The only bathroom I like in Korea is the one in my studio. And the one at the 63 Building.
They're never heated, the dryers never work, paper is scant, and you can't get hot water. A jacket is essential wear for a public piss.
My school is a shiny respectable place but there's an abandoned wringer trolley no-one's ever emptied sitting by the urinals, stinking of fish. The fast food toilets downstairs are my other option, but alas I've to hide in the cubicle cos the kids will otherwise see me pissing from the back when they run upstairs to class.
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The subject of football led one of my 10 year olds to jabber in Hangul how Korea's teams could crush European teams any day, that South Korea could crush the whole continent with its might, punching his fist into a palm in my face.
After class I saw him outside my hagwon alone.
'Crazycrazycrazy' I said, coming right at him in surprise, swerving away. It's his favourite English word.
As I crossed the street, his rant returned, grew evermore histrionic and enraged, my back to him, laughing how he managed to drown out the traffic.
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My school's principal is a middle aged lady, nice enough woman. She asks what I've planned for the evening, asks what chav means, what wanker means. Then she tells me she'll be spending the evening having the spots lazered from beneath her chin. What's wrong with toothpaste?
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