given moment that tells you, wow, you really, really have to poop. I waddled over to Chingu's mom, asking for help in finding the middle school bathroom, a terrifying experience in and of itself. In my defense, I would have to assume that a responsible adult would walk said kindergartner to said bathroom. In her defense, she had several other children and a baby who she was responsible for. She chose to give me directions to the bathroom, which, in retrospect, were far too much for my swan brain to handle. I began to waddle/trot/flap in the direction I had been pointed in when it happened. I pooped. And not a graceful swan poop. I pooped a big, human, macaroni and cheese poop, right in my Thomas the Tank Engine overalls.

Not having the poise I now possess to handle things appropriately when I shit myself as an adult, I chose to return to the playground instead of going to the bathroom and cleaning my soiled self. I awkwardly finished the remaining rounds of wall ball, poop in pants, until it was time to leave the horrible playground of West Jefferson Middle School. On the ride back to the house, the occupants of the car began to complain about the really awful stench in the minivan. "It smells like shit in here!" they said, using language that was probably a bit more appropriate than my memory suggests. I sat in the back seat, red faced, awkwardly clenching my buttocks and beginning to sweat. We pulled over at the closest gas station so Chingu's mother could run in and change the baby. She returned to the car with a confused look on her face, "Her diaper was clean," she said. This was the first and last time I attempted to blame a baby for my mistake.

Realizing that, as the one person who had not complained about the smell wafting throughout the car, I was the most suspicious, I decided to offer, "Well, I think one of the 6th graders farted on me while we were playing wall ball." This would certainly throw them off my trail, after all, everyone knows how pungent a 6th grader's fart can be.

We finally pulled into my driveway, at which point I flung open the sliding minivan door, yelped a quick goodbye, and bolted into the house. Safe at last. There is no way they would ever know that I was the cause of the awful smell in the car. Unless they chose to smell the seat on which I had been sitting... or noticed that the smell decreased significantly once I had left the car...

This is how I got the nickname Peter Pooper. At least it distracted the other swans from the unfortunate atheist debacle of week before.

Next, we will journey ahead 4 years to 1998. I am now a proud fifth grader, and the incidents of pant pooping have long since passed. Chingu had transferred to another school, I had cool baggy jeans and an awesome t-shirt with Leonardo and Kate embracing over a doomed ship, I frequently wore some really cool, giant, lime green sunglasses which took up half of my face and complimented my bowl haircut... I was the shit. Thankfully, not literally.

This was the year that a new craze swept our school in the form of beaded lizards. These little guys could be made by any 10 year old with even partial access to basic motor skills, a bucket of beads, and dental floss, and were the coolest thing since Reading Rainbow. My fifth grade class received a formal invitation to an anti drug assembly in the gym, and we graciously chose to accept. Not wishing to flaunt my beaded lizard at an event as serious as an elementary level anti drug rally, I chose to leave the lizard in my desk. When we returned to the classroom, our heads full of newly learned drug knowledge, I skipped over to my desk, excited to impart my new wisdom to my lizard friend. The lizard was gone! GONE! You inform 5th graders of the existence of narcotics and the whole world goes to hell. I did what any macho 5th grader would do in this situation, and burst into tears. And these weren't just any tears. I am talking gut wrenching sobs mixed with big currents of snot jetting uncontrollably from my nose. I seem to recall a calm, collected, angel Peter sitting on my shoulder saying, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! This is humiliating! It is a beaded lizard for God's sake man, pull yourself together!"

In this moment of clarity, I realized that I had taken a step in a really humiliating direction that, depending on the outcome of the next few minutes, could be comparable to the social backlash which occurred circa the pooping incident of 1993. Everyone had seen me throwing a giant sized hissy fit, but no one yet knew the cause. Taking the opportunity to exercise my powers of embellishment, I chose to tell a little white lie to justify my clearly over the top reaction. Not ONLY had my lizard been stolen, but I decided to tell my confused classmates that a notebook, pen, and $15 had also been taken from my cubby. (Keep in mind, in 5th grade, $15 is like $200,000,000 as an adult in this economy.) Thus began the witch hunt in Mrs. Lambert's 5th grade classroom. No one was safe as we began the search for my pen, notebook, and money which did not, in fact, exist. Needless to say, an item that never existed can't be found, so the search proved fruitless, but I'd like to think that my tears were the tiniest bit justified.

These stories haunted me through my time in public education, but I have recently come to realize that the horribly embarrassing events of childhood become almost fond memories as one becomes an adult. And as I have found myself beginning to share these stories, I have been happy to learn that everyone has pant shitting, tear snotting stories of their own. This is why I invite you to share these stories in the comment box below. (How transparent is it that I just really want you to comment? Tell me about your poop, but more importantly, tell me if you are reading! Thanks Mom!)

Thanks for reading, and until next time...

Peter (in 3 weeks) Teacher

Life Thoughts as Reflected Through Telemarketing; This Blog May Be Recorded For Quality Assurance Purposes

I have just over a month before I head back to the ROK (republic of Korea), and as each day passes, I find myself more and more excited about sinking back into my old life as Peter Teacher.

