A Note About Paul (Updated)

A while back, I wrote an article about some issues I have regarding teaching in Korea, which had a few tertiary complaints about my job.

Specifically, I talked about a student, Paul, and his lack of caring about class.

In short, after a massive enrollment drive, our academy swelled with fresh blood. Some of these students were great, but some, like Paul, were awful. Paul never even attempted his homework, never attempted his quiz, never did anything in class whatsoever. Here’s a note from the first few days of class.

I was hoping that the desk teachers would do something about this. After all, thirteen out of the fifteen students in this class are awesome, despite being very low-level speakers. The desk teachers, I thought, needed to be aware of the situation, needed to talk to Paul and his parents about some solution to his behavior.

My hopes were for naught. It seemed that they were ignoring my notes. I even sent them a few email messages, to no avail.

Here’s a note I sent a few weeks later:

At this point, I was losing hope. My goal at this time was to make sure all of the students were learning, but this kid was just an anchor in the class, hiding in the back, speaking Korean, laughing when he got Fs on his homework or zeroes on his quiz.

On one occasion, he claimed that he needed to leave class early for taekwondo, when in reality he just went AWOL for an hour. The next class, I told him that he shouldn’t lie. I don’t lie to my students, so they shouldn’t lie to me. I had another student explain this to him in Korean, and then I asked him where he went for that hour.

His response? “Taekwondo.”

*facepalm*

After laughing about getting a zero on the quiz that day, I pulled him out and class and brought him to the desk teacher, and explained the problem. Paul doesn’t understand any English, and I’m not allowed to use Korean, so it would be somewhat impossible for me to explain the issue to this particular student.

I’m not sure if the staff ever informed his parents about his lack of skills, about his lack of effort, about anything. Because if they did, would his parents send him here? Or would they send him to a different academy, and ours would lose money?

—

Here is how I imagine his entrance exam went, assuming my academy was honest in the slightest and assuming he didn’t get a lot of lucky guesses on his test:

Desk Teacher: “Well, Paul placed well below the entry level. It seems he barely knows the alphabet. The lowest level we offer is Apple, but he isn’t at that level.”
Parent: “Well, put him in there anyway! He can’t do that bad, can he?”

Can he?

—

I believe that, in my previous post, I predicted that if Paul left, I would get in some sort of trouble.

Well, it happened.

As you can see in the picture, Paul has withdrawn from my class.

What does this mean? Well, students may leave the academy or switch teachers for many reasons. If, say, they simply don’t have time, if they need to change schedules, if they are leaving the country, etc. All of these reasons are excusable and do not punish the teacher.

(If Paul had merely changed classes, it would say “Transfer” instead)

If, however, they complain about the teacher (too boring, too strict, etc), then it counts as a “withdrawal”. These count negatively towards that teacher’s ‘grade.’

You see where this is going.

—

What was the desk teachers’ solution to Paul’s problem?

Now, Paul is in a new class with A, a Korean-Canadian teacher. A is a great guy, and sometimes I ask him how Paul is doing.

His response?

“The same as always, he just daydreams and never does the homework. He can’t even read, and he doesn’t know any words or anything.”

Our academy simply is not meant for these kind of students, but our boss’s desperate quest for new faces led to this situation.

Paul.

A informed me that Paul had complained that I had been ‘too strict’ with him. My response was, well, of course I was. A student is lying to me, not doing any work, of course I am going to push them a little bit.

Of course I was blamed. Of course, my academy did not stick up for me in the face of monetary profit. Paul was promptly switched to a new class, where he is doing the exact same thing and not learning whatsoever. The only difference? A is not pushing Paul, or talking to the desk teachers about these issues.

Who knows? Maybe Paul will somehow learn via osmosis.

Perhaps I forgot the key rule of my academy and teaching in Korea in general: it’s better to just keep the parents happy than to actually motivate students.

—

(Updated 05/01/2013)

My coworker, A, has provided me with an update on Paul.

It wasn’t pretty.

Apparently, Paul was recruited directly by the Branch Manager. Her reputation was on the line, and she wanted Paul to stay at our academy, moreso than she wants most students to stay there.

According to A, Paul has been to (and been kicked out of) a string of hagwons before coming to ours. His mother said that our hagwon is the last straw. And so Paul remains, daydreaming all day, mouthbreathing and doing nothing productive. Not learning, not improving, just sitting there, wasting his time, A’s time, and his parent’s money.

Push Machines!

I’ve been meaning to talk about this topic for a while now, but only recently did I have an opportunity to turn it into a story.

Push machines in Korea.

