The Unpopular Teacher

It has been hard to come to terms with it. Maybe my first clue was when I sashayed into a classroom full of 3-year-olds for the first time, smiled and said “Good morning!” A little girl looked up at me and screamed with what can only be described as pure horror. And that was just the beginning. Over the last three weeks it has been made clear to me that I am the most unpopular teacher.

When other teachers walk into the school in the morning, the children run up to them to hug them and greet them. When I come in, the kids by the door struggle to put on their school shoes faster to avoid any interaction whatsoever. Children seem to wander somewhat freely from room to room, with the exception of the English Room. The bravest kids will run to my window, scream “Hello!” and run away. This is a sign of daring behavior, a devil-may-care attitude that causes the rest of the class to giggle nervously every time the feat is performed.

There is an outgoing and somewhat oblivious 3-year-old that comes in on occasion and chats to herself in Korean while smearing her spit all over everything. “Yes, that’s a lion! Please don’t lick, hajima….jinja….okay, it’s yummy? Okay, yummy lion! L-l-lion!” I look forward to these visits.

I know I’m scary. I speak almost only English in class, and I’m strange looking. Compared to a bunch of beautiful Korean girls speaking to the kids in their native language, it’s no wonder there’s a stigma attached to my presence.

I didn’t care much, until I saw the TaeKwonDo teacher. He was in the gym with my favorite class, playing some kind of parachute game with the kids. Their faces were literally aglow with excitement and sheer happiness. Kids, why don’t you smile that way when you’re conjugating ‘to have’? Was my ‘who has the red marker’ game not equally great?

They’re talking and joking with him in the hallway. They’re fighting each other for his attention. Hey, there’s an adult down the hall who will listen to your jokes! And if you ask me if I’ll eat a dragon, I’ll say “yes!” That cracks you up, remember? Marina Teacher is cool, too!

As memories of popularity from my old job wear off, so does my enthusiasm for extracurricular interaction. I don’t bother the kids with simple questions or comments outside of class. If a kid screams at my door, I just offer a (condescending) smile and half-wave. I march into classrooms prepared to talk about ‘was’ and ‘is’, and I will take no nonsense. Including answering the favorite silly question of the five-year-olds, “Do you like hammer?” That’s. Not. Funny. We are here to learn the English. Now settle down and listen up. The unpopular teacher is talking.

“Welcome to HPS Playschool. You will be paid in Promotional Eye Cream.”

After putting in a year at Banana Kids, I managed to escape unscathed and land a new contract at HPS Playschool. This is very different from my other jobs, since the entire staff actively refuses to speak English. Which is not necessarily a bad thing; I’m automatically excused from all staff meetings.

On the first day, I went in to prep. The kids were coming the next day, so it was staff only in the building. The woman who I thought was my supervisor had texted me a few days before asking me to come in at 11:00 AM. At 10:50 AM, I got a phone call from her:

Diane: Hi, this is Diane, where are you?
Me: I’m a stop away!
Diane: We want you are coming at 12:00.
Me: Well, I’m already basically there, I guess I could wait nearby…
Diane: No, 2:00!
Me: Uhh, okay, maybe I could go eat lunch…
Diane: You are coming one hour before!
Me: Your text said 11:00, anyway, I’m almost there?

And THEN when I got to the school, Diane wasn’t there! There was no mention of Diane, ever again. I feel like I’m in one of those movies where I hallucinated a person and a job interview and I’ll never find out until I’m in a strait jacket.

Anyway, as per Korean culture, instead of being directly accused of being an hour late, cryptic questions were posed to me, like “Is your home far from this work?” “Is the subway difficult to navigate?” Having no graceful way to say ‘Diane told me the wrong time! Look at this text I have here to prove it!!!’ I was cornered into smiling and acting oblivious. (At the time, I thought covering for my supervisor’s error would pay off in the long run. Unfortunately, it appears my supervisor no longer exists.)

After an hour or two of looking over class plans and materials, I was ushered into another classroom for lunch. A man with a computer showing a Powerpoint presentation stood at the front. I thought he was the owner presenting something about the school, so I was super-obsequious. He gave me a tray of meats that I don’t eat and offered me a seat. I tried to look like I was eating by pushing rice around on my plate, and my co-worker mistook my dissimulation for a difficulty with chopsticks and brought me a fork.

While agonizing over the potential fall-out of not accepting food from the boss, I tried to create the appearance of listening politely to his speech. I understood nothing, but after he began clicking through slides I realized that he was not the boss, but an alternative weight loss and skin treatment salesman.

The vast majority of his speech was lost on me, but occasionally he would ask questions like “who here would like to have better skin? Raise your hand if you want to turn back the clock!” and some girls would raise their hands. Then in the middle he stopped and asked me (in Korean) “Do you understand this?” and I was like, (in Korean) “I understand eye cream.” I really got the crowd laughing with that one.

Then he said something, and everyone was going around the table saying numbers. I have no idea what the context was, but I said a number (155) and I won an eye cream tube! I imagine it was some sort of guessing game. I like to pretend that I guessed the value of the product, but honestly I doubt anyone would pay 155 Won for that stuff.

It was all downhill from there. The salesman sprayed something really painful into our noses that was supposed to make us not hungry. Then he made us chew on some horrible capsules for the same reason. By the end of the lunch, it was readily apparent that no one was eating it.

Now I have a coupon for a limited-time offer to buy a big package of whatever he’s selling for 550 Won (about 500 USD). Also, everyone got a free face mask. I don’t want to use it, but I feel bad throwing it out when I consider the physical pain I endured to obtain it.

I’m comforted by the fact that if my new job ever becomes too much, we’re housed in the same building as the Seoul Dementia Center. I hope I don’t need it.