Spring Cleaning

You enter the school , approach the main desk and glance behind at the clock on the far wall. One o'clock, it seems to bubble. Right on time.

Good. Lunch was longer than you'd hoped, but thankfully the taxi driver made up for it. Aggressive driving to the nth power does the trick.

Having finished filling out the sign-in sheet you make your way to the office. Three out of five teachers sit around a computer. The two who can speak English haven't arrived yet. The teachers race out to their respective classrooms without a greeting.

After looking around a moment you scratch your head. Something is different. The owner of the school arrives and it becomes clear. The six desks have been rearranged into a noncommital half-circle. Removable drawers lay stacked in a corner.

Scanning the room, you look for any sign of your textbooks and bookends that sat on your desk. They lay on one of the drawers in the corner. You hope it's yours.

Your boss motions to you and says something in Korean. He wants you to help move the desks.

*****

Glancing at your watch you notice it's two-thirty. You sigh relief. With the work of moving office furniture around finished you still have half an hour to spare before classes start. The boss seems more likable when he's busy. Free time leads to trouble, and more manual labor than you prefer.

You jog upstairs from your language school to the five-subject school to copy some workbooks for students who lost theirs. The owner of the two schools decided one copier was enough for both of them.

Strolling to the copy machine, you are thankful it sits unused. After you try to make a copy, you find out why. The beeping of protest is unmistakable. "No go."

Straining to read the Korean you fail to find any of the few words you understand. You look for a dictionary and fail again. Not one on the entire floor. Yours wasn't in the pile in the corner downstairs. There is no clue where they could have gone.

Checking the trays, you note they all have paper in them. You open the machine, looking for jammed paper. Nothing. You turn the machine off and on again. It does nothing.

The printer lost its mind. Looking around, you don't see any teachers who can help.

Oh, well, you decide. Today the students will learn about sharing.

*****

Entering the classroom at three o'clock, you greet the students who arrived in English. Half the students return your greeting, while the other half will arrive on their own time. You count five students. Five latecomers equals five interruptions, or several big ones as each entrance calls for a conversation in Korean. English will go out the window, as you chant "Stop talking!"

The interruptions are momentary, so you don't mind. Starting the class, you remember the teacher who translated for the students now has her own class at this time. Oh, well, you shrug. The kids and you can brush up on charades skills. They enjoy that game anyway.

Glancing at the clock you reflect on your schedule. Working three to nine works better because it goes faster than a day job. After three months, you decided you like it.

A latecomer swings the door open and chatters loudly in Korean. A girl and a boy race in and join his conversation.

"Listen!" you shout, putting your hand to your ear. The students stop talking. They understand "listen". Now if they could only understand what they are listening to.

One of the English-speaking teachers enters the room. "Sorry, I need to use this classroom. Can you move across the hall?"

Straining your face into a pleasant smile, you head towards the door. "Come on, kids. Let's go."

*****

You march upstairs for dinner. Language school students don't order meals, but the students upstairs do. And there's enough food left for hungry teachers.

Passing by the copier, you give it a dirty look. You wish you could find your dictionary. You'd tell that heap a thing or two.

You carry your tray of Korean food downstairs. It took a week and a half, but you developed a taste for kim chee, especially the kind made with cabbage. It gets a nice zip when the seasonings and juices start to ferment. Red bean paste has its moments, too.

After a glance at the office you rush inside. A desk is missing. In a moment you observe that yeah, it's yours. One of the teachers enters and explains you should get a new desk any day. Translating "any day" in your head from previous experience you figure it will take a week or two.

You search for your stuff, and find it in a heap on your classroom desk. You inhale, exhale, then retreat to your meal of fish, rice and plenty of zippy kim chee.

After dinner you rifle through the pile on your desk. You still can't find the dictionary. The clock on the wall reads seven o'clock. Time for class.

*****

The clock on the far wall says nine-fifteen. Everyone left over an hour ago, but you had unfinished work. Looking around the office one more time, you smile at your "finished work". That should do it.

You notice a stranger behind you as you exit the office. You turn around and see your face in the mirror. It should be you, but the hair is wilder, not much unlike a mad scientist's, and the eyes seem to match the theme. Oh, well. You sigh and turn to go home.

*****

Entering your classroom you glance at your new watch. One-fifteen. You admit it took some time for you to look presentable as a half-sane individual again.

Looking at your classroom you admire your clean teacher's desk. The other teachers approach their desks in the office. You listen and wait. The commotion starts after a moment, so you head to the office.

The teachers examine their desks and puzzle over the objects filling their drawers. Everyone recognizes the books, papers and Rubik's cube. They all look at you.

One of the English-speaking teachers turns to you, shooting question marks from her eyes.

Smiling and nodding you level, "We need to talk."