Making fun: Korea & the US

We spent 4 weeks in the US for our summer vacation, and it was filled with surprises. One surprise was learning that FAR more folks read this blog than I thought (you lurkers out there!). Oh. And to think that I was writing it for my mother. Well, I am so pleased that most folks appear to enjoy the posts, finding humor or new ideas that brighten their day. But a few honest folks mentioned that I seem to be making fun of Koreans, such as when I post signs with incomprehensible English. I felt a little defensive at that feedback, but it got me to thinking. After being away from the US for a year, I was glimpsing my home culture almost as a foreigner and was already noticing all kinds of crazy stuff. Thus, I offer a pair of stories, separated by half a world but just a few days, that suggest funny isn't limited to Korea.  :)


Ok, here's story #1.  The night before we left for the US, we hadn't the energy to create anything edible from the refrigerator's sad offerings. Thus, we went to eat at VIPS (pronounced "beeps" -- Koreans have no "v" sound; see a fantastic ex-pat photo/review here), which is a steakhouse known also for its extravagant western/Asian buffet. We waited awhile to be seated then edged into a table just off the reserved section that was loudly hosting a traditional Korean birthday party for an adorable little boy.

We selected an array of foods (Nick being adventurous; the kids and I going for the Italian, Mexican, and American comfort foods) and returned to our table, where we noticed a green, rubber "coaster." It wasn't one of the call buttons that some restaurants have to summon a waitress. It was probably not a drink coaster as (a) it's rubber and (b) every table we could see only had one each.  We weren't in a Brazilian steakhouse where colored disks signal "more meat please" and "no more right now."  Well, I do love puzzles, and this mystery was bugging me.  We pieced together the few English words on the coaster and the few Korean words we could figure out: "VIPS," "please give"; and "together loving green.” Oh.  This little language analysis made the coaster even more mysterious. Well, because we couldn't communicate with the waitress to ask the meaning of the coaster, I resigned myself to not solving this mystery.

Happily, as we were finishing, some Korean-speaking friends arrived and I couldn't pass up the coaster question.  They obligingly examined their coaster and despite their fluency, the words made no sense to them, either: "Please put your clean plate here to help us save the environment." What?  How can putting plates on a green coaster save the environment? Now their curiosity was aroused, too, and we proposed various hypotheses.  Maybe the green-coaster-plate-stack saves waitress energy? No, that's silly and doesn't explain the "clean" concept.  Or, maybe, we're supposed to stack unused dishes separately from used ones to save energy in washing already-clean plates? No, that can't be it - why would someone bring an empty plate from the buffet? We were all stumped, and our friends vowed to ask their waitress about the meaning of this.

As it turns out, their waitress had also puzzled over the coaster's message and was quite pleased to finally have a reason to broach her manager for an explanation. I felt much better - this wasn't just a language barrier or a cultural ignorance problem.  Are you ready for the coaster's real meaning?  Here it is: "Please eat all your food (give only cleaned plates) so nothing is wasted and we together help the environment."  Ah, Koreans, I thought.  Their communication style is so indirect that not even Koreans always get the message.  Insert head shake and bemused smile here.

Now for story #2, which takes place just a few days later in the US. When my sister-in-law asked if I'd like to get groceries with her, I jumped at the chance although I rarely buy our family's groceries (Nick has done the shopping and cooking for roughly 98.92% of our marriage). As I walked the aisles of the local Family Fare, I swooned over the vast array of choices and the English written on every single package. My jaw dropped at the rows of shelves devoted just to chips: potato and corn; regular and baked; wavy and ruffled; sour cream and vinegar and BBQ.  Ah, the joyous agony of choice made me drool.

My Korean store's wine section.

Then my eyes welled with tears as I discovered the aisle devoted just to wine.  My beloved grocery store in Korea has a shelf with five varieties, of which we like one.  Finally, I gasped and froze in place as I entered the holy of holies: an entire wall of cheeses from every civilized country of the world.  Oh, oh... I had forgotten such luxuries, such abundance.

A US store's wine section.

As I wandered, alone now as Melissa had actual shopping to do, I also noticed a number of perplexing signs. Many shelves had signs like “$6.99 (or $5.50 with yes!)” What?? What was this magical yes?  A discount password to be softly whispered to the waiting cashier?  No, that can't be; "yes" is surely no secret given its abundant signage in every aisle. Maybe I need to perform a rousing Family Fare cheer, saying "yes!" to affirm their smart retailing and thus access the promised lower prices?  A peek at the registers showed no one cheering (or whispering sweet "yeses" to the cashiers).  Aha! Maybe "yes" is a smartphone app that promotes bargains?  Surely not--what a stupid name for an app, after all.

I was completely baffled.  (You, dear reader, are probably a savvy shopper and are way, way ahead of me.) By the end of my very satisfactory store tour, I resigned myself to asking about yes, fearing that I would be thought very stupid.  After all, asking dumb questions in Korea just marks me as a "way-gook" (foreigner), which I am.  To ask dumb questions in the US, where I sound and look like an American, marks me as, well, dumb.  Bravely, I asked anyway.  Oh, Melissa said breezily, completely unaware of my compulsive curiosity and bright fear of shame, "Yes is just the store's loyalty card--you swipe it at the checkout for automatic discounts."   Oh. Duh. Yes.  (But to my credit, the wording of this yes marketing gimmick is just bad. Say "yes CARD" or something understandable.  Really.)

So. Do I make fun of Koreans? Yes, I have to admit that I do enjoy bringing foibles to light. But I'm an equal-opportunity fun-maker, just as happy to point out Korean quirks as American ones. After all, people everywhere are funny.  And fallible. Myself included.