Jamie Gets Arrested: A Korean Saga

One night in December 2009, I got arrested. This is the story.

Now, I don't remember exactly which day it was, but it was definitely in the middle of the week, maybe a Wednesday. That sounds right to me; let's say Wednesday. So on this Wednesday, I wasn't planning to go out, and instead I was going to have a quiet night inside. With one exception: a Dunkin' Donuts had just opened up, and I felt that donuts would be sure to improve my night-in. It was on the walk over that I see some of my co-workers, who are on their way downtown. I was still fairly new, and not wanting to turn down an invitation I agreed to go to the bars. We end up going to a couple of bars, Ping and Who's Bob, and I discover that these guys do not freaking quit. I'm up to my elbows in shots, tossing back offered drinks, talking, having a fairly great time

and then I'm in a police station. It didn't feel like I woke up, more like my senses cleared enough to recognize that I was in a new and decidedly unfamiliar place. I was so drunk that I didn't even realize I was drunk, and my first thoughts were that surely whatever help the police needed from me was concluded, so I started asking the police if I could leave. They told me it would only be a few more minutes, and after I heard this a couple times I began wondering if I should just leave. I was sitting on a bench next to the door, I wasn't handcuffed or anything, and it was just about dawn outside. At this point it hadn't occurred to me that I might have done something to warrant being inside a police station, so I figured I would stay and ride out whatever they needed me for, and hopefully I would be back home in time to get some sleep. This being, of course, a work day. What feels like a long time passes (probably about half an hour in reality), and eventually I'm ushered into a car outside, where I'm driven to another, bigger police station.

Here, I wait on another bench for another long time, but I'm starting to sober up and it occurs to me that maybe I might actually be in trouble. This notion is exacerbated by two detectives who arrive (it being so early in the morning, the station is otherwise almost completely empty) and do a lot of head-shaking and snickering over whatever the previous cops tell them. I keep asking if I can go home, keep getting told to wait a few more minutes, but meanwhile my brain is switching over into survival mode. Unfortunately, I couldn't (and still can't) remember what I had actually done, which made coming up with a cover story exceedingly difficult. Finally I ask what I was even here for, and one of the detectives tells me in poor English that climbing on roofs is not okay.

Well alright. Now we're getting somewhere. I still didn't have any memory of whatever happened, but now I could start working on a story. And oh: what a story it was. You see, it was these two guys, John and Christopher. They were teachers, or so they told me, and I had met them at a concert in Bangogae previously. Because every good lie is rooted in truth, I used descriptions of two people I actually did meet at a show in Bangogae, although who the fuck remembers what their names actually were. Anyway, I had started out the night drinking with a couple of my coworkers (which, of course, they can verify if need be) but I saw John and Chris at the same bar. So, I left my coworkers (the truth, presumably) so I could hang out with these two fine fellas I had met once before. Now, we walk around (for quite a fucking while I'm to find, since apparently I was picked up at around 5am) and John says let's go to his house. He takes us to a house that he says is his, but it's just such a nice night he says, that we should go stargazing. Which is a very normal thing in America, you see. Why, back in America I would go up on my roof to look at the stars all the time. You know, to relax.

Well, wouldn't you know it, but we hear police sirens, and John and Chris climb down off the roof and run away! I'm left up on the roof all alone, confused and afraid, Officer Sir. I kept expecting old John and Chris to come back and explain things, but finally I got off that roof and it is at that point that the police took me to the police station. Shucks, I didn't even know I was arrested, what with them not speaking English and all.

Right about now is when one of the detectives would ask if I noticed the owner of the house, before the police came, outside shouting at me to get down. Well! He was shouting in Korean, and at the time I of course thought that the house was John's. A mistake as honest as they come.

Now, the story wasn't quite this detailed at first, but that was the general nuts and bolts, with more elaborations filled in as needed (and as I slowly picked up on more real facts from the incident). I sat in that police station for what felt like a good hour more, embellishing my tale and working up some quality fake tears for the detectives. I'm not proud of it, but actually I kind of am. It was some damn fine method work. However, either these detectives don't get a lot of hysterics or I was seriously misplaying things, because one of the detectives came over and asked, confused, why I was crying. So much for that.

Until, mind you, the owner of that house came by the station. He was an old man, in his 70s or near there if memory serves, and I really turned on the moist, penitent gazes for him. Not at first, since naturally I had no idea who he was, but once I was properly informed that, yes, it was his roof I had climbed on, I gave him all I had.

