Recently, things were starting to look like I might have some sort of a social life. After a ridiculously long summer vacation dealing with three small children, school was back, the kids were finally gone, I had time to have a shower (uninterrupted no less) and I thought I was making some new friends. Apparently, when you don't smell and make time to wash and brush your hair, these things can happen. My new friends and I were buying coffees for each other, sharing a meal of salmon sashimi in a non-violent way (I usually struggle with any kind of food sharing, especially salmon sashimi sharing, so this is no mean feat), openly discussing our issues related to child rearing and husband training, comparing ridiculous leg hair length as Fall closed in and had even managed to do Costco together - something you should not do with just anyone as, not only does it result in showing others exactly what you feed your family for the next week or so (there goes the illusion that your family lives a completely organic, unprocessed, non-artificial flavours and colours, carbohydrate free and carbon neutral lifestyle) but it necessarily involves your friends witnessing your Costco rage that unfortunately but inevitably rears its head as you elbow off the adjumas for that last remaining beef tray). But something went horribly, horribly wrong.
I have lost friends before. Although terribly sad and painful, the reasons have been mostly understandable: best friend chooses another best friend; love interest interrupts friendship and friend and her new "special friend" ride off in the sunset together; parents intervene and successfully ruin your friendship because they don't allow you to go to that uber-cool after party; or, you simply grow apart. But, when young, you can usually rebound from the loss and, relatively easily, make a new friend. I watch my kids seamlessly cement their friendships over monkey bar moves, cartwheels on the oval, swings on the playground and endless games of toilet tag (the latest craze my 8 year old plays - when tagged, you must squat down until someone comes along and "flushes" you. Then you are able to rejoin the game).
I have lost friends before. Although terribly sad and painful, the reasons have been mostly understandable: best friend chooses another best friend; love interest interrupts friendship and friend and her new "special friend" ride off in the sunset together; parents intervene and successfully ruin your friendship because they don't allow you to go to that uber-cool after party; or, you simply grow apart. But, when young, you can usually rebound from the loss and, relatively easily, make a new friend. I watch my kids seamlessly cement their friendships over monkey bar moves, cartwheels on the oval, swings on the playground and endless games of toilet tag (the latest craze my 8 year old plays - when tagged, you must squat down until someone comes along and "flushes" you. Then you are able to rejoin the game).
When you are old(er) and have much, much less time on your hands (and maybe not as much talent on the monkey bars), making a friend becomes a little more challenging. You are forced to talk with children (often random ones) climbing all over you, without significant eye contact and with little to no ability to sustain one conversational topic for longer than two minutes. You assess not just each other but also each other's parenting styles and whether or not prospective friend gives her child another cookie before dinner becomes a matter of incredible significance.
My new friends and I had successfully made it through the playground tests and I had kept showering, with chemical free soap from Costco so I was confident things were looking good. In fact, on the day our friendship ended, we had also successfully shoe shopped together at the insanely epic market of shoes in Dongdaemun, buying love match shoes no less (more on that story later). But, when we realised what the time was, things started to rapidly unwind. Here is what happened.
My new friends and I had successfully made it through the playground tests and I had kept showering, with chemical free soap from Costco so I was confident things were looking good. In fact, on the day our friendship ended, we had also successfully shoe shopped together at the insanely epic market of shoes in Dongdaemun, buying love match shoes no less (more on that story later). But, when we realised what the time was, things started to rapidly unwind. Here is what happened.
Having got slightly distracted by shoe shopping (to be expected when you are faced with shop after shop after shop of innumerable sparkly and neon numbers that my wardrobe desperately needed), an experience made even better because my friends could easily translate to the shoe shop sellers that I do not have a foot deformity and it is quite common in the land that I come from for ladies to have a shoe size greater than 7.5, all of a sudden, we realised that we were running rather late for school pick up. Really late. Like, There Is No Way You Can Get To School In Time To Pick Up Children late. I was driving.
