Ajumma, Perverts, and a Haircut

My last class today is also already one of my favorites. It’s an ajumma (women approaching middle age, or a good bit past; also, a female complement to "dude" for people in that age range) class. I’m suddenly quite smitten with ajumma. Though I’m only teaching beginning classes this month and can’t really communicate with any of my students, all of my ajumma students are chipper, chatty, dapper, quite funny, and engaged students. Most of them are prominent housewives and this school is the latest fashionable urban country club, but that’s another post for another day. Before teaching at this school, my experiences with ajumma were limited to forceful encounters on the subway, leaving me wondering why more Koreans didn’t grow up to be NFL linemen (they - at least the she-dudes - certainly have the shoulders for it). Anyway, I’m suddenly enamored with these ajumma, though certainly not in any sexual way, because they have renewed my feelings toward the middle aged here - that they’re more than aggressive, territorial women with the same goddamn haircut. Since their ages are printed on my role sheets, I’ve realized that they’re anywhere on average of 8-12 years older than they appear. So, presumed MILFs may in fact be near-GILFs...

Today, a man was added to the roster. I figured it would bust up the dynamic of the class - when I was observing classes during training I also noticed how often the Korean cock in the hen-house would display his plummage - but it’s not anything that I have control over. During one of my breaks before class, however, a receptionist came up to me and warned me about this particular man. Apparently, he interviewed three separate times before actually enrolling in this school, asking some bizarre questions but also confessing his love to the receptionists/interviewers. So, this receptionist warned me that this dude was a pervert, and told me to keep an eye out for him. A few minutes later, this man shows up to the lobby. Eventually, I introduce myself and it was immediately obvious that he puts the "eep" in "creepy". He had the disfigured smile of a Bond villain, but it was what was coming out of it that put me off the most. While I was "talking" to this dude, his English was almost nil (but not nil enough), the aformentioned receptionist bent over to play with this rockstar toddler who was kicking it in the lobby. Quoth Dr. No-Tact: "She sex... sexy. I fuck!" Then he turned to me, grinning a grin that would make Jesus weep, and wanted me to join in the whoop-de-do. Yes, homeboy, she’s hot - though I only rolled my eyes and grimaced in a way that couldn’t possibly convey solidarity - but I’ve got my eye on you. And you best not get fresh with my ajumma.

Later on in class, I couldn’t get this dude to look at me at all, since he was a little too fixated on 50-something year old breasts (which I guess is better than 50-something year-old breasts, badda bing). He was clearly making the students uncomfortable as well, and any time I would use his name in a sentence (pronouns are the next lesson) they would make grammar mistakes that they wouldn’t ordinarily make. And, the ajumma kept shooting each other glances that I was very sympathetic with. Then, later on in class, he said something to them that made these ladies wince. During our 2 minute break, I hussled to my supervisor and told him to get the receptionists to ask these women after class if this man was being inappropriate. By the time class ended, the owner of the school had shown up and talked to the ladies himself. Dr. No[t getting laid without cash transaction] didn’t say anything outright gross, but he was making them a little queasy for a few other reasons. Then the owner talked to the dude, who laughed all of it off and said that he was just bein’ all chummy with the lads. So, he’ll likely be back... but I’ll be watching.

Since this was my last class, I left on a somewhat sour note. I needed a pick me up and walked downstairs to ParkJun BeautyLab, the closest haircut place and thus the quickest way for a normally slaphappy whitey to resume his ordinary state. Ever since I’ve started wearing a suit from my 9-5, ok my 6-1, people have approached me assuming that I speak much better Korean than I actually do. With my fake-ass Louis Vuitton tie on, I look like I’m better established here than I actually am. Fair enough. I play along for as long as I can, which is about 5 seconds. So, usually the Korean service industry just takes to manhandling me: Forcibly removing my jacket for the coat closet, inserting a coat-check # into my breast pocket, dragging me to the shampoo stall, etc. All of which is done in nods, giggles, and occasional pleasantries, on both ends. And I do try to make sentences, which aren’t yet almost communicable and lead to several more giggles - on both ends. There was a team of three attending to my hair: one to cut, one to brush off my face, and one who was seemingly just there to marvel at my exotic whitey hair. A fourth, the manager who spoke decent English and was wearing a fabulously tight yellow sweater, came over, also to gawk. She introduced herself, and insisted that I do the same. I didn’t right away because, well, she’d shoved her breasts, the largest (fakest?) I’ve seen in Korea, right in my face - right at eye level. I was more than a little distracted, and let’s just say that yellow will be my favorite color for the next couple weeks. When I regained composure and we went through the introductions again, she followed: "I’m Ann. You promise that you’ll remember me?" "Uh," still somewhat dazed and short on oxygen since the sweater puppies were mere inches from my face, "I think that I will, yes." This woman, in keeping with the formula above where we must add a whole extra year-of-the-animal cycle to a woman’s ostensible age, is likely something starting with a 4. As I was paying her (for the haircut, sickos), she again caught me off guard: "I want to see you again. You know where to find me...." The only thing I could muster, this time with lungs full of oxygen, was "uh... yeah. I do... know... where to find you."