"Thank you for not killing me": Orthodontist visits #3a & 3b

Perhaps the end is the best place to start this story.
I left the orthodontist's office today (visit 3b) with a lovely gift box presented after the young Korean woman at the desk read from her handwritten English script, "Thank you for not killing me."

This story began yesterday when I took David and Elisabeth to get their orthodontic appliances (visit 3a). I did not bring a translator along this time; as you may remember, dear reader, the good doctor's grasp of English and my grasp of dental stuff meant we communicated pretty well without one.  I thought so, anyway.

Here is a snippet of our dialogue-pantomime.  Imagine me hunched forward across a small table, (again in the "Maximum Emotion Service" consultation room), staring intently at the good doctor's face to match his sounds with his lips and gestures. I nodded frequently, and my near-permanent smile and wide eyes were intended to seem encouraging.  I felt like a game show contestant trying to guess the right words so I could win the grand prize.  He, on the other hand, is a few years younger than me (and in this culture, I therefore win the status game), lacks confidence in his English, and is certainly not used to so much direct eye contact (considered to be rude in this culture).  I don't know that he appreciated his role in this game show; I hear that Koreans smile regardless of their actual feelings.

Good Doctor: "Ah... today?  Appliances?  Ah... David is 'bionator.' Is... plastique?  Why-ah? When clean, ah... ah... no hot... ah... Tap water?  Shan-eet-eyes? Ah... drugs? den-too?  water in bowl? Ah... wait...20 minute? Ah... Little circles?"

Me: "Yes!  Appliances!  David's is called a 'Bionator!' Yes!  Made of plastic and wire!  Ah... no boiling water - it would melt plastic!  Use... hot tap water? No? Ah, denture tablets in warm water?  Yes!" I turn to David and Elisabeth to review the instructions in my Uber-Mama voice (they have been distracted by Sam making faces at them from the hallway).  "To sanitize your new appliances, put one of these tablets and your appliance in a bowl of warm water; the water will fizz for about 15 minutes."   And so on, while the doctor and I took turns acting and listening and either affirming or correcting each others' statements. Sounds. Whatever.

After about 20 minutes, which included the kids putting in their appliances and a review of their fit, the good doctor brought out a sheet of instructions written in Korean; he read these to himself and carefully crossed out many lines with his mechanical pencil.  Then he (roughly) translated the remaining instructions that repeated most of what he'd already told us about usage, cleaning, and storage.  This whole session was utterly hilarious to me, but I realized it was stressful for him: "Please bring translator.  Ah... next time.  One month."  I agreed, if only to make him feel better.  Surely I can find a student interested in an adventure with us.

So out we went, stopping at the desk to make our next appointment (a communication cluster as the desk woman knows far less English than our good doctor).  I also offered to pay for the services, as we've not been asked to do that yet.  After some consultation with the charts and two other women at the counter (I was also aware of three giggling technicians peeking out at us), she wrote down the total amount we owed (2,600,000 won - about $2500) and I handed over my debit card.

Thus ended visit 3a.  Later in the day, my husband called to say he'd gotten a text (in Korean) from someone about something regarding 2.8 million won.  We conferred, concluded this must be about the orthodontist's office, and his TA called the office to figure out what happened.  Sum: They overcharged me and needed me to bring back my debit card ASAP so they could cancel that transaction and charge us the correct amount.

I was not very happy about making the trek back: the lack of a GPS, absence of standard road names and house addresses, and of course the mismatch between any google/printed maps and the actual roads make travel very challenging for me. I wanted to just wait until we returned next month, but that was not an option. They were desperate to fix this ASAP.

So this morning, Sam and I went back.  As we stepped off the elevator, the three ladies at the desk looked up and began giggling behind their hands, exchanging wide-eyes glances.  We approached the desk, smiling and giving a proper greeting.  The same woman we worked with yesterday stood and said in perfect English, "Thank you for coming back today.  I am sorry for our mistake.  May I have your card?"

As I handed it to her, pondering her new-found English ability, I noticed a paper on her desk with a list of neatly-written, perfect English sentences.  Someone made her a cheat sheet for this little scenario.

She re-did the transaction, glanced at her script, and recited, "We are sorry for our mistake. This is for you."

I took the offered gift box with both hands and a non-eye-contact bow of my head, but I did not open it (it's rude here to open a gift in front of the giver).  This was a lovely gesture and I imagined it might contain, well, I don't know. Perhaps something shiny?  Perhaps a traditional Korean inlaid abalone box?  I had no idea.

I was surprised when she took back the box and silently opened it to show me the gifts inside: toothbrushes, toothpaste, a plaque remover tool (?), and a strange tiny bottle-brush thing.  Not quite what I imagined, but still a very nice gesture.  I thanked her again as she took a breath to deliver her second-to-last line, not knowing that I had already read her script, upside-down, and was anxiously waiting to see if she would actually carry through with her task.

She did a marvelous job as her co-workers burst into giggles, delivering her last lines with an almost-straight face:

"Thank you for not killing me."

"Please accept our apologies."

I couldn't help it.  I laughed and clapped my hands with that inner child who peeks out when I'm utterly delighted. I didn't win a vacation cruise or a shiny new knick-knack from this game show, but you just can't buy adventure like this.

P.S. An ex-pat consulted her Korean husband about this situation.  He suspects that the receptionist was trying to say (no thanks to Google translation) "Thank you for not getting me in big trouble with my boss."  Which does make much more sense.