More time passes, and finally I'm loaded into a van with this guy and the detectives, and we drive to the house, where the cops take pictures of everything and ask me things like Where did you climb up, Was it here, Did you walk here, and I affirm what I can, trying my very best not to sound like a person making up an astonishing amount as they go along.

It is while they're taking pictures that I notice a fence with some Korean words painted on it, along with the letters "CCTV". The second I saw that I figured the ruse was all over and I'd be 2 days from deportation, but maybe the detectives didn't notice because no video ever surfaced that I'm aware of. But more on the general incompetence of Korean police later.

We get back to the station, I'm still in full naieve-patsy-shocked-by-these-events mode, at least until the house owner takes off somewhere, and the police have me sign some papers for their file. They ask me if I want to hire some sort of defense from the American consulate, which I'm apparently entitled to, but I decline, because I didn't want my school to get involved with this shit, and talking to the consulate seemed like it would muddy things up. It also didn't help that the detectives wanted someone to translate for me because their English was not up to par, so they kept asking for the name of my boss. I wasn't about to have them give my boss a call at (what was now) 9am to pick me up at a police station. I instead give them the name of a coworker who happened to be out of town so there was no way someone was going to answer his phone. However, since I did give them the name of my school, they insisted we drive by and see if she was there. I acquiesced, knowing that my school doesn't open till the afternoon.

On the drive to school, the detectives are asking me more questions, like how much I had to drink. I told them I had two beers, a Guinness and a Heineken or something like that. They laugh, and tell me that they can smell whiskey on my breath. It was probably true, but I call bullshit anyways and insist on a breathalyzer, on the hunch that they won't actually give me one. Score one for hunches! We get to the school, which is of course closed. I tell them that no one will come to open up the building for hours yet, and the detectives suggest that we wait in the car until they do. I insist that it is a terrifically stupid idea, especially since it is a work day and I would rather get in a couple hours sleep before I go and teach fucking kids, and finally they relent and drop me off at my apartment, leaving me with a scrap of paper with a phone number and a reminder to show up at the police station in a few days for a follow-up. They tell me that the case is no big deal, but still make me pinky-swear that I'll show up.

That's not a joke, the Korean police made me swear with our pinkies.

They also told me that they would not talk to anyone at my school, so everything could be handled privately.




Coming Soon! PART 2 of Jamie Gets Arrested: Korean police are goddamn liars.

Star Wars Shoes and Mexi-Staches Abound

Well now, whose handsome shoes might those be?


Skywalker? Why, those must be those stylish limited edition Star Wars Adidas shoes I've heard so much about! On my feet! Being owned by me! Fuck yeah! Story time:

I went to the store a couple weekends ago, but they said they were sold out in every size and didn't know when they would get restocked. Or at least, I think that's what they said, they were speaking fucking Korean. So I go back a week later, hoping against hope that they've got some more in stock, but imagine my dismay when I'm told that not only do they not have any US size 9, they don't have any shoes at all except for the one display pair. And since they're limited edition, that pair was going to be their last ever.

But I'm looking at those shoes, and they don't seem that small for a supposed US size 7 1/2...So I pull that display shoe down, and I'll be damned if it didn't look about the same size as the Vans I was wearing. Finally I decided I'd give it a shot and I slipped on that size 7 1/2, and instantly I felt like the nerdiest Cinderella there ever was. The shoe not only fit, but it fit perfectly. They also cost 140 bucks, but come on. It was like goddamn Fate telling me to buy these shoes.

Oh yeah, I also finally got pictures of the hookah bar we've been hanging out at, which is officially my favorite place in Korea. Unfortunately it slipped my mind to get photos of the whole place, but here's our table:


The plastic bag on the far right is one of those made-to-order bags of liquor I might have mentioned in my New Year's post. They cost about 4 or 5 bucks and get you de-runk. We snuck some of them in because we are assholes, but we also ordered a bunch of wine and cocktails so it is okay. I brought in some fast food wings once and still haven't heard the end of it.


Another shot of the cocktail-bag in the middle there, and a couple other people...


People like these delightful Korean girls. I talked a bunch with them in a weird drunk mix of Korean, English, and Japanese, and I think I was supposed to be set up with the one on the right, which would have been neat if that same drunkenness hadn't also made me forget to ask her number.

