Living in Wonju South Korea, These Many Long Years

Living in Wonju South Korea, These Many Long Years: Version 2.0!

Monday, September 5, 2011

Roamin' with Dirty Bird!

Last Saturday night I got the following call from Dirty Bird:

"Dude!  Hey it's been a while!  What's shakin'?? Listen, we should hit the town hard!  I made a nice extra pile this month, let's celebrate!  I heard of this cool little room salon place that totally lets waegs in, what d'ya say??  It's top shelf mang!  Totally hot women, I tell ya, it'll be a blast!  Cmon drag that sorry ass of yours out of your shit apartment!  Hey when you gonna invite me over anyway?  I'd love to see your sproogs, it's been a while!  What, you've got three now right?  Two?  My bad!  Cmon let's go out!  I heard this place is the bomb!"

The last thing I really want to do is hang out in some trashy room salon, the memories of my last encounter with DB still randomly make me nauseous.  But I know there is no dissuading the DB when he gets it into his mind to drag you out with him.  I'm able to convince him that we should wait before hitting the room salon:

Yeah bud, ok, but we should hit this other place up first.  I heard that it's a rocking spot and I'm supposed to maybe meet some folks there.  What say you?

This is a bit of a stretch, as the spot in question was hip about three years ago, and my real plans for the evening consisted of watching Pirates of the Caribbean with the girls while eating popcorn.  I figure if I can get him to a quiet neutral spot for a bit, get him to drink hard, he may be easily persuaded towards more subdued forms of entertainment.

My master plan is quickly derailed when the bar is fairly packed. It seems the new crop of recruits for EPIK and the newest batch of hakwan teachers all decided to hit the town and congregate at this one bar.

Alright mang this doesn't look too bad! Let's get our drink on!

Dirty runs the bar, attaching himself to any female that he lays eyes on. When one gives him the brush off or he knows his chances are near zero to score, he moves on to the next.

Yeah mang it's really easy to tell if she's ready to go, you know? I can usually gauge it with ten minutes, and that's hard earned experience let me tell ya! I don't want to think about all the nights and money wasted chasing some skirt just to go home with blue balls! Damn!

My reflections are interrupted when DB comes over and loudly proclaims:

Dude this place sucks! It's all feminazis and fag hags! Let's get the hell outta here! That room salon is calling!!

My heart sinks when I hear these words; I'm having a fairly ok time, and DB is not nearly as drunk as I'd hoped he'd be. But the fact is the bar is mostly a sausage party, with indeed very few women milling about.  Before I can try to convince him to either stay or hit a different bar, a couple of big bastards corner us against the bar.

Friend what did I hear you say about my girlfriend? Did you call her a fag hag? That is completely out of order and you should apologize.

DB's eyes narrow and he looks through the two guys. I've seen the look before, and I know everything is about to go bad. I try to jump in and defuse before these two guys decide to mop the floor with us.

Hey, guys, no problem here. My friend just broke up with his girl of three years, she dumped him for some asshole who is a doctor running his own clinic, so he's a bit out of sorts. Let me buy you guys a drink, there's no ill will here. We're heading out anyway.

Once I mention free drinks the two guys become three. I'll buy three beers if it means I can get Dirty Bird and myself out of there in one piece. DB at this point thinks it prudent to say

Yeah mang no worries not your fault you're attracted to fat painted whore fag hags. Different strokes for different folks, right? Let's have a drink and be friends!

What ensues is somewhat comedic: pushing and scuffling, spilling out the front door onto the street.  There are maybe 9 of us out on the street, with me trying to flag down a cab while holding DB back.  Luckily no punches are thrown and a cab finally stops into which I bundle DB and myself.

DB is laughing What a bunch of softcocks!  Did you see the look on his face?! Hilarious!  Yeah, that's not a bad spot mang, think I'll head there again sometime!  Now, let's get to that room salon!

Once out of the cab we wander everywhere trying to find the room salon.  DB stops a few folks to ask them if they'd heard of it, but most of them either scurry off quickly from the drunken loud waeg or have no idea what he's going on about.  His attempts to call the people who had told him about the place are equally fruitless.  Guess they know better than to answer the phone when DB calls after 11.

Finally after about 40 minutes of searching I propose heading over to the Family Mart and grabbing at least a drink while we formulate our next plan.  DB is now sour, and starts drinking soju straight from the bottle.  I sip a beer and listen to him complain about life, the world, everything.

He polishes off a couple of bottles in short order and then decides it's time to head down to the train station.  I'm about to bow out and head home when he takes a couple of steps and falls off the raised platform we're sitting on and hits the ground hard.

Luckily his place isn't too far away.  There's blood gushing from the side of his lip; there will definitely be a scar there later.  Seems the world decided that since he didn't get a richly deserved punch in the face, it would find another way to leave its mark.  I help him wash it out and wonder if I should take him to the hospital as he may need stitches, but he drunkenly waves me off and passes out on the bed.  I take this as my cue and leave.

Walking home, I wonder why I bother answering when he calls, especially as I could have just as easily received a smack or three tonight.  Must be the vicarious thrill of seeing someone act completely free, without restraint or thought to consequence.  Must be nice to be forever 18.

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