Micro Memoir -- Mini Pedagogical Adventures in South Korea

Soju Bonding

"Jing Jing Tan, come with me."

The vice-principal's desk sits perpendicularly from mine. He has a view of all teachers' desks at all times, and would regularly call upon me during break to chat. He always calls my name in the same way, first name followed by last name, with the three syllables shooting out emphatically like bullets. In our chats he tells me about his missionary work, describes his friends at the Board of Education, shows me pictures of figure skater Kim Yuna's bruised ankles. Needless to say, he enjoys these conversations more than I do -- when all I want during break is to gather up more energy for the next class.

This is a weekday afternoon. Most of the students have left for home, and I am preparing next day's lessons. Instead of calling me to his desk, however, Mr. VP is beckoning for me to follow him. I relunctantly get up and am ushered into a secret staff room next door.

There are two other teachers already in the room, surrounding a small table. As I get closer, the smell of 보쌈, sliced pork belly and 소주, Korean rice liquor overwhelm my senses. 

"Jing Jing Tan, sit down. Eat." Mr VP pulls another chair and starts to pour soju into another shot glass.

I know not to refuse, despite an innate unpalatability toward fatty meat. I nibble on the leanest piece of pork belly I could find, and down the glass of liquor.

"Jing Jing Tan, you are Korean!" Mr VP beams, satified that I am not being demure about alcohol.

Oh Korea, where you can share drinks with your boss on school grounds, at school hours. I don't realize how much I miss the informality of it all until now.