I imagine an untold number of escape plans have been thwarted over the years because of one prisoner’s inability to mask their enthusiasm for the outside world. The other guys involved in the scheme are all telling Mr. Excitement to play it cool in order to keep the guards in the dark, but he just can’t help it–freedom is so close. On a sunny Friday in May of 2010 in Jinju, South Korea, I was almost Mr. Excitement. Luckily, Tara was my partner in this tale of busting out, and she was cool enough for the both of us.
The setting for our particular prison break wasn’t Alcatraz, Sing Sing, or Guantanamo Bay. Nope, it was much worse–we were sneaking out of the Kindie. This four-story building with a facade of a European castle doubled as one of the two schools Tara and I taught every morning, and it also housed our living quarters on the top floor. For seven months, we would be jarred awake daily by the sounds of dozens of tiny feet stomping up and down the school/home’s central stairwell or the unrhythmic pounding of preschool hands on traditional Korean drums in the gym space just below our bedroom. Coupling these unconventional alarm clocks with the fact that the owner of our language academy would often find reasons to have us attend school functions during our normal days off or would swing by to “check on things”, we felt like we had no separation between being at work and being home. We had to fly the coop.
All escape movies and shows have their wardens or captains. Andy Dufresne had warden Samuel Norton in the Shawshank Redemption and Hogan and his heroes had Colonel Klink. Tara and I had Rebecca. Rebecca was a middle-aged Korean woman who acted as the lead instructor and the school owner’s right hand. Rebecca seemed to sense something suspicious when we walked by her office in our attempt to leave that afternoon.
“Tara, Lucas, where are you going?” She asked from her doorway.
“We, ah, wanted to stop by Home Plus to buy a few things before the afternoon classes start,” Tara quickly replied. Home Plus was like a Korean version of Target. The Jinju location was conveniently located a few blocks away from the school where we taught our afternoon classes.
“You don’t need the car. I can take you when we finish work tonight,” Rebecca unexpectedly countered.
“Thanks, Rebecca, but we have plans with some friends tonight,” I answered at a rate I hoped didn’t sound too dubious.
This seemed to satisfy Rebecca’s curiosity, and she sent us on our way. The two of us scuttled down the remaining two flights of stairs, out the front doors of the Kindie, and into the tiny white Hyundai Verna sedan we were allowed to drive on occasion. With my hands still slightly shaking, I dropped the manual transmission into reverse, and we started the process of driving through about two miles of rice paddies. We had less than two hours to pull this whole operation off.
It took approximately fifteen minutes for us to enter Jinju proper and get to the apartment of our friend Ji-Min. The night before, Tara and I had stashed some nicer clothes at Ji-Min’s apartment. The plan was for us to change for the interview, complete said interview, change back, and get to our afternoon gig without being late. Tara and I took turns changing in Ji-Min’s small bathroom. We were able to depart less than ten minutes after our arrival.
Since Ji-Min had suggested the idea of accompanying us, we all piled into her four door Kia for the remaining portion of our journey. A short while later, we had arrived at the front gates of the national university we were hoping to make our future place of employment. As Ji-Min parked her car in a guest spot, Tara and I rehearsed our answers to typical interview questions.
The heat and humidity weren’t nearly at their summertime highs, but I could feel drops of sweat forming on my neck and back. Don’t screw up, Luke. We need these jobs. We need to leave the Kindie.
After a wrong turn and a correction, the three of us soon found ourselves in front of a six story building with the words “English Only Zone” written above its glass entry way. Ji-Min gave us both an encouraging nod, and we entered the building.
Once we reached the second floor, we noticed an open door leading to an office on our left. Ji-Min took charge and led our group towards the signs of life inside of the office. There was a Korean woman in her mid-twenties sitting at a desk and typing away at her computer.
Ji-Min introduced herself, Tara, and me and proceeded to speak to the woman in rapid Korean. Since our Korean was still at the survival level, Tara and I weren’t able to make much from their exchange. After their conversation had reached its conclusion, Ji-Min told us we were being instructed to take a seat just outside of the office. Apparently, we were five minutes early, and a member of the interview team wasn’t ready. We did as we were told.
