In which I demonstrate what it means to be a gadad hoon

In the unlikely event that someone other than my mother reads this, I shall start by defining gadad hoon. Gadad hoon is the Mongolian word for foreigner. It literally means "outside person". I have been a gadad hoon for most of my life, starting when I was four, when my family moved to live with the Navajo indians. From that time, through our years in Mongolia and Hong Kong, and into the first two or three years of our re-adjustment to the US, I was a gadad hoon.

This is not a complaint. I'm not trying to paint my childhood in a bad light or explain away odd behavior. Gadad hoon is a state of being. It's a way of being seen, but also a way of seeing. Specifically, it's the point of view from which one can see how much of a dumbass one truly is.

Conveniently, the same view shows clearly how much of a dumbass everyone else is.

unfortunately this story deals more with the former observation: I am such a dumbass.

I haven't had a hot shower since I arrived here in Korea a week ago. I have had plenty of cold showers, to be sure, but no hot ones. This is because there has been no hot water in my apartment. I found it odd that I should be placed in a lovely (two story) apartment in South Korea, one of the most technologically advanced nations on the planet, and not have hot water. In fact, I found it more than odd, I found it implausible.

As I said in an earlier post, I found the hot water heater several days ago. However, everything on it was in Korean, so I decided not to fiddle with it. In any case, there were no controls, so there was nothing to fiddle with had I gotten an urge to fiddle.

Today, after a 45 minute workout in the heat and humidity, I got an urge to fiddle. I descended the narrow, twisted stairs into the cramped and musty basement with as much determination and dignity as one can show while descending a set of narrow, twisted stairs into a cramped and musty basement. I pulled up a rusty folding chair and sat in front of the water heater, contemplating the images and characters on it's cover.

Many people do not understand that warning images are not an international language. Not everyone who sees a cartoon of a man who has lightning bolts flying from his head thinks "Ah! a man in pain! He should take an aspirin." Some people look at the same image and think "Ah! a man with lightning bolts flying from his head. He must be Zeus!".

This was the case as I tried to decipher the images on the water heater. The pictures themselves were uniquely Korean. No amount of staring would change that.

I started staring at the characters, almost without thinking. Years of studying algebra, trigonometry, chemistry, and my fathers atrocious handwriting had taught me that if you stare at a bunch of indecipherable symbols long enough, order and reason will emerge.

The characters politely informed me that they were a foreign language, and that no amount of staring was going to change that.

I continued staring.

The characters remained obstinately Korean.

I stared pleadingly.

The characters declared their intention to remain Korean for the foreseeable future, and suggested that I might wish to screw off.

I left, but not in defeat. I had one more weapon to use against the water heater and it's arrogant Korean writing.

When he had dropped me off at the apartment, pastor Hong had said "if you have an emergency, go to apartment D. The woman there is Korean-american, and she speaks english, so she can help you." I had met the woman since then, so I ventured out the front door, and to apartment D. My finger hovered hesitatingly over the doorbell. Was this an emergency? Yes. Yes it was. I had been without hot water for an entire week.

I hesitated a moment longer, then pushed the doorbell with determination. Somewhere inside a small dog started yapping. The inside door unlocked, and the woman warmly invited me in.

"I'm very sorry to bother you," I said "but I can't figure out how to turn on my hot water heater."

"Oh, no problem" she said. "Here, let me show you mine."

I expected to be led down into the dark and dreary basement. Instead she directed my attention to a small control panel on the wall.

"See, you just push the green button" she said, indicating a button conveniently labeled 'water'. "Just make sure you push it again when you finish, otherwise the hot water heater keeps running and burns energy."

Of course. Obviously. What else? A neat, convenient, energy saving device at the top of the stairs. How silly of me.

I thanked her, returned to my apartment, pushed the green button, and had a lovely hot shower.

I am such a gadad hoon.