From what I surmise, the art teacher was hungover today so he treated some of us to lunch away from the cafeteria. In the car, sonsengnim says from the back the name of some dish “to console the stomach after drinking. Yes, in America do you have?” On the outside of the restaurant there’s a picture labled “hangover soup.” I think the art teacher had that while the rest of us ordered some other soup. Well, I was ordered for.
Side note: I don’t know what I will do when I go back to a life when I have to make my own decisions like when, what, and whether I will eat.
The lady teachers ran off in some other car at lunch time, so I guess I’m one of the guys now. A regular from my gym is a waitress at that restaurant. The sonsengnims ordered my soup “not spicy” so I had to request some kind of red paste after the fact.
Speaking of the gym, working out at the same time as the man with the creepy eyebrows, who will correct every thing that I have apparently been doing wrong by a matter tiny angles, is just like having a personal trainer. Which is beneficial for developing better form, but being under observation cramps my style. On the plus side, you can verbalize your internal monologue when the people around you don’t speak your language.
I read somewhere that Koreans take a long time to warm up to people. The women, particularly the woman who works there, took to me from day one. She calls me “Sara older-sister” to her daughter. But it took about three months to get out of the “I see you but will not give any indication that I have noticed your existence although I will respect the radius of your work-out zone” phase with the men. When it rains it pours.