Krakow, Poland:
The Krakowian hobo scene thrives on the predominantly Catholic population's sympathy for the meek, ragged, leprous, etc. In Stare Miasto during peak hobo hours, you will find no fewer than eleven middle-aged hoboes spasming behind their aluminum walkers. Taped on the front of each of their walkers is the same laminated bilingual sign that reads (in 72-point Times New Roman font), "Please give me to the money" and "Szrzczrzczsz rzcz rzczrzczłić." These Polish hoboes are afflicted by a rare form of Parkinson's Disease, whose body-convulsing symptoms vanish the instant the hobo's palm nerves make contact with a fistful of loose złoty.
Chicago, Illinois:
Is it any wonder that this festering bastion of diversity is home to the most paradoxical hoboes in the world? Chicago plays host to the sort of hobo who makes you shine his shoes, who is a Boeing executive making 2.3 million a year, who will toss you a quarter for doing nothing.
Daegu, South Korea:
Like much of the local non-hobo population, the Daeguian hobo is an entrepreneur first, an alcoholic second, and a Level 32 Dwarf Priest in World of Warcraft. He coasts about downtown, lying chest-down on a four-wheeled wooden scooter, the kind you used for roller dodgeball in 3rd grade P.E. class. His lower half is swathed in a tarp of black rubber, mermaid-style. Whether or not there are legs underneath the tarp is a topic of some interest to Korean young adults aged 13 to 16 who are on their first dates. On his cart, each hobo carries a small boombox capable of blasting, at 120 decibels, the most sorrowful Korean waltzes you ever did hear. There are eight of these men downtown at any given time and one imagines they are equipped with GPS equipment so as to not infringe on another hobo's rolling grounds.
Minneapolis, Minnesota:
Notoriously picky hoboes. Whimsical. Eccentric. Capricious. They ask you for 37 cents and if you don't have exact change, they walk away.
Berlin, Germany:
The Berlin Hobo (German: der Berlinerhobo) is among the most enterprising and talented in the former Holy Russian Empire. An accordion virtuoso, a prolific caricaturist, a juggler of flaming crucifixes, and a public urinator extraordinaire, der Berlinerhobo often gets so wrapped up in his performance that he forgets to ask you for change. But he will find you some days later, even if you have since left the country or continent.
Omaha, Nebraska:
The Omahobo is Walt Whitman, Kofi Annan, and a wet paper bag full of cigarette butts and bottlecaps all rolled into one. He will tell you a woeful tale of marital estrangement and high seas hijinks on the River Mississippi; he will talk politics, at once impressing you as right-wing and left-wing without touching anywhere in between; he will perform a magic trick in which he spontaneously materializes some treasured artifact from your early childhood. And then, he will ask you if you've got a buck, "cause [he] wanna get laid out tonight and it already [nine] o'clock." As you walk away, the thing that impresses you most is his honesty, and his smell.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Portrait of the Sham Teacher, As a Teacher
3:26 PM -
Sips his instant coffee. Glances at the clock. Puts down his book. Sets to work emptying his pockets of cellular phones, loose change, the crumpled receipts of compromising purchases ... Deposits them into a hidden backpack compartment. Drops the backpack and kicks it under his desk. Seconds later, a pigtailed grin bursts into the teachers' lounge with a search warrant, shoves her hand into his pocket, comes up with nothing, sticks out her tongue and screeches off into the distance. Nods, sips his instant coffee.
4:19 PM -
Notices that the new six year-old in his phonics class has a small but distinct cannabis leaf embroidered into the back of his sweater. Sits in the front of the classroom pondering this as the kids horse around with fire extinguishers. Bell rings. Gets up, opens the door, finds the door handle covered in yellowish slobber. Wipes his hand on his pantleg.
"Fuck," he says.
4:43 PM -
The ten year-olds are tapdancing on their desks. Stops writing on the board. Face reddens. Eyes narrow. Whirls around, throws an eraser, kicks a desk, screams, "Michin babo-ya!" Roughly: "You crazy idiots!" The ten year-olds laugh, laugh, laugh, sense their fleeting lives are in grave danger, continue to laugh ...
6:07 PM -
Is summoned during dinner to teach a middle school class. Grabs a greenish book from the shelf and enters the classroom to find four heads faceplanted into desks. Asks the heads a barrage of questions, no answer. The lights drone; he whistles, reads the graffiti on the walls. Asks another barrage of questions, no answer. Wishes he had a samurai sword to impale himself upon. For lack of one, turns to the markerboard and draws a stick figure, begins to tell the story of his life. The story starts like this:
"In March of 1983, in Grand Forks, North Dakota, there was born a very fat baby. That very fat baby ..."
7:14 PM -
Is writing on the board with his back turned when a nine year-old boy charges, rams the pointed end of an umbrella up his ass. Lets out an anguished growl. Kids laugh. Stands stunned for several seconds.
"Well," he says, "you got me."
7:35 PM -
Takes a bathroom break. Unbuttons, unzips, whizzes. Stares out the open window at the spazzing lights of the city. Notices it is extremely cold. Notices it is snowing. Notices what he perceives to be an icicle dripping down from the window frame. Curiosity entices him to reach out and touch it. Finds it to be a wet strip of toilet paper.
