Life update
I asked my old job for an additional weekend to stay in my apartment, but they would only grant an additional two days. So, yesterday morning I hastily finished packing up - with the artful last-minute help of a good buddy - and was out of that bach pad with on almost a full week's notice.
Here's the part that makes me a bit angry. It's not as if my work didn't know I was getting fired, and I'd even made the call discreetly to my coworkers - "dude, I'm getting fired this month"/ "[Mark], you're paranoid..." - over a week before. The polite thing to do would've been to give me as much notice as possible. I say this was premeditated because, well, the week previous to me getting fired we had a photoshoot at work. That they asked me to cut my hair for. I consented. During the photoshoot, all 4 teachers who were later made redundant were in a seperate, "dummy" photograph. Additionally, our individual photo sessions were well shorter than those who are still employed there.
But here's the amazing news. Back in October, I blogged about my two most intriguing offers for employment. One had a really snazzy website and was promising the world - a ticket home for Christmas (received), a trip to Thailand (delayed), decent hours (later altered), etc. The other job was an innovative elementary school without walls, and wouldn't even commence for another few months. I opted for the shinier, more immediate option.
Long story short - there will have to be a seperate entry about the long story of the job hunt, the sketchy interviews (am I buying a car, joining a gym, or looking for a job?), false hopes given/received, and practicing (unknown to me) crude Korean on receptionists, who were nonplussed/pissed off - the other job that I was considering all the way back in October called out of the blue Thursday morning. I spent six hours at that school Thursday, fighting a hangover [I was on a date with a former student - against policy, but I'm no longer an employee, yeah? - the previous night until way late; she wooed me previously when she was a student, with a story about eating her pet chicken when she was young, which still tasted delicious through the tears; in keeping with longstanding traditions of Korean womanhood, she still called me three times that night between 3 and 4]. I would teach the same sixth grade students all day. Oh yeah, also with three months vacation.
Now, "sixth grade" are usually words that make me shudder in fear, as, quite certainly, 6th grade was the worst year of my life. For a short autobiography of Mark: During my childhood I was quite rotund and very sensitive about it. The summer after fourth grade I virtually starved myself and was a thin, mentally well-adjusted sixth grader for a few months. During the second semester of fifth grade I started shaving and masturbating and was becoming a guilt-ridden freak of sorts. During sixth grade, a Beavis&Butthead-obsessed generation (whose most heinous culprits will here remain anonymous, but I still remember their zodiac signs and middle names) thought it was funny to put duct tape on my legs and rip it off. And then would follow that by saying: "[Hernandef], it's hot outside. Why are you wearing long black pants?" "[In a voice an octave higher than usual; my voice hadn't dropped yet, perhaps due to the precocious regular, and hushed emissions of globs of testosterone] Shut up. No I'm not. It's hair. You're just jealous because I'm a man and you're not." Then I would promptly be emasculated by another round of duct tape... My older brother shaved his very hairy legs in eighth grade (the year before) because he was tired of similar taunting. This culminated in... nothing positive. By sixth grade proxy and deductive logic, I became known as "butt-shaver." "Because if your brother shaves his legs then you probably shave your butt, butt shaver."
Luckily, these difficulties will be avoided as a sixth grade teacher. Korean sixth graders don't - in general - have to deal with the frustrations of puberty. Sixth grade here is the final year of elementary school. This school is among the most prestigious elementary schools in Seoul - the only(?) to offer an English immersion program alongside the government-regulated Korean curriculum, and has a 10% acceptance rate for Seoul-born fetuses whose parents are of gentle grooming. So, vastly more than in typical situations, these kids want to be here. Also, I am now a proud, relatively well-adjusted member of a hirsute community - albeit in a time when hirsuteness is only truly celebrated in small pockets of the gay community. Also-also, the school I would be at is a - gasp! - respectful environment.
Here's the part that makes me a bit angry. It's not as if my work didn't know I was getting fired, and I'd even made the call discreetly to my coworkers - "dude, I'm getting fired this month"/ "[Mark], you're paranoid..." - over a week before. The polite thing to do would've been to give me as much notice as possible. I say this was premeditated because, well, the week previous to me getting fired we had a photoshoot at work. That they asked me to cut my hair for. I consented. During the photoshoot, all 4 teachers who were later made redundant were in a seperate, "dummy" photograph. Additionally, our individual photo sessions were well shorter than those who are still employed there.
But here's the amazing news. Back in October, I blogged about my two most intriguing offers for employment. One had a really snazzy website and was promising the world - a ticket home for Christmas (received), a trip to Thailand (delayed), decent hours (later altered), etc. The other job was an innovative elementary school without walls, and wouldn't even commence for another few months. I opted for the shinier, more immediate option.