OH WELL here's an awful goatee that I had, to prove a point to a coworker about how awful it would be:


And on that note, I'm done. Hopefully at some point this month I'll be un-lazy enough to bang out my arrest story, but until feel free to leave a comment making fun of my inability to grow facial hair or something.

Lost Hats and Drunk Russians

Well so much for that whole posting more often thing. Regardless of my writing sloth, I do have stories to share, like this one regarding my past weekend. On Friday I get some barbecue after work with a couple coworkers, and I'm asked if I want to go downtown to the bars later. I think to myself, "Maybe just a drink or two," and the Universe proceeded to shoot space-milk out its nose laughing so hard.


Experts have created this reconstruction of the crime scene.

I get a call Saturday morning from my partner-in-crime, asking if I knew where her wallet was. I replied that maybe it was at the bar Who's Bob, since that was the last bar we were at. She informs me that, Who's Bob was most definitely not the last bar we were at. Uh oh. On my couch I find an unfamiliar brown scarf that must be my friend's, so I bring it to work and am informed that she's never seen it before.


I stole a stranger's scarf.

I somehow make it through work on Saturday and then try and fit in a nap before I have to go out again for a coworker's going-away party. Now, I was so out of it that I had forgotten to put on my hat that night, so imagine my surprise when the bartender comes up to me, with my hat I didn't even know was missing, and says that I left it there last night. Shit. I talk to my friend and get more details about this mysterious Friday, and I'm told the Pizza-in-a-Cup lady actually had her wallet. The Pizza-in-a-Cup lady, is of course, the lady who owns the street cart that sells tiny pizzas in paper cups. They are delicious and she is apparently a very trustworthy woman.

Now, this Saturday night I am being uncharacteristically prudent and sticking to only one drink, a Guinness from the tap. I have some sensible, boring conversations with my coworkers, including the one who's leaving, and I notice this really old guy with a huge camera hanging around. He's a hunched-over guy who must be at least in his 50s, and every time someone at our table takes a picture of someone, he insists on also taking the same picture with the big SLR around his neck. Since it isn't a Polaroid camera, I have to assume these pictures are for some personal collection that I don't want to know about.

Regardless, we mostly ignore him, until finally he brings over a couple shots of Jager. One shot for him, and one shot for my friend, whom I guess has caught his fancy. She doesn't quite know what do with his gift, so she offers the shot to the coworker leaving, it being his going-away party and all. Old Guy doesn't like that one bit, and proceeds to throw the second shot in coworker's face.

Oh yeah, things got interesting real quick. My coworker leaps out of his chair and shoves the guy, who is surprisingly spry for his age. He's on his feet and trying to fight back before half a dozen other people are up and holding the two apart. A lot of nasty words are thrown around, and some of them must have had a Slavic tinge because everyone starts screaming for "the Russian" to get the hell out. The bartender, shrewd businessman that he is, does not force him out, but instead makes him stand at the end of the bar by the door. Coworker, white shirt ruined and hair dripping with Jager, has understandably had enough and leaves the bar, with everyone in tow (although there is a delay due to another bitchy coworker who instead of leaving wanted to scream shrilly at the Russian for about 10 minutes).

Outside the bar, we find out that one member of our group, took a blow in the brouhaha and his lip is busted open. He heads off to the hospital for stitches, Mike goes to another bar, and I stay at Commune's with some other people for a comparatively unexciting half an hour, during which time the sad highlight is when My Bloody Valentine's "Sometimes" come on, when I had 5 minutes ago been thinking silently about requesting it. It was a pretty neat moment, before I went home and stayed up till 7am playing Dragon Age.

Oh, some non-weekend stuff that happened:

-I had a student lose a tooth in class. He went to the bathroom, came back, and didn't want to go to the office when I offered, saying that he was fine, it was just a tooth. My training didn't cover what to do in this situation, so I just went on with class. Next week: The story of how Jamie got sued.

-I'm thinking about buying a hedgehog after I saw one in a department store the other day. I always wanted one as a kid, but I'm a little worried the temptation to paint it blue would be too great.

-Apparently a bunch of Stormtroopers marched through downtown Daegu, and according to some sources, danced. This was all probably in promotion of the new Adidas Star Wars shoes, which are super sweet. Unfortunately, they were sold out of every size when I went to buy them. Fuck you, misleading Stormtrooper demonstration.


You will be mine. This I swear.