These machines have rapidly proliferated; where once they were few and far between, now they are commonplace. I picture every convenience store owner seeing a competitor getting one, and then immediately purchasing a new one. Now, they are outside nearly all of the convenience stores I run across.

You put in a dollar, or more (more dollars in gets you more plays and a slight discount). You push and hold, it goes right, stop. Then, push and hold, the bar goes up. Stop, the metal rod goes out, and (hopefully) you are able to push a prize off of the ledge, and you can win the trash (or treasure) of your choice.

A wide variety of items.

One of the better items.

Treasure?

Sounds simple, but like most of these games, it only appears simple. In times past, the trickiest thing that I worried about was the items rotating. If they had plastic bottoms with a bulge in the center, there was a good chance that they would simply turn, rather than being pushed.

Picture these going sideways.

Lately, however, the runners of said games have become more crafty.

Their previous attempts at being sneaky were painfully obvious.

Not content with merely making a few bucks on cheap knockoffs, they have begun adding arched plastic cases to these goods. These cases touch both the top and the bottom of the glass shelves, creating more resistance and thus making the objects harder to nudge. Additionally, the cases are concave; thus, even if the product itself is over the threshold, the case may stubbornly cling to the floor and ceiling. As the pushing arm only goes out so far, this can ruin a dedicated player’s chances of getting a prize.

Pictured: the green snake of denial. NO phone for you!

—

Cut to last Friday.

An old friend had returned to Korea, and I met up with him at one of our old haunts. D, an outspoken, loud, awesome human being, was back for the duration. We left the bar and went to get some chicken.

We walked into the restaurant, hoping for the advertised chicken.

The picture looked something like this. Photo credit: http://mealsihaveeaten.blogspot.com

They didn’t. I got a water, didn’t even sip it, and left.

Eventually, we went back there. Apparently they had chicken and fries, but not together in a package. We ordered both, and had a fifteen-minute wait.

As I usually do when I have too much time, I suggested the push game.

D enthusiastically agreed.

As D was playing, a drunk girl walked up to us. I don’t know where her friends were, or why, but she berated us. For example:

“You don’t see ANY Koreans doing this! Because you can’t win! I have been here ten years, and I have never seen anyone win one of these games! Koreans know this, and they don’t do this.”

I suppose I could have responded that:
A) I had been here for 2.5 years, or that
B) I had won many times before,
but I held my tongue.

D didn’t.

“When someone says I can’t do something, then I DO IT. You’d better get ready, you’d better think about what you’re gonna say when I win.”

These were the newer machines, with the plastic crap desperately clinging to the prize. D was going for an oversized watch, with lots of bling, that was hanging over the edge and clutching to the shelves by its case. He tried to hit it straight on, but the bar wasn’t long enough to hit the watch. I told him to aim for the bottom, where the case was touching the shelf. The first time he hit the shelf itself, but the second time he skimmed the bottom, nudging the hated plastic case and winning himself a watch.

Cost about four thousand won ($4). Much more pleasing than simply buying it.

D shoved it in her face, hooted and hollered, while she was in mid-nag. The drunk girl wasn’t pleased. Like many females, she refused to admit when she was wrong. She started making excuses.

“Oh, I didn’t say you could never win. I said that it was possible, but maybe once in a hundred times.”

She was still talking trash and making excuses at D when I silently went over, plopped in three thousand won, and won a watch myself.

Bling’d.

We both got overly excited upon winning, hollering and shouting and being merry. After I won, she was utterly flabbergasted. “Hey, how about we win you one?” I said.

She walked away.

D followed her, saying “In your face! In your face!” Eventually she asked for his number. Guess she wanted a winner.

We retired to a DVD-room. The Soldier joined us. A different drunk Korean girl was laughing at us, for our ‘couple watches’ and for the fact that we were three dudes going to see a movie together in a dark, private room.

It was a great night. I had just quit my job, and I was actually sad to be leaving.

—

Fast-forward to Tuesday night.

Wing night with coworkers. Afterwards, one of my coworkers (quite drunk) is hitting on every girl he sees.

I want to get away.

I find my salvation, the push machine. Inside I see this:

Of course, these were in a paper case, so I couldn’t see the “playing cards” bit. It was something of a mystery box.

Being from Pennsylvania, however, (the redneck part, and the state with the highest percentage of hunters) I decided to give it a shot. And it was worth it. The cards look swell, and I plan on giving them to my hunting father as a gift.

However, the aforementioned paper case is a bit confusing. The front of the case merely has a woodland border, and a clear plastic that shows the deer’s face. The back, however…

Pictured: back

‘Necessary and want to have my own opener?’ And the sphinx, what’s that all about? Perhaps the side will offer an explanation…

Pictured: side.