Long story short - there will have to be a seperate entry about the long story of the job hunt, the sketchy interviews (am I buying a car, joining a gym, or looking for a job?), false hopes given/received, and practicing (unknown to me) crude Korean on receptionists, who were nonplussed/pissed off - the other job that I was considering all the way back in October called out of the blue Thursday morning. I spent six hours at that school Thursday, fighting a hangover [I was on a date with a former student - against policy, but I'm no longer an employee, yeah? - the previous night until way late; she wooed me previously when she was a student, with a story about eating her pet chicken when she was young, which still tasted delicious through the tears; in keeping with longstanding traditions of Korean womanhood, she still called me three times that night between 3 and 4]. I would teach the same sixth grade students all day. Oh yeah, also with three months vacation.
Now, "sixth grade" are usually words that make me shudder in fear, as, quite certainly, 6th grade was the worst year of my life. For a short autobiography of Mark: During my childhood I was quite rotund and very sensitive about it. The summer after fourth grade I virtually starved myself and was a thin, mentally well-adjusted sixth grader for a few months. During the second semester of fifth grade I started shaving and masturbating and was becoming a guilt-ridden freak of sorts. During sixth grade, a Beavis&Butthead-obsessed generation (whose most heinous culprits will here remain anonymous, but I still remember their zodiac signs and middle names) thought it was funny to put duct tape on my legs and rip it off. And then would follow that by saying: "[Hernandef], it's hot outside. Why are you wearing long black pants?" "[In a voice an octave higher than usual; my voice hadn't dropped yet, perhaps due to the precocious regular, and hushed emissions of globs of testosterone] Shut up. No I'm not. It's hair. You're just jealous because I'm a man and you're not." Then I would promptly be emasculated by another round of duct tape... My older brother shaved his very hairy legs in eighth grade (the year before) because he was tired of similar taunting. This culminated in... nothing positive. By sixth grade proxy and deductive logic, I became known as "butt-shaver." "Because if your brother shaves his legs then you probably shave your butt, butt shaver."
Luckily, these difficulties will be avoided as a sixth grade teacher. Korean sixth graders don't - in general - have to deal with the frustrations of puberty. Sixth grade here is the final year of elementary school. This school is among the most prestigious elementary schools in Seoul - the only(?) to offer an English immersion program alongside the government-regulated Korean curriculum, and has a 10% acceptance rate for Seoul-born fetuses whose parents are of gentle grooming. So, vastly more than in typical situations, these kids want to be here. Also, I am now a proud, relatively well-adjusted member of a hirsute community - albeit in a time when hirsuteness is only truly celebrated in small pockets of the gay community. Also-also, the school I would be at is a - gasp! - respectful environment.
- anecdote 1) At one point at my last job, my fake-titted British boss said: "Mark, I know that you have a Mahstah's degree and that you made very high marks in school. I don't care. The reason that we hired you as that we liked your picture that you posted on [ESL job website]. Dave [school owner with hairplugs and fragile ego who wasn't even there to fire me in person] saw your picture and said 'See this guy? This is the guy we want...'" "Um, certainly I wouldn't've gotten this job if I had a C average?" "What's that, a 2.0 [GPA]?" "Yeah..." "That'd be ok."
- anecdote 2) When the future job called my last place as a reference, he summed it up to me as "it painted a picture for what kind of Ken-and-Barbie show you were working at before. I wanted to be ruder, but didn't for your sake. But I really wanted to ask her what her personal philosophies of education are." Apparently, the last job said they wouldn't hire me again. When asked why, she only cited my longish hair [before I had to cut it for the dummy photo shoot] that went down so egregiously to my collar, and the fact that my stubble alone caused the company to issue orange level terror alerts. Future supervisor laughed it all off and called a reference from when I was more legitimately working as a college writing instructor. Then hired me a few hours later.
- anecdote 3) A former manager was once instructed to tell me to shave more often (multiple times a day?) because I "look like an Arab" - the words of the owner, not the manager.
Do I sound bitter? I'm really not. Did I mention the vacation? There's also a pay increase. And, oh yeah.... real teaching in an environment that would respect my efforts and ignore my stubble.
There is still a very slight issue. Apparently, the Korean immigration board mandates that transcripts offered for visa issuance be signed along the seal of the envelope. Mine are so egregiously unsigned. Luckily, DHL express international shipping and a few late-night urgent phonecalls to a registrar's office - "uh, this may sound funny, but I'm homeless in Korea and only you can help me" "North or South?" - will remedy this situation. I'm set to become unhomeless and reemployed within the next couple weeks. Assa!
posted by Mark Hernandef at 5:59 PM
5 comments
