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Korea 018 – A Job at FLS

Submitted by on January 28, 1995 – 5:03 pm
Korea 058

FLS

I learned through another teacher that FLS, the imaginatively named Foreign Language School, was looking for an English teacher on very short notice. One of their teachers who they were counting on for the month had worked one day and then had disappeared without a trace.

FLS was on the semi-island of Youido, a large chunk of land hugging the south side of the Han River. It didn’t rate the full title ‘island’ never having found the courage to drift very far from the comforting shore.

The National Assembly Building sits at the West end of Youido and the 63-story Yuksam Building, once the tallest building in Asia, sits at the East end. These, and a collection of other corporate buildings, were sufficient for Korean tourism to call Yoido the “Manhattan of Seoul.” Dead center is Youido Plaza, a huge asphalt rectangle that was built originally for use as an emergency air strip. Now on a lazy Sunday afternoon, Korean families rent bicycles here and pedal in slow circles, protected from kamikaze bus drivers roaring across the kilometer-long Mapo and Wonyo bridges.

FLS was on the third floor of a square, squat building full of restaurants, coffee shops and small offices beside the Indonesian Embassy. The outside of the building was covered in advertisements both in Korean and English. From the outside, the building looked like it was supported by a scaffolding of giant letters.

I called them and set up an interview. At the appointed time, I was ushered into a seat beside the desk of Mr. Lee, a benevolent sort of man and the director of the school. He spoke Japanese fairly well but oddly enough spoke not a word of English. He wore a plain suit and hid his bald head under a stylish black beret. We sat together and smiled and nodded until an eager young man rushed in out of breath and sat down with us as interpreter.

Mr. Lee never looked directly at me during the entire interview but smiled lightly and stared off into the distance speaking softly as if to himself.

There was some trouble about the terms I wanted, but I stuck to them. My mentioning the salary I wanted was greeted with a sharp intake of breath between the teeth and a slight tilting of the head to the side and a single word, “Difficult.”

Good, I thought, it wasn’t out of the question. I leaned back confident that I had already won my point. It just needed some persuading. Unfortunately, it took more than just a bit of persuading. I argued and argued and the negotiating seemed to go on and on. All I ever got was the same sharp intake of breath and that odd tilting of the head.

“I really want to work here at FLS. I think it is a fine school and I would be honoured to work with you. However, I cannot think of leaving my present employment for less than 15,000 won per hour and a guarantee of four hours of work in the morning.”

Sharp intake of breath, tilt of the head, “Difficult.”

“Well, if that is too difficult what can you offer? Perhaps the same salary but a guarantee of five hours split between morning and evening?”

“Sssssssss,” tilt. “D,ifficult.”

After a frustrating amount of this I left with nothing resolved. I kept in contact, however, and the following Monday morning I showed up at 6:00 a.m. dressed and ready to teach. I said I would bail them out of their difficulties, but only if they met my conditions. If not, I’d go back to my old school. Finally they agreed, and I was ushered into the class to meet my new students.

When I learned later in speaking with one of the other teachers that there were only two hours of work available and that my salary was sure to be 12,000 won, I went through the roof. I stormed in to confront Mr. Lee who was standing comfortably at the window with his hands behind his back. He turned and all smiles and bows ushered me into a seat. The interpreter returned.

“You agreed to give me four hours at 15,000 won per hour!” I said.

“I am sorry,” the interpreter said, “but we pay our teachers 12,000 and we have only two hours this month.”

“But you said 15,000 for four hours!”

The interpreter stopped for a moment and conferred with the Director. Then he turned to me and said, “Well, yes, but we only pay our teachers 12,000 and we need a teacher for only two classes.”

“Then why did you agree to four hours at 15?”

“Because that is what you wanted,” he said.

Kibun again. I thought I was losing my mind. “I know that is what I wanted. That is exactly what I wanted and what I still want and what you agreed to!”

Ssssssss, tilt. “Difficult.”

The knowledge that I was fighting a losing battle slowly started to dawn on me. It was a take it or leave it situation. It had always been that way, and they had only pretended to negotiate because that is what they felt I wanted. In their own way, they were trying to make me feel good. I had been adamant, and rather than refuse and cause me to lose face, they agreed with everything I wanted, never for a second intending to come through, never believing that I would be so unreasonable as to expect it of them.

In my eyes, they had acted in an incomprehensible and unethical way and had gotten me to quit an old job and begin working for them under false pretenses. In their eyes, I had been unforgivingly rude by arguing so strongly with my elder and superior and unbelievably stupid not to read between the lines and see that ‘difficult’ meant ‘no’. I forgave them and kept working there because I had no choice. They forgave me because they didn’t really expect a foreign barbarian to know proper rules of behavior anyway.

 

 

 

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