"Who is this mystery man?", you may ask. Well, let me introduce you to the man with whom I am the object of his affection. I don't know his name, mainly because Korean names sound all the same to me. Jesus, that's a pretty awful thing for a cultural ambassador to say, but it's true. I know about 14 names out of the 224 students I have (and I learned almost 10 of those today while my students made self-portrait collages). In fact, I think you're getting a little peek into my private joke that being a cultural ambassador to Korea has actually made me racist: "Haha! All Korean people have the same name and look the same too..."

Good Lord, I sound like a prick, but hey, if you don't know I'm pushing the envelope then you don't know me and need to lighten up. I embrace the humor that wavers over the edge of disaster because I know my open-mind is dragging netting wider than ever and that's purely influenced by my time here in the far east. Nonetheless, I think my jabs have become less PC, but it's like the saying I coined just now goes... Political Correctness is for the bored and boring.

Anyway, back to today's topic... your mystery man in the photo above.

I know him as The Copy Guy. He's a very nice man and in actuality, the only person to engage me in conversations and actively pursue my friendship. Yes, in all seriousness, no one at my school has attempted to include me in any activities outside of school related functions. Which is fine because they either are alkies or too Christian for my blood.

An Example of Thoughtlessness:

Alex: "I want to go to Bumsum, the island off the coast from our school, can you get there?"
Male Korean Name: "No, well, yes, you can get there but it is hard. Many people fish there or near there."
A: "Oh yeah?"
MKN: "Yes. Do you like fishing?"
A: "Sure, I'd love to go sometime, but I don't have any gear."
MKN: "Ok. " (says something in Korean to other male teachers)

The next day a car pulls up to me and it's the same guy I spoke with about fishing. He opens up his window and tells me that he just went fishing. And then he putt-putts away in his Daewoo.

Distracted yet again...

So, The Copy Guy, he's a nice fella, but the problem is that, well, he's the copy guy. His English is non-existent, and my Korean is EXTREMELY limited. But what makes the problem worse is that he's... the copy guy. What I'm tiptoeing around is the fact that being a copy guy is not a highly selective application process. If you can press buttons and not drop stacks of paper on the floor, then you're pretty much hired. This relates to our relationship in the fact that, well, he's not the fastest rat in the maze and I don't think he can speak Korean very well. And on top of that, I think he has a speech impediment. So essentially, we don't communicate AT ALL, yet he tries every time he sees me.

I applaud his efforts, but it gets more awkward than Dave Chapelle's character of the blind, black KKK-member. I really don't know how much longer I can pretend to understand what he's saying when we sit and "talk" for 20 minutes over a cup of coffee.

But really, the copy position is probably the smartest field to enter if you're on the dim half of stupid. Every time I enter the copy center at my school there are one of three things happening:
1) Smoking
2) Sleeping
3) Leaving Las Vegas (subtitled)

Smoking indoors is common in Korea, so the copy room reeks of stale smoke and printer chemicals. And in the corner of the room, the boys (The Copy Guy and The Janitor) have set up two couches, a TV, and something resembling my childhood pillow forts (which I am still not too old for!) behind a set of cabinents to make it discreet(which it is not). Now to make this position sound even more enticing, this entire month The Copy Guy has been "on vacation", but he's still at school. I entered the steamy, gassy, and smoky copy center around 11am two days ago to find my old pal passed out with a blanket covering his trousers. I left him some papers on the desk, unaware that he was "on vacation", and came back the next day to find my papers missing that I absolutely needed for my class that afternoon. I found a translator and The Copy Guy and learned that he was doing above and beyond his call of duty to get me those copies by 1pm that day. A total of 125 pages took less than five minutes, but regressed our relationship back to square one, now being merely cordial, as I begged him to get me those copies 24 hours after they'd been given to him. He acquiesced and since, well, let's just say that I drank my tea alone today.

Here's to The Copy Guy, smart enough to get the more than comfy and easiest job around.