KiiSoKo – Kickin It In South Korea

It has been a few days since I last updated my blog with some fresh juicy gossip from “SoKo”. I will do my best to increase the frequency with which I provide all of my loyal fans regular updates. Occasionally I feel the need to have something really exciting to tell everyone, like, I saw my first dog today, and it wasn’t in soup. (I’ve heard they eat dog soup here and I will 100% absolutely have no part of that). Or that they have delivery McDonald’s which arrives in a moped.

The news that I am reporting today revolves around my trip to the Hospital Facility for my medical exam. I use the term Hospital Facility for two reasons; one because it is widely recognized in the medical field and two because I am not sure if it was indeed a hospital or a facility. But the results were good, so I’ll take it.

The physical exam is a large part of the credentials in attaining an Alien Residence Card (ARC). The ARC will allow me to open a bank account, purchase the motor scooter I have my eye on (so I can deliver Micky D’s on weekends), and sign up for a cell phone plan with a new phone because the battery on my current prepaid phone often grows tired of being attached to the phone and pops off occasionally. I am not sure what type of appliance it would prefer to power, but you know how batteries are, they are full of energy and it’s a charge I would like to avoid. (there is a lot going on in that sentence)

So the ARC is important. I have a break on Tuesday/Thursday from 2:20 – 3:45 which separates kindergarten and elementary. The director of my school, Sola, arranged for me to go to the hospital with the school’s owner, Mr. O. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, he did appear in the James Bond movie “Moonraker” in 1979.

This was actually only the second run-in I have had with Mr. O, and the O does not stand for Outstanding, or Orator as he is very distant at the school and is a man of few words, which could be why you can’t seem to remember his role in that Roger Moore classic. The first interaction I had with Mr. O was during my first full week and he was, for some odd reason, sitting at a computer in the Staff Room. The Staff Room is like a teacher’s lounge, just with out the lounge aspect. I went up to him and just introduced myself, Hi I am Kevin, I am your new English teacher. Shook his hand, that was about it. He seemed very taken aback by my forwardness, but it will be the last time I do it.

Mr. O, needless to say is a very interesting individual. I met him downstairs ready to go. I had my coat on, my bag with my passport in it, a couple snacks and a Sprite, a “just in case” kit if you will, as I had no idea what was about to happen. I waited for him to finish his cigarette and he did so in the exact opposite manner as anyone cool would have. He was not leaning up against the building with one foot on the wall, he instead was standing on the curb. He was not holding the cigarette between his two fingers in a peace sign (that’s reserved for photographs) instead he held it between his thumb and index finger. He did not allow the smoke to slowly billow out of his mouth while murmuring a selfish greeting like “hey kid, how we doin’.” Instead he hurried through the last couple puffs and of course he dropped it into the sewer instead of carelessly flicking it over yonder.

We climb into his Korean badged General Motors made SUV and headed off towards the hospital. His radio turned on when he started the car, but he then shut it off. Once we were moving he said something to me which I did not understand. So I replied with my generic “oh yea haha” which I somewhat slur but offer nonetheless. He repeated the phrase and included a “hey pal” backhand to my leg and this time I caught it, “where are you from?” Ah ha, “Chicago” I replied. (Indianapolis, tech…I mean Carmel technically which is a suburb of… whatever Chicago is easier and based on the other person’s interest I go into details). About a minute later I had to break the silence, so I asked a question that I thought I already knew the answer to, “so are we going to the Hospital?” I asked. “About 5 minutes” he replied. Shows how much I know…

We got to the hospital, took a ticket from the gate, the man at the gate pointed to the parking lot on the left, so naturally Mr. O turned to the right and parallel parked next to a fence and a few ambulances. (Ambulii?) What happens next is my favorite part of the story. No, it’s not that he parked so close to the fence that he couldn’t exit and had to move up a bit, although that was funny. He took the parking ticket and put it into the CD slot of his radio! I thought for sure it was going to eat it! I literally had to stop myself from laughing and as I was holding my breath, the detection of the ticket in the CD slot turned the radio on! I couldn’t believe it. This guy is incredibly oblivious.

We walked into the hospital, he pushed the elevator button, paused, and then I followed him up the stairs; one flight. He went to the desk, was vocally arm wrestled by the girl behind the counter, grabbed a “now serving” ticket and went to fill out some paper work at an island like you would see at the bank. Not only do they have pens on a leash for you to not steal, but they also have reading glasses tied down for use when filling out the forms. My only guess is that when you go to the eye doctor they must have forms in several different font sizes.

The physical consisted of blood pressure, height, weight, eyes, blood, chest measurement and X-Ray, and one of those forms asking if you have a history of disease, pregnancy, sickle-cell anemia or death in a car accident. One of the few times I enjoy checking ‘NO’ for everything.

My blood pressure was 101/55, I am 181.7 centimeters tall, gravity pulls me at 85.3 kilograms, I do indeed have blood inside me, and my eyes are very good because my left scored a 1.2 and my right a 1.0. You do the math. The whole process left a bad taste in my mouth as they really blindsided me to get my height. “Take your shoes off and stand on the scale please,” the nurse said to me. I obliged. As I am standing there allowing the scale to do its thing, a measurement tool comes gliding down from above me, bops me on the head and slides back up to the top of the machine! What cowards! I know I am tall, if you want to know just ask, and yes of course I will autograph the napkin.

Morale of the story: Get your eyes checked before moving to Korea. I have no idea what 1.2/1.0 means.