A bit longer than five minutes later, a Korean woman in her mid-thirties came out of the office. She was followed by the younger woman Ji-Min had originally spoken with. The two women introduced themselves to Tara and me in English as Ms. H. (the older of the two) and Ms. M. (the younger). We followed Ms. H. and Ms. M. across a hallway to a closed door. The closed door led to another office with a large table.
“Please, sit here,” Ms. H. instructed.
Ji-Min launched into another round of accelerated Korean directed at the two women. Ms. M. spoke to Ms. H., and Ms. H. spoke to Ji-Min. The three looked at Tara and me like they were appraising the freshness of some fruit. The three Koreans went back to communicating in the same, seemingly, circular pattern for five or so more minutes. This ended when Ms. H. finally asked us a question.
“Are you married? Be honest,” she seemed to warn.
“No, but we have been together for almost four years,” Tara replied.
The two Misses nodded their heads.
“And, we’re thinking about getting married in the near future,” Tara added.
This earned a few more nods and a quick business smile from Ms. M. before the three Korean women went back to discussing our qualifications and marital status (?) amongst themselves. Tara and I gave each other surreptitious, side-eye looks. It was like we were trying to communicate with a pattern of eye blinks. Did we answer her question correctly? Are they going to reject us because we’re not married? I attempted to ask with a series of blinks.
The Korean-only conversation died down again. Ms. H. looked at me and asked, “If you work here, will you avoid dating the students?”
“What?” I shot back before realizing I hadn’t answered her question.
“Some teachers have relationships with students. This is not good. If you work here, we do not want you to date your students. Can you do that?” Ms. H. elaborated.
I scratched at my ear and tilted my head slightly, “Yes, I can avoid dating my students. I would be working here with my girlfriend. She would be extremely unhappy if I dated anyone else.”
“So, you are sure that you will not date your students?” Ms. H. asked with absolutely zero humor. She seemed like she wanted me to swear an oath before allowing the interview to proceed.
I pointed at Tara and said, “Yes, I promise. I will only date Tara. You will not have to worry about me and the students.”
Ji-Min nodded her head confidently after my second reply. The three Korean women continued their conversation. The tones of their voices seemed to lighten and the speed of their exchange appeared to intensify. The conversation came to another natural pause, and the three women seemed like they were examining us again. There was a round of head nodding, and Ms. H. spoke again.
“Can you start in August? That is the time of our English camp.”
Tara and I exchanged looks of mild confusion before she answered, “Yes, we can definitely do that. We just need to get our visa exchanged.”
“Good. Ah, one thing. Please pretend you are a married couple when you start working here. So if an older Korean professor asks you if you are married, please say yes,” Ms. H. said.
“Congratulations. We can start your paperwork next week,” Ms. M. said.
Wait, what? That’s it? Did this entire interview consist of me promising not to have a relationship with my students? Not exactly the highest of bars to clear.
Ms. H. and Ms. M. shook our hands and walked us to the elevator. We arranged a time to return the following week, said our goodbyes, and rode down.
Once we were safely back in Ji-Min’s car, Tara asked from her spot in the back seat, “What did you tell them, Ji-Min?”
“I just told them that you were nice people and dependable. I think they trust me because I’m Korean,” she replied matter of factly.
We were able to change our clothes in Ji-Min’s apartment, make plans to meet later that evening, and leave with plenty of time to get to our afternoon school location. During the ride, I made jokes about Tara not being asked to keep her hands off the students. Did that mean the male students were fair game?
We slipped into our office with plenty of time to spare before our first afternoon class, and Rebecca was none the wiser. Our little escape plan had been finalized with Ji-Min acting like something akin to our inside man. In two and a half months, we’d say our goodbyes to all of the staff and students at our private language academy. And, we’d be free from the Kindie.
Having Ji-Min at this most awkward of interviews was probably the clearest example of the common proverb: it’s not what you know but who you know that I have ever experienced in my life. If Ji-Min hadn’t been with us, would we still be serving our time?