Hard to read, my apologies:

“Animal as a symbol of royal power, the person’s head pasted on the body of a lion, the Sphinx of Egypt was the patron god of the good role, New Kingdom era this amounted to length 80m of the oldest and most up to, and is affiliated to the Egyptian third dynasty of the king Khafre Pyramid Har Marquise god (Horus) on the horizon, was worshiped (sic) as the Was true also, such as the Karnak Temple on the both sides of the Sphinx horizon (two territory) as the patron saint of Amon God’s divine, the amount of hair paste, Sphinx of Greek mythology and the different.”

Huh?

To be fair, these cards were made in China, rather than Korea, and hence the bad, copy-and-paste translated English.

Anyways, what a treasure.

The Great Escape

Today, my boss heard ‘through the grapevine’ (his words) that I wanted to leave after this term.

My boss is a foreigner, by which I mean a Korean who can’t speak Korean and lived in the States for most of his life. He’s a nice guy, but he has a lot of stress, and I was fearful of telling him.

I told several friends, and I guess word got around to him eventually. Which I guess was what I wanted, as I hate being the bearer of bad news.

Call me the cowardly lion.

—

There are many reasons for me to leave. Other than the good money, girlfriend, and a sense of pride/duty, however, I have felt a bit empty lately. A bit run-down, a bit worn out. Almost three years with no real time off. Some were born to be teachers, but alas, I fear I was not.

I’m just tired. Need to try something new for a while.

Ideally, I’d like to learn a real skill. I plan on helping my uncle, who has been building his dream house for nearly a decade. I want to fix up a car, maybe learn more about computer programming as well, take some free online courses. Finally, I’ll have time to finish my TEFL. Learn a skill, rather than the drudgery and routine.

Travel a bit.

Talking to sis, we agreed that a massively long road trip would wear us out further. Instead, we plan on a few smaller ones. The Moxie Festival in Maine. Graceland. Possibly the northern US / southern Canada, if we have time.

Not to mention traveling around Asia for a few weeks, couchsurfing in The Friar‘s apartment, visiting old friends.

—

More importantly….I miss my dog. She’s turning thirteen this year.

White hair.

Arthritis and ‘wobbly’ when walking.

Bladder problems.

Still, according to Mom, she will sometimes go into my room and sniff around to see if I’m home.

It truly breaks my heart. The dedicated reader will know that I’m quite fond of dogs, and the fact that my dog is waiting for me and her health is deteriorating is the stuff of nightmares.

An episode of Futurama, Jurassic Bark, makes me cry every time. Every dang time.

—

After talking to my boss, I became despondent. I like my coworkers, I like my manager, nothing is wrong really. And, if nothing works out, I can always get a new job and come back. The Friar’s academy might open a new branch, and The Soldier’s coffeeshop could take off. Or, if I get into the Air Force, I will be able to come back also.

At my current job I want to do well, for the management and for the students, most of whom are great. They trusted me, and I wanted to do well by them, and it feels something like a betrayal on my part to leave early.

The longer I stay in Korea, though, the harder it is to leave. The older I get, the older my dog gets, the less time I have to play with my best friend. The fewer opportunities I have to try new things in life. It’s time for an extended break. I wish I could wait five more months, but perhaps it’s better this way.

It’s a bit scary though. Out in the world, unsure of where to go or what to do, living off my fat for a while. I’m going to attempt to change that terror into excitement, though. We’ll see how that goes.

A trip to Paju ‘Premium’ Outlets

Last Saturday, in a vague effort to align my sleeping schedule, I stayed up all night. Then, on Saturday morning, I took the bus to Paju Premium Outlets. My motivation was to purchase some new soccer gear, but overall my trip was somewhat of a lark. The dedicated reader will know about my opinion of the word ‘Premium,’ but I had heard good things about this place. Apparently, the bus had changed its route, but the driver was able to tell me which bus to take at the last bus stop.

I snoozed.

Upon awaking, I had arrived. Paju Premium Outlets, here I come!

The Paju Premium Outlets was an interesting experience. I was incredibly tired, and it was early on Saturday morning, but the place was jammed. Interesting, seeing as Paju is a very rural area. They are working on developing it into a city, but currently PPO is surrounded by lifeless husks dreaming of future apartments.

Despite this post-apocalyptic setting, PPO was swarming. There was tour busses full of people, who came here simply to shop.

As did I, I suppose.

Steeling myself with a $.60 can of coffee, I wandered into the Nike shop. More like warehouse. Boxes and racks were everywhere. I found shinguards quite easily, but I wasn’t able to find the cleats for the longest time.