"Fuck," he says.
7:49 PM -
Talks briefly with a Korean coworker, an English teacher who speaks no English. Tries out his Korean, says something mildly offensive. Korean coworker is amused, says, "Kisu! I am shocking!"
Nods, smiles. Thinks, "We are all students."
8:13 PM -
Grades a 4th grade listening test.
(Student's answers are underlined)
Leroy: Do you know Evel Knievel?
Sangmin: No, who is he?
Leroy: He's that gay on the motorcycle.
Grins.
8:43 PM -
Sits at his desk with headphones on, listens to Silver Jews, reflects on another inconclusive year gone by. A very short girl bursts into the teachers' lounge, snatches his headphones, puts them on. Stands grimacing for several seconds. Removes headphones, hands them back.
"Teacher, no," she says. Disappears.
9:15 PM -
Nibbles on cornbread thing. Forty-something Korean teacher looms over his shoulder for several minutes, finally gestures and pidgins that he would like a piece of the cornbread thing. Breaks off a bite for Korean teacher, gets up, goes out in the hall to refill his coffee. Comes back. Korean teacher is gone. So is the cornbread thing.
9:42 PM -
Interviews new foreign teacher, Melissa Something, via Director's telephone. Director stands just behind him, featherdusting.
"How's Daegu?" asks Melissa Something.
"It's disgusting," he says, "but, I'm that kind of guy."
"How's the school?"
"The school," glances back at Director. She smiles, featherdusts. "is chaos. But, you know."
Sips his instant coffee. Glances at the clock. Puts down his book. Sets to work emptying his pockets of cellular phones, loose change, the crumpled receipts of compromising purchases ... Deposits them into a hidden backpack compartment. Drops the backpack and kicks it under his desk. Seconds later, a pigtailed grin bursts into the teachers' lounge with a search warrant, shoves her hand into his pocket, comes up with nothing, sticks out her tongue and screeches off into the distance. Nods, sips his instant coffee.
4:19 PM -
Notices that the new six year-old in his phonics class has a small but distinct cannabis leaf embroidered into the back of his sweater. Sits in the front of the classroom pondering this as the kids horse around with fire extinguishers. Bell rings. Gets up, opens the door, finds the door handle covered in yellowish slobber. Wipes his hand on his pantleg.
"Fuck," he says.
4:43 PM -
The ten year-olds are tapdancing on their desks. Stops writing on the board. Face reddens. Eyes narrow. Whirls around, throws an eraser, kicks a desk, screams, "Michin babo-ya!" Roughly: "You crazy idiots!" The ten year-olds laugh, laugh, laugh, sense their fleeting lives are in grave danger, continue to laugh ...
6:07 PM -
Is summoned during dinner to teach a middle school class. Grabs a greenish book from the shelf and enters the classroom to find four heads faceplanted into desks. Asks the heads a barrage of questions, no answer. The lights drone; he whistles, reads the graffiti on the walls. Asks another barrage of questions, no answer. Wishes he had a samurai sword to impale himself upon. For lack of one, turns to the markerboard and draws a stick figure, begins to tell the story of his life. The story starts like this:
"In March of 1983, in Grand Forks, North Dakota, there was born a very fat baby. That very fat baby ..."
7:14 PM -
Is writing on the board with his back turned when a nine year-old boy charges, rams the pointed end of an umbrella up his ass. Lets out an anguished growl. Kids laugh. Stands stunned for several seconds.
"Well," he says, "you got me."
7:35 PM -
Takes a bathroom break. Unbuttons, unzips, whizzes. Stares out the open window at the spazzing lights of the city. Notices it is extremely cold. Notices it is snowing. Notices what he perceives to be an icicle dripping down from the window frame. Curiosity entices him to reach out and touch it. Finds it to be a wet strip of toilet paper.
"Fuck," he says.
7:49 PM -
Talks briefly with a Korean coworker, an English teacher who speaks no English. Tries out his Korean, says something mildly offensive. Korean coworker is amused, says, "Kisu! I am shocking!"
Nods, smiles. Thinks, "We are all students."
8:13 PM -
Grades a 4th grade listening test.
(Student's answers are underlined)
Leroy: Do you know Evel Knievel?
Sangmin: No, who is he?
Leroy: He's that gay on the motorcycle.
Grins.
8:43 PM -
Sits at his desk with headphones on, listens to Silver Jews, reflects on another inconclusive year gone by. A very short girl bursts into the teachers' lounge, snatches his headphones, puts them on. Stands grimacing for several seconds. Removes headphones, hands them back.
"Teacher, no," she says. Disappears.
9:15 PM -
Nibbles on cornbread thing. Forty-something Korean teacher looms over his shoulder for several minutes, finally gestures and pidgins that he would like a piece of the cornbread thing. Breaks off a bite for Korean teacher, gets up, goes out in the hall to refill his coffee. Comes back. Korean teacher is gone. So is the cornbread thing.
9:42 PM -
Interviews new foreign teacher, Melissa Something, via Director's telephone. Director stands just behind him, featherdusting.
"How's Daegu?" asks Melissa Something.
"It's disgusting," he says, "but, I'm that kind of guy."
"How's the school?"
"The school," glances back at Director. She smiles, featherdusts. "is chaos. But, you know."
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