The second weekend I was up in the great frozen north (Seoul to my Daejeon, that will only refer to Canada when I am back in the States), there was no rehearsal, just a fundraiser for the choir on Saturday night, and me helping a choir friend move her newly-adopted cat from Itaewon to the pseudo suburb she lives in south of Seoul. I chose to stay in a hostel this time, rather than brave the restless natives at R's apartment.
The fundraiser was loud and musical, and a good time was had by most, though the MC crossed the lines of both decency and common sense a few too many times for my taste. What do I know, though, I grew up under Plymouth rock. My sense of humor is... attuned differently. Anyway, we worked and earned money and that was good. At around 2 a.m., two friends from Daejeon and I taxi'd over to the hostel. We were all abed around 3 (not wholly unusual for people on hagwon time) and thought not too much of it.
At 7 a.m., the whooping cacophony of disturbed cormorants woke me. At least, that's what I assumed it to be. I have never heard anything quite so shriek-some as seabirds when disturbed, but the actual cause of the noise gave the seagulls a run for their money. It was a toddler. ("Man often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it" and all that. Ha, Universe. Ha. And, just because you're special: ha.) Apparently, a whole family (3 generations, all rabbit's friends and relations, etc., etc.) was in the room two doors down from us. Several of the people in said family were under 3 feet in height and astonishingly vocal. The repeated cry of the local species was a variant on the Korean omma-will (like the whippoorwill, but louder). This child was one of the same species R is raising, which almost whispers the "om" and then bugles the "MA!" Their m.o. is to run with frantic, stompy tread as fast as they can, a horrific tattoo dopplering past the doors of those trying to sleep. Once at the end of the hallway, they stand facing back down the way they came, and release their piercing cry, "omMA!" (Korean for "mother"). There really isn't a font size differential big enough to impart the sense of impending apocalypse this cry brings out in the unwary.
To address this un-neighborly display, I executed the Zombie Shuffle. I am not the most graceful person I know, and my coordination (such as it is) is not in peak form at ungodly hours of the morning. Apparently the omMA who beheld me shambling the shamble of the undead was sufficiently concerned that I might sate my obvious and unholy hunger for living flesh with her children, and she put them away. Hallelujah, indeed.
Don't people know that hostels are for university students and serial killers? What a world we live in, internet.
After the hostel, I had to meet my soon-to-be-cat-owning friend in Itaewon at 11:30 or so, and we, after a lot more hills than I thought were entirely necessary, collected the cat and its 50 pounds of baggage (mostly two enormous containers of litter) and hopped on the subway. The cat, having infinitely better manners than any of the human offspring of my recent acquaintance, was wholly silent throughout the entire hour-plus journey. The kitty litter itself was less well behaved, making a frantic bid for freedom down the stairs in the station where we had to transfer. Naturally, it was the open container, so on landing at the bottom of the steps, it deposited a great deal of its contents, making a tiny ski slope for the weary commuter. As though we had not gotten enough stares for being white and in Seoul and carrying a cat-carrier, we were now the founders of Mount Litterloaf. The nice people selling walnut cakes at the top of the stairs lent us their broom, though, and we soldiered on.
At long last, cat and accoutrements arrived in... well, wherever we were going. It's a nice area, and J (my friend) has an apartment much nicer than mine. The cat was phenomenal. She was totally silent the whole way there, and as soon as she was freed from her carrier, she was right at home. She was like a dog. She sniffed everything and then rolled over on the floor, demanding attention for her not-so-noble girth. She is a low-maintenance lady. Once happily ensconced, we left her to dominate the house while we headed back to Seoul proper for a friend's birthday party, which was delicious in every way, and then I took a train home, which is a mercifully baby-free zone. Huzzah!
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