Alright, so last week Friday, I posted this status: “Well, I certainly didn't plan on being in the back seat of a
Korean police car at 4:05 in the afternoon...”
For those of you who don’t know,
(and, frankly, for those of you who do), the Korean Police system is quite lax,
and the idea of a foreigner, such as myself being slapped in a paddy wagon
seemed comical to me at the time. But, as the time passed on, it was clear that
there was genuine and actual worry. So, I posted what every kind and
compassionate person would: “I am fine, but really I want you to tell me how you think I got here.” Personally, I think it
would be a great writing exercise.
My buddy, K, ruined the fun and told
everyone the story. But, I am here to tell the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth, so help me God. (There might be a few embellishments; I
am Irish afterall… “No, Grandpa, I swear, the fish was really this ^-----------------------------------------------------------^
big! It just about tore my head right off.”)
So, I had to go to FedEx to drop off
some document. And, there is only ONE FedEx in the entirety of Busan. I mean,
really? This is a city of 4.5 million people and there is ONE FedEx? What the
nuts?! It is located in an industrial district about 1.5 hours away from my
house (Busan people: It is in Modeok, just north of Sasang). Now, folks, yes, I
am a suburban girl, nestled away in the plains of Waukesha, Wisconsin, BUT I do
love photographing and being a part of the industrial scene. I think it is the bones
of society, and I find it quite beautiful. However, when lost and late,
industrial areas suck and they’re scary.
Alright, I get out of the subway stop,
and I know that at some point I have to turn right and walk four blocks. But, I
don’t know where that right was. I
decide I should cab it, and he will take me directly there. So, I show my
cabbie the address, and he looks at it, makes it bigger, looks at it again, types
it into his GPS and grunts. In Ajeossi language, that means either, “Alright, I
will take you;” “Please, may I have more so ju;” or “Get the hell outta my way!
I’m hiking here.” I assume since he starts to drive, he means, “Alright, I will
take you.”
So, the cab driver drops me off in
the middle of a creeptastic alleyway, and I bow and hand him money. I get out,
and try to take in my surroundings. There are schools directly to my left and
directly to my right, which is a good sign, because according to the shittiest
FedEx map known to humankind, my destination is right in between two schools.
But, I don’t see it anywhere. Tricky, Korea, tricky. So, I
ask a gentleman loitering on the school grounds. He looks at the map and says, “FedEx…FedEx,
okay, okay. Go, eh [motions forward] one block, then right-uh one block then
back one block.” (AKA directly catty-corner to where I am now.)
Okay, cool. Sounds good. I follow
homeboy’s directions, and I find a steel mill, a pipe cutter, and some dudes
hanging around. Clearly, this is not it. So, I ask one of the workers, and he
directs me to the guy on the forklift—a terrifying moment because I am directly
tangent to bajillion pounds of something heavy. He says, “FedEx…FedEx, okay,
okay. Go, eh [motions forward] one block, then right-uh one block then back one
block.”
Sound familiar? Yep. So,
essentially, go back to where I started. However, on THIS side of the block,
there is a sneaky half street cul de sac
thing, so obviously, this dude means that it is in there.
So, I turn into the cul de sac, and that
assumption is incorrect. However, what is
there, is a police station. So, I walk up to it, and the officer standing
outside of the doors to welcome in guests, shuffles inside, in hopes to avoid
the strange foreigner walking towards him.
I walk in the door, probably with an
exasperated look on my face akin to the moment I realized what Rocky MountainOysters really are. The lady officer asks me what I need. I show her the map, and ask, “Where is the
FedEx?” She whips her head around hoping that someone else would come to her
rescue. She frantically types in the address into her computer, and it isn’t
there. Then, one of the older male officers saunters over and inquires, “jfhijfefkjadkfcjhadofhadlfk,”
which is to say, “What seems to be the problem, little lady?” They speak in
rapid Korean, while I am awkward turtling in the corner.
The lady officer asks me to sit
down, and that they will help me in one moment.
There are three officers in this station anxiously searching on their
phones, while I am just sitting there. I felt like the naughty kid sitting on
the hard, scratchy wooden chair outside of the principal’s office, or like
Sister Mary Veronica was going to beat me upside the head with the Catechism
during Sunday school.
After some time, they call up their
buddies, and 20 minutes later a man and a woman in their driving-police-iform
pull into the station. They wander up to the station house, and interact with
the other officers, look at me, laugh and say, “Come with us. We will ride you to
the station.” Curious… So, I walk toward the police car with one of the
officers from the station. We all pile into the paddy-wagon, and I just thought
how silly this whole thing is.
This FedEx is honestly within
blocks, and here I am in the back of a police car. So, I post the status, and
then put my phone away to focus on what was happening. The police officers
wander around a bit of the neighborhood, realize that they don’t know where
they’re going, and, then they put it
in their GPS. They bluster about, and stop in the middle of an intersection, as
you do in Korea. They find where the FedEx is, toss the car in reverse, DRIVE
THUSLY for 100 meters, then take a right. They pull into the alley, and take me
to the door.
I reach for my handle to get out,
and whoops, guess who is in the back of a police car? This girl. The officer
gets out and starts talking to the FedEx man, points to the car, and laughingly
looks at me. Then, he stands outside of
my door, and smiles down at me. He taps the door in a rhythm, and I tap back,
as if there was a secret code. He finally opens the door, and he gives me his
hand to pull me out of the car. Then, shit you not, this officer pulls me into
a GIANT BEAR HUG, and says, “Have safety.” My response, in true awkward turtle
form, “Will do, buckaroo.”
I look around me, and I see that I
am exactly twenty meters
behind where the cab driver initially dropped me off. The FedEx was a hidden like
a diamond in the rough. Palm directly to the face.
And that, dear friends, is how I
found myself in the back of a police car. Although, I still want to hear how
YOU thought I came to be there.
I think the morals of this story
are:
1. Learn Korean
2. Don’t find yourself in creepy
back alleys with dudes who don’t know their asses from their tea kettles
3. Trust your cab driver, unless he
has been drinking so ju, then trust yourself.
4. Don’t get lost in the middle of
East Jesus Nowhere, Busan, South Korea
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