Sunday, not-so funday at ye olde detention center. I talk to Z today. She helped me with email and Facebook correspondence. I desperately need to get out of here, as everyday in here, is the day I lose money out there. A prominent blogger wants me to help him with the design of a new book he is publishing and I could use his help with the book I am now writing. I also have some new contacts with another publishing house looking for some design/editing work. Knowing the work is there is awesome, not being able to do anything about it sucks donkey balls. I got a message from V too. I wonder if I'll ever see her again or A or R? They were a lot of fun and I miss them.
In the continuing saga of the Egyptian who never listens, today he tried to get a change of clothes and couldn't understand why he was refused. He's only been here a few days and they only offer a change of clothes if you been here for over a week. I understand his frustration. The Koreans don't explain the rules and procedures for anything. They just expect you to know all the rules already because all Koreans know all the rules and that is what is expected from you. It's one of those things about Korea that falls under similar heading such as "Korean logic" which makes no sense to anybody but a Korean. The closest I can get to explaining it is take what you assume to be common sense and do the opposite. I know it sounds totally illogical but the theory is actually quite consistent and predictable. It's worked for me. Koreans also hate confrontation of any sort. A valuable piece of advice when it comes to negotiations. If they try to convince you to take the easy route, you know it's working and they will give in before you will. but I digress...
Every time I write about Korea or Korean, I seem to go off on some tirade. I have to stop doing that... so much... Anyway, back to the Egyptian who doesn't listen. I explained the clothing exchange to him when the guards came around with clean clothes. The guards to not offer clean clothes to the Egyptian. I told him he had to wait until next week. He said he'd be leaving this week.
I thought "we'll see about that." I said "then, I guess you won't need new clothes next week."
I knew if I stayed here it was bound to happen sooner or later... the Bangladeshi recognized me from Soul pub... The Uzbekistan is a caricature of a fat Eastern European on a beach in the French Riviera wearing a Speedo. Dark complexion, bushy eyebrows, hairy back and he likes to walk around with in his tighty-whiteys. An image you can never forget no matter how hard you try or how much eye-bleach you use. I'm going to need a week of internet pornography therapy when I get out of here or at least a couple nights with a Russian prostitute-- although she doesn't have be a prostitute, just Russian or European will do.
Sometimes at night, I get the odd with of a smell of what smells suspiciously like shit. I just realized that a) Hwaseong Immigration Detention Center is so far out in the middle of nowhere that what I'm smelling is a farm and b)I've lived in a city so long, I've forgotten what manure smells like... Of course, it smells like shit, but it has a far more distinctive smell.
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