I like to think I have mastered driving in Korea, on the wrong side of the road, in crazy traffic and where there are essentially only three road rules, never make eye contact with someone else driving, back off from buses and red stop lights are there as a guide only. Before coming to Seoul, I used to patiently wait until there were no cars on the road before pulling out (easy to do when you live in a city where there really are no cars), I would always stop at the traffic lights (sometimes even when they were green) and I would drive around and around the carpark of the department store until I found a space all by itself with no neighbouring cars (much less parking pressure that way). Now, after two years driving in Seoul, I am certainly more pushy on the road, I can change lanes in less than five minutes (although not yet with the speed of taxi drivers who believe they have magical powers that make cars next to them disappear) and I can reverse park, with cars on either side of me, like a champion. And I have stopped: gripping the steering wheel so tightly that I lose all circulation in my hands; assuming the crash position when a bus approaches; and closing my eyes when driving through tunnels.
But my driving is, apparently, not as Koreanised as I thought it was. As I started the journey back to school my friends, the passengers in the car, were politely quiet for the first second then this question was posed:
Friend 1: "Is your horn broken?"
Friend 1: "Is your horn broken?"
Friend 1: "Then use it. You need to use your horn. Use your horn. Now!"
(I had never thought of myself as particularly shy with the horn. I do like to use it occasionally to remind people that it is best for everyone, me especially, if they think about sticking to the road rules. But this was a new level of horn usage.)
This exchange was followed with this advice:
Friend 2: "Drive in the bus lane."
Then this:
Friend 2: "Don't stop for the policeman. He will get our of your way." (Which he did, same for the school children that we bypassed a little further on).
Friend 1 and Friend 2, in voices very much louder than usual: "Change lanes. Change lanes", two words that continue to haunt me today. For added emphasis, the backseat passenger window was wound down with Friend 2's arm outstretched, directing all cars behind, beside and in front to stop as I, slightly manically and definitely not completely in control, weaved (more accurately, swerved) in and out.
Little more than five minutes into our 45 minute journey and my armpits were sweating. The radio was off for extra concentration. One hand was on the horn, the other was on the wheel (no need for a spare hand to hit the indicator when Friend 2 has her arm out of the window). I was wishing I had access to a stack hat (Australian iconic helmet from the 80's) to put on and I was trying to ignore a sudden and desperate need for a bathroom.
"Change lanes. Change lanes" continued the call, getting louder all the time. Meanwhile, Friend 2's child was calmly sitting in the car seat in the back watching tv. Obviously, this was a normal everyday driving occurrence for him.
My friends stepped up the intensity.
Friend 1: "Don't stop. Don't hesitate. Why are you hesitating. DRIVE. DRIVE. DRIVE."
Me, beseechingly: "Bus in front."
Friend 1 authoritatively: "It will move. Move bus. MOVE." (Bus moved).
Friend 2: "Just gun it. Faster. FASTER." (I keep sweating).
Friend 1 and 2, in unison and at a level that was beyond yelling: "Change lanes. CHANGE LANES! CHANGE LANES!"
Friend 2, the one demonstrating some issues with speed, paused her helpful instructions to enquire, ever so politely, about the speed limit in my car (no, not on the road but in my car - as in what speed is your car capable of?). Friend 1, also perfectly courteously, enquired about my insurance policy. Put these two questions together and the inference clearly is: Julie, you cannot drive. I sweated some more - my insurance policy is not applicable to third party drivers and I have never done more than 70 km/h in Seoul (actually pretty much anywhere).
Trying not to cry, I kept driving, endeavouring valiantly to obey their instructions but, having not trained with Nascar or Monster Trucks I was (am) clearly ill-equipped for driving in Seoul. But somehow, I did it, arriving at school in record time, just a few seconds after the bell had rung and, surprisingly, accident free. My knees were weak. My armpits were wet. My friends were laughing. They re-did their hair, straightened their tops, put their new shoes on and appeared like everything was normal. But I could see it in their eyes. They looked at me with pity. My driving skills were not up to scratch. I was weak behind the wheel. And I was (am) scared of them. Sigh. It's back to the playground for me.
