No doubt,  I talk a lot of shit on this blog.  I can’t help it. There’s so many quirky Korean oddities to comment on. However not everything I come come across in the land of soju and shiny suit ajosshis is a mindfuck. Sure, I don’t get the public toilets or traffic lights, but there’s a lot still plenty about Korea that makes perfect sense.

An example?

After a few weeks on the job I begin to notice that all the teachers in my school disappear after lunch. Five minutes before the afternoon classes start I’m the only adult in sight,  then all of a sudden teachers seem to be dashing from random corners, making it into their classrooms just seconds before the bell rings. The students don’t even seem to notice. I started thinking I was missing out on some daily post lunch party. For all I knew my co-workers were taking off to slam shots of soju and huff paint in the back parking lot. Whatever it was, I wanted in. Not being invited made me feel like an outsider. I love a good workday buzz as much as the next man. Turns out that after scarfing down lunch, all the teachers ritually head off to the little boys and girls rooms to brush their teeth.

This, my friends, is shear Korean brilliance.

For those that don’t know, a great deal of Korean cuisine–as good as it is–can leave ones breath smelling like a poo paper bin in a subway station. Take kimchi for example–fermented fucking cabbage. This is served everyday at lunch (and damn near every other meal for that matter). I eat in in small servings whilst holding my breath. The smell is just that bad.

Once on the subway, I was accosted by the kimchi breadth of an ajosshi who insisted he hold a conversation with me while standing several centimeters from my face the added rank soju stench only made matters worse. My eyes teared up every time he exhaled and it gave me the bubble guts for close to an hour after I reached my destination.

Now imagine being a poor Korean student held hostage by his english speaker’s stank ass breath. The kiddies would sing harsh playground songs about you. Everytime you leaned over to help a child one-on-one, they would quickly cover their nose for fear of inhaling the toxic fumes coming for your mouth. They’d probably even run home and explain to their parents that their learning is being hindered by your lack of dental hygiene.
“What did to you lean at school today Sang Jun?”
“Not a damn thing. Teecha’s smelly breath make my head hurt!”

My co-workers clearly  want to avoid this dilemma, which is why they take the time to address their kimchi ladened breath everyday after lunch everyday before returning to their classrooms.

I now follow suit with the post-lunch ritual and keep my desk drawer fully stocked with a toothbrush, toothpaste, Listerine, floss, and gum. After eating I retreat to the fifth floor bathroom and go to work on my pearly whites. It’s a routine I expect to take back to the states. My mother would be so proud.

Ciao,

Kimchi Dreadlocks