A Lovely Little Phone

Dear Family,

A week ago, Friday, I blissfully recorded in my little Thanksgivings Book, 'I have a cell phone – happy day!!' Having neither that blessed contrivance nor a land line, life in Seoul has been laboriously inconvenient. But now I'm finally able to get back in touch with friends that I said good bye to five months ago, and be more involved with people whose company I appreciate and enjoy.

I should have called myself the happy owner of this toy and tool a month ago, had it been in my power to make it so. After speaking to some people who had themselves gone through the process of finding a new phone, and feeling myself, if not linguistically competent, at least fumblingly capable of tackling the thing alone (foolish girl!), I wandered off, of a Thursday evening, to beard the lion in its den. Spotting the bright orange store front of a LG Telecom establishment, I stepped hesitantly through the door, and waited for a sales person to notice my presence, and offer his help.

Allow me to digress here. I must note that Korea is excessively 'service' oriented. If I buy a cake, the clerk will slip some candles under the lid of the box, smile sweetly up at me from behind the counter, and pronounce, 'sahbeece!' When I bought my fish, I asked the sales man how much it would cost to replace some of the parts in my water filter. He smiled grandly, 'sahbeece!' and then added for my benefit, 'no cost!'

I appreciate that mispronounced English word when it's applied to freebees, but it irritates me when service takes the form of personal assistance. Scanning the shelves in the hair products aisle, for example, a pretty, dark haired girl always steps shyly toward me, and attempts to ask in English what I'm looking for. 'Molahyo.' I shrug, hoping (without expecting) to be left in peace. Emboldened by my indecisiveness, the sales lady plucks up her courage, and begins a veritable lecture, in rapid Korean, on the various pros and cons of each of the dozens of product ranged before me. I try to appear disinterested, but she will not be daunted, and finally, with a multitude of colorful labels swimming before my baffled eyes, and my wrists sticky with hairsprays of various fragrances, I shake my bewildered head, declare, with a shameless disregard for the truth, that I don't need anything, and make a dash for freedom. Especially during my first year here, this frequently reenacted scene overwhelmed me, and I learned to keep a wary eye open for those daunting figures of benevolent accommodation, and to flee before they had a chance to open their mouths . Over the last while I have learned to simply ignore helpful voices and hands, and while I have yet to appreciate the help, at least I can value the humor of the situation.

But now, as I paused uncertainly on the threshold, I was hopeful, for the first time, of being personally assisted. Not knowing where to begin without the help, I waited expectantly to be addressed. But, to my astonished dismay, no one stepped forward. Instead, after glancing up at me, each turned a different shade of red, and applied himself, with a steady fixedness wonderful to behold, to his various job. And it struck me that I had made an irreme diable mistake in applying cosmetics before sallying forth.

I freeze myself, again, in this unexciting frame, and apologize for another necessary digression. It must be understood that, as a general rule, when I want to be taken seriously in Korea, I wear makeup. It took me some time to make the useful discovery that, when I do so, others are a little bit intimidated, and so I step out of the realm of 'ignorant child' and into that of 'the symbol and representative of the entire western world.' My perspective is, granted, rather exaggeratory, but the principle applies. With this in mind, and hoping for my desires to carry more weight, I had dressed myself up, completely forgetting that cell phone establishments (for some undiscovered reason) are peopled, almost exclusively, by young men. And, in their case alone, my methods backfire on me.

Most Korean men, between the ages of eighteen and thirty, behold me from a distance with curious wonder, and up close are reduced to varying degrees of mortal fear and trembling. Last year, one of the Korean teachers at SCG introduced me to a group of her friends. The girls shyly smiled, with their hands over their respective mouths, while the gentlemen, unable to take recourse in nervous giggles, bravely ploughed through the ordeal, dropping and upsetting everything in reach. I tried to appear small and un-intimidating, but was apparently unsuccessful, because after a moment, one of the guys pulled his friend aside and whispered, "I don't think I can do this without a drink. "

His remark was overheard, and my friend asked, "Have you never met a foreigner before?"

He replied in a rush, but with an appropriate degree of awe and reverence, "I've never been even this close to a foreigner!"

I return now to the small shop in which I left myself standing in an attitude of naive expectancy. As soon as I realized that, so far from having educed a universal atmosphere of peace and good will, I had effectually struck terror in the hearts these poor men, I attempted to atone for my inexcusable folly by making the first move, thereby helping them to help me. So I stepped up to the counter, and assumed a general air of hopeful uncertainty. Still, their various tasks completely consumed them, and no move was made to assist me. I became impatient, and mercilessly turned upon the man nearest, demanding, in English, "Do you speak English?"

"No." He replied, in English.

"Well, do you have any inexpensive cell phones?" Still in my native tongue.

"No, everything here is expensive."

Seeing the uncertainty in my face, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and in a reckless maneuver to dispose of me manfully, pointed to a KTF store up the street, "Over there. I think there are cheap phones there."

I shook my head over the bitter animosity that apparently exists between LG and their unsuspecting rivals in business, bowed my thanks, and crossed the street.

I may as well have spared myself the pains; I fared no better there. After wandering the streets for the better part of two hours, and visiting half a dozen establishments, all of whose phones were "very expensive", I bit my lower lip in agitation, attempted to console myself with a forty-cent ice cream from McDonalds, and made my weary way home.

A week later, Boyeun (a fellow teacher from last year, and very good Korean friend) offered her help. Together we revisited one of the establishments which I had previously darkened with such unconscious dismay, and within five minutes I had gleefully exchanged $30 for a unassuming phone of modest proportions. The clerk, setting up my account, required a copy of my passport and ID card, both of which I had had the foresight to bring along. But alas!

Informatively: "This visa is only good for six months."

Anxiously: "Yes?"

Heartlessly: "Well, we can't set up an account for you, unless you have a visa that will let you stay for a year."

Pleadingly: "But I don't work in Korea. I'm a student, so I can't get a longer visa. I will be here for at least a year and a half, but I have to renew my visa every six months."

Firmly: "I'm sorry."

So was I. Very sorry. My $30 was returned, and I made a noble attempt to be pleasant company to Boyeun for the rest of the evening. But I was glad to finally go to bed, and start tomorrow fresh.

But Boyeun, bless her!, didn't let the matter rest, and the next time I saw her, she handed me one of her old cell phones, saying, "You still won't be able to set up an account, but at least this way you can use pre-paid, and you don't have to buy a phone."

And so, to wrap up a very long story (my apologies, family): I now have a lovely little phone, the minutes of which I pay for in advance, and am rendered nearly as happy by it as I was upon receipt of my new stove.


Before leaving you in peace, I would like to offer a general apology, to all of you who have been so good as to email me over these last few weeks, for being so silently unresponsive. Excuses are generally very weak things, but I flatter myself that I have two that are at least passable. The first may appear the stronger, but they both carry, in my humble opinion, equal weight. My internet connection has been down during the entire second half of last month, and most of this month as well. I think that most of you will readily admit that this is a great deterrent to timely communication, and for those of you who are unconvinced, allow me to plead in my favor, that even had my connection not been down, I certainly hadn't the mental energy, after studying myself into a headache every evening, to stay on the computer a moment longer than necessary. However, these two disincentives are now removed and over the course of the next few days I hope to be able to be in closer personal touch. Meanwhile, your emails are as encouraging and brightening as ever, so please continue to support me with them!

Much love,
Elisabeth