Dog House W/ Patio

They don't call me 'Hot Wheels' for nothin!

I woke up Friday to what I thought was my cell phone's alarm. It was chirping away at such an annoying pace and volume that it soon dawned on me that it was not, in fact, my cell phone but my doorbell (the two sound remarkably similar). Flustered, I grabbed a shirt and shambled over to the door. My landlady, though a sweetheart, did have a tendency to wake me up in order to give me the utility bill at an ungodly hour. I went to the door, the buzzer chirping at me even louder now, and unlocked it. Thank God, the chirping stopped. I instinctively looked down at where her head usually bobs in my doorway, my vision still blurry from sleep.

I was therefore surprised when I saw not my Korean Landlady, but a blue shoulder that had a distinctive militaristic flap with two silver leaves embroidered on a thin black band. I looked up into the face of one of two Korean Police officers and tryied to figure out why they were giving me my utility bill.

“Excuse me, can you ask us some questions about your bike?” he said in broken English but with clear pronunciation.

I thought about this for a second, taking in the second officer who had three silver leaves on each of his shoulders. He was glowering at me as if I had just punched his dog in the face and wanted to exact his revenge by busting his knuckles on my chin. I had never met his dog; hence I was very confused by this whole scene.

“What?” I croaked.

“Please come with us.” He commanded as I was pulled from my door in my boxers with barely enough time to slide on my slippers. They led me down the stairs, past my landlady who was looking at me sincerely. I gazed back and tried to tell her through my sleep-bended eyes that I was shocked and didn't understand why SHE couldn't have just given me the power bill. We stepped outside and Officer English pointed to my scooter and asked me if it was mine, when I got it, and who I got it from. I answered each question still wondering if I had ever met Officer Knuckle Buster's dog as he glared at me and was actually starting to look more agitated.

“This bike is bad.” Officer English said.

I looked at him curiously and started to make out what was going on for the first time in my ninety seconds of consciousness. They believed that my bike was stolen! I quickly assured them that it was not, that I bought it from another waygukin that had left in July and that he had purchased his bike from a motorcycle shop that most of the waygukins here frequent. I had talked to many people who actually went with him to get the bike when he first arrived. There was no question in my mind that he had obtained it legally.

I gathered that Officer Knuckle Buster did not share this view as he suddenly erupted in Hangul and began shoving his face into mine in a most drill instructor-like way. Here was a higher-ranking officer making loud charges against a person who (as it was already clarified by now) could not speak Hangul and was standing in his underwear in the middle of the street. I smiled at the thought of the scene.

I should not have smiled.

Officer Knuckle Buster grunted loudly and was just about to do or say something I knew I would have no problem understanding when Officer English jumped between us and asked for my director's number, knowing that she could help translate. Now, with most directors of English Hagwons this would be true, but I was currently teaching my director English and we had not quite breached International Law yet. I requested that I be allowed back upstairs to my apartment where I could get my cell phone (and some pants as it was starting to get drafty).

I returned with the keys to the scooter and displayed that I had the correct keys as Officer English called up director. I apologized to Officer Knuckle Buster for not understanding his language as he continued to shower me with spittle from his angry mouth. I resisted a look of resentment but it did not seem to be enough. I was grabbed once again by the arm and led into the back of the police vehicle. Officer English hopped on my scooter and (in a most unnerving way) undid my lock with a tool in less time then it would have been to use the key. As Officer Knuckle Buster drove me to the police station I started calling my friends who may have known Charlie, the guy I bought the scooter from in the first place. Everyone confirmed my belief that he got the scooter from the Bike Shop as we pulled into the police station where I was led to the front office. They asked me if I had my passport and I half-scoffed (catching the sight of Officer Knuckle Buster in time to see him raise an angry eyebrow) and explained that it was in my apartment and that I barely had enough time to put on pants before I was taken away. Luckily I had my Alien Registration Card. On the card was my visa validation date that proved to be very useful in absolving any guilt I might have had in their eyes.

Apparently the bike had been stolen in April 2004. I had only been here for three months. I had the sudden desire to wave my hand across the air and say, “This is not the waygukin you are looking for,” in my best Obi-Wan voice. I resisted this desire only because it dawned on me that I had been driving stolen property for the past few months.

My director arrived at the police station and gave me an anxious look as she carried on a conversation with the police officers. I felt horrible as she waged a war for my innocence knowing that she had been torn away from her life simply because of my poor consumer choices. I thought everything was going well and that I would soon be able to leave the police station and go home, sans scooter. I was wrong. I was taken once again to the back of the cop car and we drove off. I caught my director's eyes as we left and a ball of shame appeared in my stomach. I looked down like so many of my students do when they cannot muster an answer to a question I'd asked them.

It wasn't until we arrived at the downtown police station that I was told that they knew I “had no guilt” and that we were here to file an official report. We walked into a room with the sign Violent Crimes Investigation Unit. The room was bustling with activity; people were screaming at officers, officers were screaming back and then all went quiet as suddenly they saw a bearded waygukin enter the room. I suppressed my smile this time wondering what they must have thought was happening with me.

Officer English and Officer Knuckle Buster bid me adieu and I was handed over to a new and even more comical civil servant. After about thirty seconds of speaking with him I had the distinct impression that he had learned English by watching bad detective movies.

“Once you tell us the TRUTH, you can leave!!” he bellowed at me as he leaned over the desk.
“You have rights, oh yes, but the RIGHTFUL owner of this property has rights, too!!!” he answered when I innocently asked, “When can we start?”

It was then that I saw my shining beacon of hope: my director entered with one my Korean teachers who spoke English! All fear of being misstated disappeared and I silently thanked God.

I began relaying my answers to questions about my involvement with said scooter through Michelle, my savior of bilingual ability. Only after a few loaded questions did things start to roll along and we made our full report. They printed out a copy of the report for me to sign and thumbprint multiple times. I asked if I could have a copy of it myself but was shot down. I was finally able to return home via my director.

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It is now Monday evening and I am typing this in darkness. I awoke once again to the chirping of my doorbell (this time at 2 am). Typhoon Nabi (butterfly in Hangul) is currently on its way in to town and my landlady thought it best to wake her tenants up to make sure all electrical appliances were unplugged in case of a surge. Personally, I was glad it wasn't the police again. I want to assure everyone that Nabi will be nowhere near the storm Katrina was, but I will be safe and keep you all up to date once it blows over. At least I don't have to worry about my scooter being swept away by the wind...

Posted by Schaffer at September 6, 2005 01:51 PM