A crop of new teachers on one-year contracts has arrived, coinciding with the first week of a new school year. In the shuffle, my former co-teacher, or the one who is charged with keeping track of me, switched to the one English teacher who happily refuses to speak English because we only conversed in Korean the first six months. It’s an interesting challenge on the near horizon, both for Korean proficiency skills and navigating school politics without an English-fluent advocate.

A few days in, a few of the new teachers took to asking, “So where’s the foreign teacher we heard about?” not realizing I was he and he was right there, and my newest desk partner, an English teacher in his own right, introduced himself and asked me tentatively what subject I taught at school. Mercifully, if things continue at this first week’s pace, I’ll be able to compress last semester’s lunchtime question waltz of “you use chopsticks well,” “you eat Korean food well,” “you speak Korean so well,” “what do you think of Korean xyz” to a little under a month.

I think now the initial negative subconscious reaction to fitting in appearance-wise but not culturally has begun to fade, replaced by a curiosity for the Korean way of doing things versus what we’ve grown up with abroad. Here’s a few that I’m still puzzled by:

  • Towel Size: at about a foot by two feet, the Korean body towel is about the size of an American hand towel, and fifty times as coarse. After testing them out for a few months, I’ve come to see it as either a form of masochism or an exercise of extreme restraint; Korean hotels have Western-sized towels, so maybe it’s the delta between the uncomfortable norm and comparably heavenly sensation of a soft bath towel wrapped around one’s waist that Koreans are seeking.
  • Doors with Vertical Stripes: with wooden panels on either side, the second quarter from the handle side of Korean doors tends to be a darker shade, maybe with a pattern or two emblazoned on it. I guess this is meant to give it a taller feel, the same way that black and white awards season dress meant to enhance slimness swept across America in 2016.
  • Bed Firmness: I’ve slept on Joshua Tree rocks softer than some of the mattresses I’ve encountered in the Korean wild. Americans model them off feathers and down, Koreans off a flat floor.
  • Week Long Study Week: the week before midterms and finals, most teachers show up to class and just sit there, letting the kids “study” for the whole day. Not that they do…
  • Delivery Options: actual phone conversation in Korean – “Hello, this is the delivery service.” “Hi yes, I’m at work right now, so can you leave it at the 7-11 nearby my apartment?” “Ok, I will do that.” So then you walk into the 7-11, open a back door that says “no entrance” in Korean, grab your package, and then leave without saying a word to the cashier. Still don’t know how they don’t know whether I’m stealing or not.
  • Lunchtime Chess: do I get up to leave with the 3 teachers I came to the cafeteria with? On my own? What if the principal is there? There’s too many permutations and invisible social faux pas to count here.
  • Food Log: what’s the macro breakdown for “broiled stingray” in MyFitnessPal?
  • Batter Up: how low do I bow to the pitcher when I lead off the game in the first inning? Do I doff my cap c.1920’s America style?
  • Dad Jokes: Loudly guffawing during Black Panther when character calls shoes that don’t make a sound “sneakers.” Not a single other soul laughed in the theater.
  • Hobby Obsession: in America too, people love to open their wallets for their favorite weekend pleasure, inciting many a marital or bank-related strife. No different here it seems, as I’m now in possession of two sets of uniforms, three sets of Under Armour athletic long-sleeves, and another pair of cleats on the way, all unsolicited gifts. None of which will fit in a suitcase home.
  • Relationship-Obsession: especially with spring coming around, it would seem, being seen by students around town with anyone female immediately triggers a “Teacher! Girlfriend?!” question line, as if uttered by a side-character in a  3rd-person rpg. Other teachers have had it worse; one was mistaken as the mother of two of the daughters at her homestay. I guess that’s not as bad as the new first-years in my class who think that Ben is my son.

Other ETAs—any other cultural nuances that resist interpretation after half a year?