The one with a flip

Like most people, sometimes I'm patient and sometimes I'm not.  There are times when I'm not patient, but I put on a good show to appear patient, and sometimes, oddly enough, I'm actually patient but appear impatient to onlookers.  Go figure.

One of the most striking cultural characteristics of the Koreans is their seemingly total lack of patience.  Their very language gives a hint.  Movement and action almost invariably include the word for "quickly."  "Quickly do!"  "Quickly come!"  Even when there isn't the real need, perceived need, or even hint at urgency in the situation.  When I first came to Korea in 1997, there were no number slips at the bank to determine who got to see a teller next; everybody simply struggled for the teller's attention, pressing against the counter like European soccer fans on game day.  The same was true in the market where you physically had to stand your ground to get your purchases added up and pay the bill against the press of those competing for the clerk's attention.

Most of my close brushes with death in this country have been on account of not my impatience, but that of the natives.  Behind the wheel of a vehicle or sitting on a motorbike, what pretense at patience they might possibly have is disregarded more than ever.  While riding my motorcycle to work, there is a sharp curve in a one-way section of the road.  Behind me today, a taxi appeared, and I could see that he had no fare, but he did his best to try to squeeze by me on my left as we went round this sharp curve in a cramped place in the roadway.  I came to a stop forcing him to stop, too, since there was no room for him to go by me and proceeded to show him with my left hand how I felt about his impatient risk of my life.  For good measure I showed him my right hand, too, as I got ready to pull away.  He was not happy that he had to come to a stop and see such vulgarity, especially from a foreigner and one on a motorcycle no less, nearly the bottom of the social ladder.  Was I impatient?  Obviously not since I was willing to stop.  I was angry, and I consider someone else risking my life because his culture is so treacherous to be worth a little display of anger now and again.  Does it do any good?  Not in the least.  Koreans have this knack of dismissing anything that is not of them, not of their culture, not customary, not "our", as they say.  I'm mindful that my anger is futile, but isn't there some therapeutic value in expressing oneself?  Death and maiming are not pleasant things, I'm sure.  So long as these are possibilities at the hands of the "quickly" culture, I'm all for free expression.