Caveat: 또 심심해?

Yesterday at lunchtime, after I finished eating at the cafeteria, I was sitting in my classroom doing some last-minute changes to my lesson plans for my afternoon classes (which I teach on my own). Normally, a tribe of sixth-grade girls comes in and watch music videos on the computer during this stretch of time, but since I was monopolizing the computer, they quickly found something else to do and somewhere else to be, except for the two girls who were formally tasked with lunch-period cleanup duty for my classroom.

Then a first-grade girl appeared beside my desk. It was the same girl who had spent a good 30 minutes loitering in my classroom last Friday – she’s one of the enrollees in my first-grade afterschool class, but since the first-graders get out after lunch (they have no fifth period), these kids often have nothing to do while they wait for fifth period to end so their class can start.

Anyway, this girl has ZERO English. She doesn’t even know the alphabet thoroughly. But she’s clearly quite smart, in my opinion, and very earnest, too. I appreciate that she’s managed to figure out that I actually am able to understand her, if she takes the time to slow down her Korean and repeat herself to me with patience. That’s rare (or nigh impossible) to find in even adult Koreans, to be honest.

She appeared beside my desk.

[The following reported Korean is from memory, and any errors in the grammar or vocabulary on the girl’s part are the result of my poor Korean Language skills combined with my bad memory, rather than things the girl might have said in that way. On the other hand, reported poor Korean Language on my part is probably exactly what I said.]

The student: “뭐이예?” Staring intently at my screen, and hopping up and down slightly.

Jared: “Lesson plan.”

The student: “이멜?”

Jared: “No. Work.”

The student: “오오…” Heavy, dramatic sigh. “또 심심할 것 같아…”

Jared: “Bored, again?” She made wide eyes, so I added, “오늘 다시 심심해?” She had complained of boredom on Friday, too.

The student, giggling: “예. 또 심심해.”

Jared: “Don’t be bored! 심심하기금지!”

The student frowned.

Jared: “뭘 하기 좋겠어?”

The student shrugged. She looks around the classroom speculatively.

Jared, realizing he needs to print something in the staff room: “C’mon. Let’s go.”

The student says something I don’t understand, looking puzzled as I pop out my USB drive from the computer and move out the classroom door. So I add, “가자,” and gesture her to follow me.

The student: “어디 [something something]?”

Jared: “Office. Printer.” She doesn’t understand. Emphasizing the slightly different Korean pronunciation of “printer,” I add, “프린터 피료해.”

The student: “아아… 교실에서 프린터 없으니까…”

Jared: “예, 마자. You’re my assistant.”

The student looked very pleased.

We arrived at the office, and I inserted my USB drive and printed my two pages. I point her to the printer, and she went over and collected them. She carried them right in front of her, looking down at them proudly as if they were her own achievement. She walked all the way back to my classroom that way, as if carrying a religious chalice.

When we got back to the classroom, she raced to my desk and placed them squarely on the corner, ceremoniously, and looked up at me grinning.

Jared: “My assistant. Good job! Thank you.”

Sixth-grade girls, in unison: “Oh. Cute!