.
Students sail through one of the two circular things on their way to and from class. Teachers must do the same, as does upper management. It's a one-at-a-time process, unless a couple is silly enough to squish together and shuffle through at a snail's pace, causing many to scoff and enter or exit through the other door.
From what The School's recruiter had told us, the company depends on a high volume of students to make its profit. Apparently, the government has capped what a hagwon (English language school) can charge students - $6 per 50-minute lesson. Given its prime location in Seoul, the operating costs of the air conditioner in the dead of summer and the huge volume of free food and School-brand gifts, the school needs the doors to keep turning from morning to night. And they do.
It's not only the students flowing through these doors. Teacher turnover in this industry is incredibly high - and, if anything, seems lower at The School than at other hagwons. While some teachers have taught here for four to five years - some are married or engaged to a Korean - others, like ourselves, only intend on staying for the duration of our one-year contract. June through August are holiday months for Korean university students, and are consequently The School's busiest training/teaching months.
There's a simultaneous purge at the other end of the contract. At least three teachers left the school at the end of last month, necessitating combined going-away events. True to Korean corporate style, drinking into the wee hours is the best way to go out with a bang!
So out we went to a going away costume party with a latin theme - a cross-dressing Shakira greeted us alongside our host, a proud Matador, and various other characters using the costume party as an excuse to showcase their favourite physical attributes (modesty was not the order of the day).
Known for hosting such extravagant going away parties, The Matador in an apartment overlooking the American army base in Itaewon, at the centre of the city. I tried to sneak a peek over the wall of the base - after a few drinks I even walked up to the brick wall and jumped a foot or so in the air to try and see over the top of it - but to no avail. Lights were off and nobody on patrol. I shouldn't have been surprised. If I had stopped for a moment beforehand to consider the stagnant presence of the US in Korea, I would have expected - in the most exciting scenario - a parking lot. All presence and patrol - no real action.
As my high school French teacher used to admit, I digress. If you would like to read news regarding ongoing Korea-US relations, check out the
Korea Herald. Top story of the day: "Bush arrives in Seoul: accompanying security forces outnumber ongoing Army presence" (Kidding, kidding ...)
Ah yes, the party ... the party moved to a local bar in Itaewon, Bar Nana. Low lighting and deep red walls created a cozy atmosphere that made most teachers feel comfortable sitting cross-legged on dirty pillows. The smoke was inescapable, and the music turned up too loud in order to compensate for an otherwise empty bar. The vets among us seemed to fit right in, chain-smoking and shouting as if they'd done so each weekend since they'd arrived.
The following week was the last full week for Liz (American?), the only black teacher in the school. A vivacious woman, I think that she was a force of social change in Korea, where (I've heard) people with dark skin are often dismissed as inferior to Koreans, considered theives, and sometimes even feared.
A 5-year veteran, Jodey, has moved onto teaching business English at a nearby university after putting in far too many hours at The School. Two weeks after his final working day, he was still interviewing new students, advising new teachers, and spending most of his days in the teachers' lounge. Must be hard for him to adjust to a quieter, more serious working environment.
The bad news came at the beginning of the week: Irish John, a tall, gay and eccentric English major got a call from home, telling him that his ill father had taken a turn for the worse. He flew home the following day, skipping the last few classes of the month in order to be with his father. We found out the next day that John's father had died while he was on the plane home. Rob, a teacher seven months into his term, broke the news quietly and sincerely (having lost his father only a few months prior, I believe) to teachers and managers. I don't expect to see John at The School again.
So, for better or for worse, seniority at The School is relatively easy to come by. I recognize a certain frantic look on the faces of new teachers - even those who have already taught elsewhere - and am learning the names of new coworkers alongside the names of this month's batch of students. I have a few students in my classes for a second month, know that others have also re-enrolled, and have caught word about which teachers are leaving at the end of August. It's no wonder that The School invests heavily in marketing and teacher recruitment, trying to make sure that there is a replacement for each student and teacher that walks out its revolving doors.