—

Finally, I found them. I usually wear a size 10.5 shoe, but the biggest size there was a size 10. To add insult to injury, only four styles of shoe had the size ten, and two of them were pink.

As I was waiting in line, in front of all of these families, Tyga’s “Rack City” started playing. Surreal.

—

Now, 10.5 is a little loose on me, so I was able to find a cleat that fit pretty comfortably. It meant, however, that I couldn’t get shinguards with ankle protection, or else they would be too tight.

I ended up getting a nice-looking pair, cleats and socks for around sixty bucks. Not bad, but I’d rather have the cleats with angle protection.

No use making things too easy, eh?

Walking away from the store, I found some interesting things.

The reason I found this interesting: usually, especially in the States, water fountains and playgrounds were built by local governments for the enjoyment of the people. Often, they were located near parks, schools, courts, etc, so it was convenient for parents to get there.

Of course, passing by the playground nearest my house, I have not seen any children in many years. They stay at home, fearful of strangers, unsure of the unknown, stuck in front of their screens. Here, they have been provided for parents to use…provided by corporations, who are taking the parents’ money in an orgy of consumption.

A bit sad, methinks. But I guess it’s better for the kids than playing Angry Birds all day.

Student Nightmares!

The long-term, dedicated reader will know that I have grown weary of teaching English in Korea.

When I first came here 2+ years ago, I never expected that I would stay so long. Often I have been asked if I enjoy my job, or why I have stayed so long.

The simple answer is that I don’t know what to do with my life.

More complexly, here I can make decent money, and still have time for a social life. It sure beats many of my fellow graduates, who are working 80+ hours per week interning in New York or some other expensive locale. I’m saving money and plan on taking a big trip sometime soon. Now, I’m considering the military, a career option I shunned after graduation.

Why the change, Ghost?

RUN AWAY!!

I’m certainly not saying that all children are bad. Most of them are alright, and some of them are great kids who I talk to frequently.

However, some are utterly spoiled shite, and get everything they want.

—

My coworker, B, recently told me that Koreans only think short-term. Throw up houses quickly, who cares if everything breaks after a few months? Throw up new roads, cars, electronics, etc. I had never thought about this, but it makes a lot of sense, monetarily and logically, and explains why many young Koreans take on assloads of debt to buy luxury goods.

This applies to my academy as well. My academy considers itself somewhat ‘elite,’ although it is merely a money-making organ. Children get sucked into the machine, and money comes out. Minimal money is spent on classroom materials. Chairs, wallpaper, desks, and computers are breaking or broken. The books get recycled from teacher to teacher. There are only two ‘tracks’ of books, meaning that if a student doesn’t level up, they have the same book three months later. Our academy is part of a ‘chain,’ and we have the highest turnover amongst teachers, who are also seen as temporary. No money is spent on improving the workplace, or on faculty dinners or entertainment or anything of the sort.

I work on the second floor from 4-7, and many days I have to move to the fourth floor. Why is that? Well, the Branch Manager realized that if we shut down the second from at seven, our academy could save a miniscule amount of electrical bills, in the process meaning that I had five minutes of supposedly ‘free time’ to move my crap to a new room, inconveniencing myself and the students in the face of profit.

—

Recently, our Branch Manager hinted that she wanted more students in the academy. There was a massive enrollment drive, with a flood of new faces and numerous (at last count, five) schedule changes.

One of these classes is an extremely low level.

There is a student, Paul. Paul is a shitty student. Paul never does his homework, and refuses to do the quiz or tests. Numerous missives and comments to the desk teachers have had no effect. Paul also takes taekwondo upstairs, and today he said he had to leave at six to go there, or an hour before class finished. I was frankly glad that he had to leave.

Near the end of work today, the desks teachers found me. The desk teachers are Korean, and deal with the administrative side of the business, particularly enrollment and dealing with parents. Apparently Paul did not have to go to taekwondo today. Apparently he went, in their words, “somewhere else” for an hour. They said to double-check with them next time a student says something like that, and seemed to view it as my fault that Paul lied.

I told them about Paul’s bad attitude and lack of caring.

Will the desk teachers tell his parents? Doubtful. More likely than not, they will ignore and obfuscate the issue, in order to keep Paul in our academy and in order to maintain profits. More likely than not, I will get blamed for his poor performance, and for his early departure from class today.

Similarly, if he withdraws from the course, I will get blamed. Not Paul, not the parents. Me.

—

Overall, I’m tired of it. Our academy has allowed bullies, slackers, and troublemakers, and they stay there, merely because they were making more money. At one point, students complained about the poor desk speakers in my room, and I was asked to purchase a replacement.