Paychecks for teachers in Korea are deposited once a month, which means you are expected to arrive with enough funds to last the 4+ weeks until payday. Let's just say I do not have these funds. Like not even a little bit. This is how I have found myself spending the past few weeks applying for every job I can find in hopes that I can get a few paychecks in before I leave for Korea. Trying to find a job that will hire you for a month unfortunately tends to limit the places one can search for such a job. And let me assure you, the craigslist gigs section truly does seem to provide as strange (pronounced sleazy) of an experience as one would imagine.

The best way to describe my outlook on life as reflected through the Craigslist job market is summed up in one word, a word that until recently, I thought I had made up. After conducting a bit more research, it turns out that it is an actual word, and oddly enough, I have almost been using it correctly. Smarmy.


Instead of taking this opportunity to share the dictionary definition of Smarmy (because, sadly, the real definition is a bit of a stretch from how I have been, and will keep on using it) I will provide you with some smarmy anecdotes of the past month, and hope that you will come to accept my interpretation of this really great word.

Estimated Fact: Over 50% of the jobs I have applied for over Craigslist have turned out to be scams.
Fun Fact: Scams are smarmy.
Probable Fact: Most scammers have bad teeth.

I have received several reply emails saying that I am hired as the personal assistant of a suspiciously non googleable attorney who is out of the country on business. Said attorney then asks for my Social Security number so they can setup payment for the tasks they will ask me to complete while they are out of town.

SMARMY.


Another "job offer" was from a company called City Reviewing Company, who even went so far as to FedEx me a check for $2,000 (which ScamAlert sites have assured me was, well, bouncy), saying that before I cashed this check, I needed to wire them $1,500, oh, and pass along my social security number. Do people actually fall for this stuff? I guess the first sign should have been the wording of the email they sent, which, for a company specializing in writing, was comparable to the writing quality of some of the papers I graded while in Korea. Here is a paragraph taken from their email. (On a side note, if you have any interest in livening up your blog reading experience, this can easily be turned into a drinking game! Take a shot every time you see the word 'necessary.')

"City Reviewing Company will provide you necessary funds to carry out these restaurant review and store review. We will also provide you with the necessary fund you need to write reviews of the restaurants and a store. We will also need you to provide us with the necessary information which is necessary to document you as one of our review writers and this information will also apply to your compensation and necessary information City Reviewing Company will need to send to you. Below are the necessary information requested; Once the necessary information is provided, we will be able to make all necessary arrangement and send you necessary information for you to begin the reviews of the restaurants and store. You must have the seriousness and devotion necessary to writing a sincere and perfect review."

SMARMY.

Not all smarmy Craigslist positions scam the job searcher per say, which is why I actually went as far as to accept one of these smarmy positions as a telemarketer. I had a brief foray as a telemarketer before I left for Korea in 2009, how bad could it be?

I arrived on my first day expecting at least an entire shift of training. The training period lasted less than 5 minutes, and before I knew it, I was reading from a script and harassing people all across the nation. My 5 minutes of training didn't really allow ample time to ask questions about what exactly it was I was selling, and the script I was reading from was long, horribly written, and completely incomprehensible. The one rule I was told during "training" was that I must stick to the script with absolutely no variations. I was even chastised for throwing in an improvised 'how are you' in my first call.

One must make the assumption that if I didn't understand what it was I was selling, the customer really had no idea. For the first hour of my shift, I was under the impression that I was sending magazine subscribers a $100 gift card as a thank you for their subscription to one of 200 magazines. After an hour or so of having little to no idea what it was I was saying to these people, it dawned on me that the gift card only came when the person on the other end of the phone (typically old and confused) handed over their credit card number and unknowingly agreed to extend their subscription by 60 months (60 months is around 5 years. Who, may I ask, subscribes to a magazine 5 years at a time?) being charged a total of $5 a week. Let's do the math... $5 a week for 60 months comes to a whopping total of $1,300. For a magazine subscription. Wtf.

SMARMY.

At this moment I realized that my morals outweighed my need for a paycheck, and I quit my job as Peter Telemarketer after an hour and a half. As I drove home from my first and only shift, I felt fortunate to be in a position where I could stand up for my morals, and felt really sad for the people who have worked there for weeks, months, even years, having no other options than scamming old people out of their money for 40 hours a week just so they can put food on their table. Surprisingly enough, I received a paycheck in the mail yesterday for $14. I guess that is the going rate for joining the ranks of scammers.

I have since changed my job approach, realizing that I would rather eat Korean Ramen (MUCH better than American Ramen) for my first month than play into the smarmy practices of these really awful companies.

This post is now about 50% longer than planned, so I will wrap up with the best news of this week, received just after an interview with an adult sized diaper company. My friend Megan helped me get a temp position at an office in Denver, beginning this upcoming Monday, doing work that is in no way smarmy. In this economy, can you really ask for anything more?

Until Next Time,

PETER PERSON