What, No Fried Fish?
// April 16th, 2010 // No Comments » // korea
Well there was quite a scene in the lunchroom today. When I first walked in, the ajummas were a little noisier than usual. The eldest one, Namsuk, was scooping food onto her plate, repeating, “Ani, ani, ani,” over and over. ‘Ani’ means ‘no.’ So she clearly wasn’t happy.
I got my food, sat down, and things are proceeding as they normally do. Mr. Shin asks politely for the pepper. I misunderstand him and hand him the Kleenex box. Mr. Shin and Hyeseon both say, “No, the pepper.” This time I understand and slide it over to him. He asks me where Song is. I say I don’t know. She’s always late, so I just said, “She’s late,” and in my head I add, “again.”
More ajummas file into the room and the decibel level adjusts accordingly as more exclamations of malcontentedness arise. Namsuk’s unintelligible rant finally stirs curiosity in me. “Hyeseon,” I begin, “Why is everyone yelling?”
“There’s no fried fish.”
“What?”
“The menu says fried fish. There’s no.”
“Ah, I see. Why isn’t there any fried fish?”
“Because some teachers can’t they like fried fish but so and there’s no.”
“Hmm, okay.”
I dropped it after that. Hyeseon can speak English pretty well, so I think that was her way of saying that she didn’t know. Koreans don’t like to admit being in the dark about anything, so they usually try and cover it up. Or maybe she did know, and I just didn’t hear her right. But then things get interesting.
One of the cooks bursts through the door and scuttles up to our table. She looks prepared to make an announcement. The din falls to a whisper. We wait in anticipation. She begins.
“ㅁㄴ이랒ㄷ겨ㅐㅑ키차ㅓㅍㅈ대ㅑㅕㅇ” and so on for 60 seconds. What I typed is the equivalent of “;alskdjfopwieura;vlkmasdl;ku” in Korean. I don’t really know what she said.
There are cries of protest. Ajummas ‘tsk tsk’ with displeasure. Some stand up and cross their arms. The noise level rises once again, and the cook gets into a heated discussion with Ju. Namsuk continues to mutter disquieting ramblings and continues to do so until the cook left.
I smile to myself. Because lunches are usually/always uneventful and boring. What excitement I have witnessed!
I put my empty tray with the others and leave the room. Outside, two ajummas are still going at it with the cook.
Lesson 1: If you break your word to a Korean, there will be hell to pay.
Lesson 2: Never, I repeat, NEVER, under any circumstances, fail to deliver the fried fish.
