Last weekend, for the first time since I arrived in this foreign land, I was confronted by someone and made to feel incredibly foreign.
I went to the Irish bar, O'Kim's, in pursuit of some brewery beers. They brew their own beer there and my buddy from Vermont and I were hoping we could drink some quality beers that might remind us of the microbrewed beers from the States. We shared a few beers and a few laughs and built up a solid buzz. On the way to the subway station to return home we stopped by a convenience store and purchased a few tallboys for the ride.
Before I take this story any further I need to explain a little something about Korean culture. Alcohol is sold and legal to drink virtually everywhere in Seoul. If you're like me you might assume that this open policy would lead to drinkers all over the city - but it doesn't. In fact, you almost never see people drinking in public other than bums (and if you're homeless, and the street is your home, I guess you're not really drinking in public are you.) People have no problem being insanely drunk in public, but the actual act of drinking is seen as somewhat shameful and frowned upon. Fortunately for me, being a white, American, English-speaking giant, my existence is somewhat shameful and frowned upon, so if I add a beer into the equation, I don't feel like it makes me that much more socially unacceptable. My foreing chums and I have made quite a habit of picking up "roadies" for subway rides on the weekends and no one has ever really questioned us. Now back to the story...
It was a Friday evening so the subway was pretty packed. We had about fourteen stops to go to get home, but I had a beer in my hand and a buzz in my head and life was good. We made it a few stops before an old man who was visibly drunk got on the train and came and stood right next to us. He reeked of alcohol. He started saying things in Korean to us and making some motions with his hands. We weren't sure what he was saying, but it was obvious he was drunk and not happy. His hand motions became a little more complex once he realized we were clueless about what he was trying to say. He was motioning for us to chug the beers, crush the cans and put it in our pockets out of sight. He realized his efforts were futile and we didn't buy into his Confucius way of thinking (that the young must adhere to the old's way of thought) and he began berating us loudly in front of the full subway car. The subway had turned into the old man's stage, a pulpit for him to preach to the whole car about the two foreigners who weren't following social norms. He stopped even talking to us and was just addressing the crowd. The on-lookers began to shuffle their feet and nervously look at the ground - it was uncomfortable for all. My buddy finished his beer and put it in his pocket, but I just kept on drinking, at this point not for my own enjoyment, but simply to spite the old man. He was being a cock and making me feel like an outsider in a city I have grown accustomed to calling home. I go so far out of my way to follow social customs as much as possible and be good guest in someone else's country - but my love for Korea and its people is not unconditional and if this fucking chinaman wants to tell me what to do...I'm sorry I'm losing my temper. There comes a time in every man's life when he must look to the "Big Lebowski," for advice. Any advice Walter? "Dude. I'm talking about drawing a line in the sand, Dude. Across this line, you DO NOT... Also, Dude, chinaman is not the preferred nomenclature." Thank you Walter. Like I was saying, I go out of my way to be respectful, but this situation was one of the first times where I felt like somebody had crossed that line in the sand.
There is a little bit of irony in the fact that the drunkest guy on the subway was offended by a couple guys bringing beers onto the train. We were hurting no one, not bothering a soul but this man deemed it necessary to make sure the whole car realized what transgression was going down in the corner of the car. He was too drunk to stand and spitting all over the people around him as he yelled, but we were the ones in the wrong.
We did make it back to our stop without an altercation, even though I was a little bit worried my buddy was going to lose his cool a couple times. The old man was facing him from the start and directed most of his speech at him. But we got home and kept drinking in the privacy of our own apartments, which didn't bother anyone.
For the record, I will not stop drinking on the train. It makes no sense to me that others don't join in. The subway could be a sweet party on a Friday night if everybody that just got off work had a cold one in their hand. Seems like a much better commute than being stuck in traffic, honking your horn and yelling at the other cars as you blow off some road rage.
Maybe next week I'll get a boom-box, a cooler, invite my boy Don Cornelius to Korea and hop on the Seoul Train.
Love from Seoul
