The Iceberg

Iceberg note: This is the first of a series of stories/anecdotes of some of the more interesting experiences (non-lewd category) that I have had while living in Korea. So pull up a chair and lend Uncle Iceberg your ear.

A few years back (in 2001, I believe), a Korean-American friend, his middle-aged male Korean student and I decided to go a “dan lan joo jum” (단란주점). For those of you who do not know, a dan lan joo jum is a cheaper version of a room salon. Basically, it’s a norae bang (singing/karaoke room) that serves alcohol and provides the option of (usually) sexy (usually) young women to sing and dance (and maybe do other stuff) with you. Oh yeah, and they (the dan lan joo jum) are usually operated by Korean gangsters.

We wandered about the back alleys near Gangnam Station looking for a good place to go. Honestly, I haven’t the slightest idea how to determine from the outside looking in which places are good or bad. We were approached by a bbi kki - the guy who tries to lure customers into the bar - who told us that we could have a fruit plate, six bottles of beer, a bottle of (cheap) whiskey, and three girls for 300,000 won. Knowing how these things worked, my friend and his student double- and triple-checked the price. “Nothing to worry about,” said the smallish bbi kki. He guaranteed that the price would be 300,000.

We went inside and drank the whiskey and beers but to our dismay the girls, though attractive enough, weren’t fun enough, so we decided to move on. When it was time to settle up, the bill came out to 800,000 won. Surprise, surprise. The middle-aged student took out his wallet to pay but my friend wouldn’t have it. He used to be a member of a gang in LA (so he tells me) and was not intimidated by what he considered “amateurish” Korean gangsters. Long story short, after some back and forth and a couple of staredowns, the bill was lowered to 450,000 and the middle-aged student, who wanted nothing to do with the situation, paid.

(A quick aside: During the skirmish, I received a phone call from another friend. Our conversation consisted of nothing more than his asking me my plans for the evening, but the girls - not understanding English - thought that I was requesting help. They scurried toward me, locked their arms in mine and pleaded, “오빠! 왜 그러세요? 전화를 좀 끊으세요.” (”Why are you doing this? Please hang up the phone.”). I laughed and - fending off the hostesses’ attempts to take my phone - told my friend I’d call him later.)

The tension of the dan lan joo jum episode behind us, we set off in pursuit of our next destination. My friend, who just ten minutes prior had the look of murder in his eyes, was jovial. We laughed and joked about his student (who earlier looked as if he would piss himself) and the girls. Suddenly my friend stopped and the smile on his face immediately disappeared and was replaced once again by the look of murder. “Hang on a second,” he blurted and off he went down the street.

I looked up ahead and saw the bbi kki. He wasn’t looking in our direction and therefore didn’t see my friend approaching. My friend grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him between two buildings.

“How much did you say the room would cost?” my friend asked him, holding him by the collar. The bbi kki, completely stunned by this turn of events, remained silent. My friend pushed him up against a building and asked him again, “How much did you tell us the room was?!?!”

From seemingly out of nowhere there appeared no less than six gangsters who lined up behind my friend. Oblivious to their presence, my friend tightened his grip around the bbi kki’s collar and continued his interrogation. “Oh shit,” I thought, “this is going to get ugly.” I walked up to within a couple of feet of the gangsters, preparing to do what little I could to help out my friend should they decide to jump him. But they just stood there - arms crossed and striking poses. I actually sort of admired their patience.

Finally one of them spoke up, “Hey! Why are you acting like this in front of your foreign friend? You’re making Korea look bad.”

I guess courage is contagious because, upon hearing what the gangster said, I defiantly responded, “He’s not making Korea look bad. You’re making Korea look bad.”

I didn’t quite know what to expect after that. Would they take my words as a challenge? Would they get in my face? Would they jump me and my friend? Were we about to get the shit beat out of us?

None of the above. The gangsters turned to me and, eyes widening and faces brightening, said, “와! 한구말 잘 하시네?!” (Wow! You sure speak Korean well!).

From that very moment the tension in the air completely dissipated. It was as if they had totally forgotten about my friend and the bbi kki as they all gathered around me and asked me the exact same questions that nearly every Korean who doesn’t speak English asks when they first discover I can speak their language.

“How did you learn Korean?”
“Why did you come to Korea?”
“Can you eat kimchi?”
“What do you think of Korean girls?”

And, of course, they paid me a few obligatory compliments.

We talked for a couple of minutes and then I told my friend to just leave the bbi kki be and let’s get going. I said my good-byes to the gangsters and we went on our way.