Dumpy

We are in Seoul for the weekend.

Sitting in a Starbucks in Mok-dong, across the road from the SBS headquarters, I see a dumpy dude in jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt standing in front of the gated entrance to the SBS building. He breaks into dance. It's a dance with a lot of arms, the kind you see on the nightly network music showcases.

Every Korean pop song is accompanied by a dance. Each television network has their own music showcase, they seem nightly, but perhaps they are just repeated enough to make it seem this way. The showcase consists of the pop bands coming out in turn, in front of a live audience, and doing their recent dance/song hit. Most bands are a group of long-legged girls or smooth-faced doe-eyed boys. Occasionally interspersed with the pop flavour-of-the-day is a beloved flavour-of-yesterday, also doing a dance/song hit of yesterday. If they are from too far back, they are backed by long-legged girls performing their dance.

The dumpy guy seems to be doing one of these dances. He crosses his feet, shoots his arm out to the side in a pointy gesture, spins around, and finishes with straight legs.

He stands still for a bit, basking, I think, then turns back with a pleading gesture to the guard controlling the gate. It seems to me I have happened upon an supplication to be let in. I wonder how long it has been going on. Korean guards are polite, and as a rule, not intimidating fellows. They are usually pleasant older men with incredible patience.

A woman walks towards the gate from the inside. Dumpy puts his hands together, pleading for something. The guard points the woman to the other side of the road leading up to the gate, suggesting she need not worry herself with Dumpy. She follows the suggestion and walks out of the gate away from Dumpy.

There are now three guards in the guard box. Dumpy pleads again, and one of the guards comes out to talk to him.

I imagine Dumpy to be asking for an appointment with a talent director or something. "You are certainly handsome, in a dumpy sort of way," I imagine the guard to be humouring him, "But there are channels for meeting the director. You have to go through the proper channels."

"Come on Captain. You saw my spin, didn't you?" The subtitles continue at the bottom of my vision.

"I saw it sir. But I'm no judge of these things. I'm a guard. If I'm a judge, I'm a judge of who has the proper credentials to enter the premises. Someone else judges who should have those credentials. You should have your dance and spin agent contact the person who judges this, and perhaps set up a meeting. "

"But my spin."

"Yes."

"It was sharp, right?"

"It was. But as I said, there is a division of decision making responsibilities in our company, and mine lie in a very limited context. I understand that this can be frustrating, and might seem inefficient in situations such as yours, but sticking to established divisions of responsibilities is one of the cornerstones of our country's success. I'm sure you can endure a certain amount of inconvenience if it contributes to the smooth operation of our country."

"But this." Dumpy does a dance move. It looks like he is pushing something down. "Very sharp."

"Exquisite, yes. I'm sure your agent will have no problem getting an appointment with the director."

In Korea, everyone has a title, and it is always used in address. When translated into English, the titles always have a certain striking formality. There are a lot of of 'Chairman's and 'Director's. A lot of 'Vice'.

I look up from where I am sitting, to see if there is a bathroom around. There isn't one in the Starbucks, but there is a sign for one, pointing out the door towards the SBS building.

The whole 'Dumpy' situation suddenly becomes clear. I ask the Barista where the toilet is. "Out the door, and around the corner of the building." she replies.

I go outside, and yell across the street. "Hey Dumpy."

To tell him where the bathroom is, I give him the international sign for 'the bathroom is around the corner': I point a finger out from my belt, bend it in the direction of the bathroom, and then mime wrapping up a parcel.

The parcel bit isn't strictly international sign language. It's a Korean addendum meaning essentially, "And all the other bits you might need in order to understand what I'm saying. Here they are in a box. You're welcome."

Dumpy gives the guards a deep bow, and walks off, exactly in the direction that I did not indicate.