Today, I’m going old school. I promised all new original content, and technically this is. I originally wrote this post in a pocket notebook in May of 2007. It has never been posted, simply because my old computer broke in May of 2007 and I never got around to typing it up until now.
At the time of this writing, I was involved with a crazy (though hot) Korean girl, now known colloquially amongst myself and my friends as “The Souse.” I had just finished a date with her, if that’s the proper term, and was sitting at Dragon Bar (back when it was cool) in Nowon when I wrote it. Also, keep in mind that some of the lame pop-culture references would have been funny in 2007.
Original title: White Knight
Ai! Even now, it seems I can’t get over my knight in shining armor gene. Girls. Ai. Ar! I’m pretty much reduced to vague onomonopiatic pirate proclamations here. I got nothing, really. Girls are crazy.
I was ready for a conservative evening of beer, bland TV, and maybe the Drudge Report. Then, the girl I’m vaguely involved with calls me. “Come over.” “Come Here.” “I want to see you.” Look, I’m new at this being the mack shit, that’s really all it takes at this point. “I’m on my way.” “Don’t you live with your parents?” “Why don’t you come here instead?” Okay, I’m coming.
I got a cab. It took longer than I thought. Korean cabbies can be racist. Many don’t want to give us round-eyes a ride. She called me seven times in the next half hour. Seven. Should be a red flag. “I’m waiting for the cab, baby.” “I’m in the cab.” “I’m to Nowon.” Blah blah blah. Seven times. I motioned the international “crazy” sign to my gracious, non-racist cabbie. He laughed.
I get there. She is a fucking pile. I’ve seen her drunk before (more than sober, I suppose) but she’s a mess this time, staggering everywhere. She can barely stand up. It isn’t midnight yet. I know drunk. You know that. Two weeks ago, I blew a 0.4 in a Hongdae bar’s novelty breathalyzer. I was offended and ordered a tequila shot. My knees never buckled. I looked up blood alcohol content online. The internet said 0.4 = coma. I know drunk. This chick is beyond.
She tries to drag me to a love motel. I balk. I have an apartment a $4.00 cab ride away, I don’t want to pay for a hotel so close to home. Plus, I know she’s done. I like her, I wanted to bring her home, and I knew she would pass out immediately and I could write and watch TV and drink until 4 a.m. when I was actually tired.
She tries to pass out on the sidewalk many a time. I insist either I walk her home (to her parents’, like much of the world, unmarried Koreans all live with their parents) or that we go to my place so she can pass out there. Ultimately, she decides on her parents’. It’s a fight. She calls me bad and tells me to leave when she tries to sleep on the ground. Not going to happen, of course.
The lesson? Look, I’m... The notebook fades out here, as I got distracted talking to the cute girl tending bar at Dragon that night, and she’d fed me too many Long Islands. Take that for what you will. While writing a blog (at a bar) about how annoyed I was at a girl for being too drunk, I got too drunk to finish writing the story. Of course, it’s been over two years now, so I have no clue what I was going to say. I do remember that I walked her to her building and rode up the elevator with her, and she passed out while standing up/me holding her up on said elevator. I walked her to her door, and then hid in the shadows while she fumbled with the lock and ultimately got in safely. I definitely didn’t want to stick around with her by the door to meet her father. If I had, I presumed I would have to say something along the following: “Hi, I’m some foreign guy. Your daughter was like this when I found her, and I just wanted to make sure she got home safely. I appreciate your understanding in this matter, as well as your fluency in English. Thank you for not punching me in the face.”