At my previous job, the teacher I was replacing had neglected to pay for his gas bill. As a result, his gas was turned off. When I asked my new employer to pay to reconnect the gas line, they looked at me like I was an ignorant toddler. “Well, it would cost us 40,000 won (about forty dollars),” they simply stated. Looking pained, they stutteringly asked if I still wanted to do it.

I could see that I was making them uncomfortable, and since I don’t cook very much, I simply got a portable gas cooker for about twenty bucks. I’ll use it for camping quite soon.

—

Still, think about it.

Two different schools. One private, one public. In both cases, treated more like a servant than a person. In both cases, the students were above the teacher, in both cases the student was always right, and the teacher was always wrong.

I grow weary of it. I’d like a place that appreciates me, helps me in life, where I would feel like I’m doing something positive, rather than just being a cog in a machine.

Ironic, huh? I’m sure the military will be something similar. This recent event only heightens my motivation to leave, but first I have a big vacation to look forward to.

Hopefully someplace like this.

The Flea Market Brigade

Well, another post about the past.

This one about a bright spot.

Summer, of my college years. Four friends. Same interests. Video games in the basement. Playing ball outside. Tuesday nights, open soccer matches for five bucks.

My favorite thing, however, was the Sunday flea markets.

It originally started with Chip and Mama Chip, who would go there from time to time. A bit more about my area first…

I said initially that it was a mid-sized American city, but that’s not exactly true. There are two ‘hub’ cities, about a forty minute drive from each other. Between these two cities are a bunch of small towns, which have grown together so they are now a uniform urban mass. Our farm is near the middle of the central mass, but slightly to the side.

In the Northernmost City, there was a massive indoor flea market. They had a nice pizza place, an army surplus store, a MTG/collectibles place, and other things. It was magical. Often, the vendors would change, and as a result there were always new things to look at.

My parents, of course, thought it was a waste of time and money. On one trip, I travelled about a hundred miles in a day. Gas was cheaper then, but they weren’t pleased.

I just felt free.

I could go to new places, try new restaurants, just cruise around and check things out. I had good company. Afterwards we would hang out, play games, chill. We had fun. We occasionally did buy stupid shit, I must admit, but the search itself was fun.

Down the street was a drive-in movie theater. I never went to the movies at this one due to various technical issues, but their flea markets were hopping.

—

D-Bow was the most ridiculous of us all.

As I previously mentioned, he was prone to shouting out random words, similar to a Tourette’s sufferer.

Often at flea markets, he would yell out “Tits!” Shouting it to the world to enlighten the masses. Often, driving to or from the fleas, he would yell random things out of the window. For instance, he would yell “You have a nice dog!” to someone walking their dog.

Other good quotes:

“How much for the bag of darts?”
“Twelve dollars”
(immediately) “For a BAG OF DARTS??”

“How much for the car / dog / chair you are sitting in / handicapped scooter?”

My favorite weekend, there were vendors EVERYWHERE. I wish that day could have lasted a week, or forever. Immediately upon our arrival, we bought a sombrero and some martial arts kimonos. D-Bow had a habit of going around and making up names for everything, for instance, “How much for the pink plastic muscleman?” (for a Hulk Hogan action figure)

On this particular day, he was in the zone. He said so many off-color, ridiculous things that he made a fan.

Pictured: a fan.

Overall, it was mostly harmless fun. We even started a Facebook group, and starting keeping ‘points’ for funny comments, great purchases, or good experiences. I wish it lasted longer, really, but eventually things started to splinter. By this time, it was myself, Chip, D-Bow, Hump, and Marmalade. The four of us had ‘kid’ jobs, meaning we had free time around the same time.

That changed, though. Chip began to drink alcohol a bit more than the rest of us. Sunday mornings he would be hungover, and often it would just be two or three of us. We were saddened, as he was the one who introduced us to the fleas.

We gave him penalties.

We bought the dumbest things we could, and left them on his lawn. The first time, we got two barbie dolls and put them in a sexual act. Coincidentally, his grandparents came over.

Mama Chip wasn’t pleased. Our next penalties were more tactful.

—

Sometimes there was trash, and sometimes there was treasure. But we always had a good time.

Treasure, clearly.

Used port-a-potty. Trash, or treasure?

Chip’s drinking, and my own distance from everyone’s house, meant that we started going less and less. Those were the days when I felt the most free, the most alive, the most young and having fun.

Yes, there were problems, and stresses, and my involvement with them led to the ending of friendships with The Spaz and The Bimbo, but in all honesty it was probably for the better.

Looking back, as they said, the farther away it gets the more golden a time it seems.