Stop Talking to Me

The conference is filled with almost 100 teachers from around the world. They are all employees of the Department of Defense. Talking with them makes me want to go to Europe more than every before. At one time, I believed that all new hires went to Korea/Japan, before playing the waiting game until an assignment opens in Europe. I am finding out that it is not the case. I met four guys who were hired at the same time I was: three are in Italy and one in Spain. After saying hi, the inevitable next question is, “Where’ya from?” They tell me they are from Italy, Belgium, Spain, and Portgual. I ask how they like it, and the answer is always, “I love it. It’s a great place to be.” After a few moments of me asking questions of the climate, touring, and foods (imagining me in each aspect of their story), they ask me the same question.

Them: “So, where’ya from?”
Me: “Korea. Osan.”

(Awkward silence as I see pity in their expression. Eyes shift down, what can only mean that they are wondering what kind of screw-up that I must be to be sent to the DoDDS Siberia as an anathema. Their lips purse thinking of being forced into eating kimchee. They rub their chin trying to ask questions about my climate, touring, culture. No further questions come to mind easily.)

Them: “How do you, uh, like it?”
Me: “I think break time is over. We should go back to class.”

I decide that I cannot stand to see that pained, compassionate look anymore, so I decide to let them go free. I will then avoid them for the remainder of the week. I’ve burned through about 75 of them in this fashion. I still have 25 or so left for the next two days. I am spending a lot of time in my room. I can’t interact too quickly and waste the rest of them before the conference is over.