Around the World in Two Years A day in the life of a backpack.

I woke up one morning last week thinking, "Gosh, the weeks have just flown by".....well, for me anyway. While I've been completely immersed in my brand new, very fancy career, ahem, Ian has been playing housewife. While he has tried to remain his usual freakishly optimistic self, the strain of not working for so long has been slowly grinding his positive attitude down to a very negative pulp. Then, one miraculous day, Ian receives a phone call from a fellow teacher we had met on our "beach" day. She offered him a position which just open at her school, and he was to start immediately.  Cut to later that evening when I walk in the door from work and all I hear is an indistinguishable accent sputtering, "Pee-wee Pen-GU-in, P-P-P". Ian suddenly looked up startled as if caught doing something naughty, although, he was not nearly as embarrassed as he should have been. "They want me to speak moRe AmeRican." What they actually asked was that Ian say that he is Canadian.  Ian, from Australia.  Ian, with the thick Australian accent......from Canada. While pondering this, out of the background emerged manic American voices, blaring out of our computer, leading phantom children through a series of alphabetical limericks in rapid succession, urging them to REPEAT! Oh no....Is this how it's going to be for the rest of the year?


The first day when Ian walked into the classroom, he was serenaded instantly by one frightened little girl's cry, which soon erupted into a whole chorus of wailing children afraid of this strange new man that talked funny. They should have trusted their instincts. As part of Ian's teaching schedule, he has been asked to teach an American cooking class. Did I mention Ian is Australian? He was given one hot plate and told the rest was up to him. Bad move. Ian's specialty is Vegemite on toast. He was a bit nervous for his first cooking class as he had no idea what to make. I could have thought of a million things, although I guess I did grow up a little closer to The U.S.  Later that night, I asked him what he ended up making, expecting him to have eventually come up with something simple and fun for the kids. "I made, peanut butter, jam, and egg sandwiches."
Hmm, not as bad as I thought.
"Which kind of sandwich did they like best?", I asked.
"What do you mean?", Ian replied.
What Ian had made for them was literally a peanut butter, jam, and fried egg sandwich. He had taken tradition "American food" and decided to just throw it all together. They should have been warned. Ian admitted the children did not seem too impressed, in fact, they were pretty grossed out. I asked him if he had tried one of his sandwiches. He looked at me horrified, then confessed that he was too busy killing himself laughing at the expressions on the kids' faces. The next week Ian made bread soaked in butter with a hotdog wiener and raw zucchini slices. Needless to say these children will never want to visit America.

Although no where near a dream job, at least Ian now had something to do, other than dishes. Yet, for some reason, he had not given up on an obviously delusional idea that some random Korean business man would see him standing at a bus stop, and think, "Look at that handsome foreign man. I have been needing one of my own. I shall throw unreasonable amounts of money at him and buy him many gifts if he will only grace me with his presence." For months, I had been bent over in hysterics over Ian's account of this chance meeting that will change his life......

So imagine my surprise when I answer my phone and hear "Told you so!" It wasn't a bus stop. It was Family Mart, the place Ian frequents as his bi-nightly drinking hole. It's a typical Mini Mart, but they sell cheep beer and provide rickety old plastic chairs and tables out on the sidewalk. Not exactly the Budda Bar, but did I mention it's cheep? It couldn't have worked out more perfectly. Ian hadn't been there for weeks (he was too busy washing dishes and scrubbing our toilet), but he decided one day to surprise me after work and wait at Family Mart for me to pass by on my route home. Well, until then, I hadn't thought there was any reason to tell him I had changed my route. So he sat there for hours, thinking I was late. Then fate, by the name of Mr. Family Mart Owner, stepped in and henceforth declared that Ian was indeed a handsome foreign man and that he knew of a wealthy business man needing such a thing. Ian, meet Mr. Park. (Which is actually the name of most business men, and for that matter, most men in Korea) No matter...

That's it, I'm getting my own business woman....