Category: The Wonders of Work

I've commented before how it is possible to know and work with someone for years in Korea without knowing a person's name. This is due to the Korean custom of using job-titles in place of names in workplace situations. Hence, although I know my bosses as "Curt" and "Helen" in English (their "English names" which are really deployed, linguistico-semantically, as just a kind of specialized job-title), I would never, ever use their Korean names if speaking to them in Korean – I'd address them or refer to them exclusively by their titles: 원장님 and 부원장님 [won-jang-nim and bu-won-jang-nim, roughly "honored director" and "honored vice-director"]. Likewise, most of my coworkers have "English names" which are used as titles, often with an honorific suffix -샘 [saem = teacher] attached, e.g. Danny-saem or Gina-saem, and I don't know their Korean names (although in their cases, I know where to look to find out, should I need to know). But these English name/titles are only used for those who do actual teaching. For those coworkers who have other, non-teacher roles, they have job-titles in the the standard Korean. Thus, for example, there is 실장님 [sil-jang-nim = honored front-desk worker, more literally "section chief"] or 과장님 [gwa-jang-nim = honored assistant, more literally "department head"]. When one translates the terms, they seem inflated and unnatural, but they are truly natural and automatic in Korean discourse.

We got a new March class schedule today, and on it were the little two-letter abbreviations for the various teachers. I am "JW," Curt is "Ct," etc. There was an unfamiliar abbreviation: "Ca."

"Who is Ca?" I asked – the mysterious Ca was down for a few of what we call "online" classes – where kids complete work in the computer lab using the contracted online provider of web-based English practice exercises. It turned out Ca was the gwa-jang-nim – the assistant in charge of student transportation (the bus schedule) as well as a kind of jack-of-all-trades for the hagwon. "But what is 'Ca'?" I asked. "That's his English name," it was explained.

"What's his English name?"

Ken and I speculated: Calvin? We couldn't think of many English names that could be abbreviated "Ca." Finally, I asked the gwa-jang-nim directly: Carl. That's his English name. Because he's stepping into a teaching role, supervising the kids in the computer lab, suddenly he gets an English name, after knowing him for 2 years. Carl-saem.

It's weird. And then Ken and Gina and I reflected that we still had no idea what his Korean name was. He's always been only gwa-jang-nim.

Yesterday I worked almost 12 hours. Although Tuesday is my lightest teaching load, we had 설명회 [seolmyeonghoe] for parents in the morning. The term literally means "explanatory meeting" but it's what would probably be called an "open house" in a similarly styled business in the US – it's a situation where potential customers (parents) come to see information and presentations about what our programs and curricula are like.

After that was over, we had lunch together. I felt uncomfortable because I couldn't eat the mega-spicy shabushabu that had been selected, and there was a fuss over getting me a special order – these things are quite awkward for me, socially. And unlike teaching class, I find meetings with coworkers much more exhausting, even just sitting for lunch or dinner – nothing is harder than sitting and trying to make sense of long, drawn-out, involved conversations being held in Korean about topics I'm deeply interested in – i.e. my students and our curriculum.

Today, on the other hand, I have a full teaching load ahead.

I have been sleeping so restlessly. It's not that I'm not getting enough sleep – I take the time to make sure I do – but it's never "all the way through" but always broken into about two hour fragments. I have to wake up, drink water (because my mouth dries out so much), use the bathroom (because of drinking water, right), pace around my apartment. I'm not sure what the solution to this is.

[daily log (1130 pm): walking, 5 km]

Now that it's December, last night the front office staff decided we needed a Christmas tree. Koreans take their Christmas decorations seriously.

First, they decorated a potted plant next to the bookshelf (at right). The boss came down and was unimpressed. "No no no no," he said, shaking his head.

I, however, was quite pleased with it – I tried to explain the concept of a "Charlie Brown Christmas Tree" but this effort at cultural elucidation was utterly lost on everyone involved.

So the boss put out cash for a fake Christmas tree – "real" trees are unheard of in Korea, which I don't think is a bad thing.

Then they decorated this new Christmas tree and then posed beside it when I took a picture, with student Clara hamming for the camera too.

I really preferred the Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

Our hagwon lost two students between Monday and today that impacted me more than most of our recent losses. They were both "high maintenance" students, but in both cases I'd had personally put such a great deal of time and energy into them. Really, a "high-maintenance" student, in this context, means a high-maintenance parent (i.e. the paying customer). Both of them had very difficult, demanding moms. 

So in a sense, in both cases, we (meaning not me but the home-teacher involved) essentially said, "ok, enough is enough," and let the students move on. At one level, this is exactly what I advocate for in my [broken link! FIXME] IIRTHW essays – not all customers have the same value, and sometimes it's best to decide a customer isn't worth the trouble (and thus isn't worth the expense in staff members' time and special efforts) to retain. 

So I feel slightly hypocritical to be upset now that we've bid them good riddance. Except… well, except in these cases I was the one who invested so much of that time and special effort, and I'm suffering what the business school people call the "fallacy of sunk costs" – the almost unresistable desire to throw "good money after bad," or, in this case, to throw more personalized attention and love after already invested personalized attention and love.

Even acknowledging this error in my thinking, however, I have another thing that bothers me: although I know that the moms are (and have been) terribly difficult customers, I fundementally liked the students themselves immensely. I'm going to miss them terribly. Both of them were always bright spots in the days when I had them.

In my Saturday special speaking class, my middle schoolers were answering the question, "What will you be doing in five years?"

One girl described how she was going to be in university, majoring in math and science, and would have a handsome boyfriend. Another girl said she would be starting a business and making a lot of money. The typical broad ambitions of early teenagers.

But then Jenny said, "I will be in university. Probably, I will drink a lot of alcohol."

Keeping it real.