Be careful what you wish for

If you’ve ever traveled abroad or read this blog, you know the routine.  You make a trip to the store.  All you want is something simple.  Shampoo.  Coconuts.  Matching underwear.  The cashier will not sell you the item.  She says something to you in Korean.  You obviously don’t understand.  She repeats herself.  You obviously still don’t understand.  You leave empty handed and frustrated.  It’s like that song.  The one that never ends. 

This is what I assume is usually happening: the cashier is trying to tell us about a “buy one/ get one free” deal on Coconuts.  Or maybe if you buy shampoo, you get a bottle of conditioner half price.  Quite possibly she’s desperately trying to tell us not to wear matching underwear.  I’m sure the cashier always has the best of intentions.  But it’s still frustrating.  When I worked in similar jobs in the US and I was confronted with the same situation, I handled it differently.  The scenario generally involved a Hispanic person, and their English wasn’t the best.  Instead of trying to explain to them that they could upgrade their Chick-fil-A combo for only $0.40 and receive large fries and a large drink, or maybe that Starbucks is offering a deal too good to pass up on those dried out, bland scones, I would simply let the transaction go.  I would only give them what they asked for.  I didn’t want to confuse and frustrate the customer.  Even though they missed out on something beneficial, they left happy. 

I’ve always complained that the Korean cashiers at Homeplus should do the same.

Last Friday my wish was granted.  Jessica and I were in Andong for a movie.  From experience, we know that the next available train to Yeongju leaves the station at 2:15am.  Therefore, after the movie lets out we make our way to the bus station.  It’s a little more expensive, but buses make regular trips to Yeongju.  The movie let out around 11:45pm, and we waved down the first taxi we saw. 

“Bus-uh tuh-mi-nal, gah-ju-say-yo” I say to the driver.  And away we go.  The new bus station is on the other side of town, maybe 20 minutes.  We arrive, hand the driver 10,000 Won for his troubles, and exit the car.  There are about 10 people waiting, and the next one in line hops in the taxi after us.  The station is dark, and we walk inside to find it closed. 

Taxi drivers commonly know bus and train schedules.  They make most of their money driving newly arrived passengers to their destinations, and circling back to the station to retrieve new patrons.  Our driver was no different.  He knew the bus station was closed.  He knew those white people in his car were clueless to the fact.  But he drove us anyway.  Never did he try to explain that there were no buses.  At first I was a bit irritated because now we would have to spend another 10,000 Won to get back to the train station.  But then I remembered all those times at Homeplus when we left without what we came for and no clue as to why. 

So to that Korean taxi driver who took our money and kept his mouth shut: Thanks a million.