Just a brown-headed stepchild

Since we’ve been living in Seoul, I’ve heard from numerous people—Koreans and expats alike—that they do things, well, differently here.

You might remember the rude introduction offered by this fellow.

Though I am certainly not ready to partake of that negative an attitude, I am learning that, when it comes to getting things done in Korea, what it says in black and white doesn’t matter nearly as much as I sometimes think it should. You can say what you like about your independent spirit, your Yankee ingenuity and highly prized self-reliance. They won’t get you too far here.

A brief example: The LG mobile phone contract I was so happy to get. Pay by the month, they send the bill to your house. (Ha! ha! I do not need a credit card, and I do not need to sign up in a Korean friend’s name! I can so do it all on my own! I knew it!)

One slight problem.

When I got the bill, I couldn’t figure out how to pay it. No return envelope. The clerk at the store where I got my phone said I could pay it at a convenience store or at a bank, but didn’t say which one. Neither did the bill I got in the mail.

So, I did what any red-blooded, ignorant American expat would do. I got a Korean coworker to call the customer service line for me.

Like, this has to be one of their top 10 FAQs.

How should I pay my first month’s bill?

Oh, that’s easy, they told my friend, who patiently translated for me over the phone. The amount will be automatically deducted from the bank account linked to the phone account.

Ahem.

There is no bank account linked to that phone. I signed up with my ARC card and a cash deposit.

“Oh, but there is an account,” the customer service person persisted cheerily. “It belongs to someone named [name deleted] at Kookmin Bank.”

“Do you know anyone called [name deleted]?” my coworker asks.

“No.”

“Well, apparently, they are going to pay for your phone.”

The customer service rep informs my coworker that there is absolutely no way anyone at LG allowed a foreigner to sign up without providing a bank account number. No way for me to pay the bill at a store or bank, the way the person who collected my money and set up my phone told me (which is also consistent with the info published on the LG website). And, they don’t particularly care that I don’t know who [name deleted] is, as long as they get the money.

I consider a brief panic attack right there in the office but, this being Korea, I opt to demurely acquiesce and plan to take it up later, along with the question of how someone else’s bank account information happened to get attached to me, on a visit back where I bought the phone, Jenny’s Cellular Service (and Tanning Salon) in Itaewon.

My coworker, however, isn’t going to let it go. He asks the LG customer service person to look into the situation and get back to him. (Have I mentioned, he’s a mensch . . . Or, you know, whatever the hanguk equivalent of a mensch is.)

Much later that evening, after I’ve left for the day, he calls me.

“The only way to pay the bill is by wiring a payment to the LG account, and it must be done by tomorrow, or they will debit the other account.”

Aieee!

“And, you have to call the LG office after you wire the money and tell them it is there.”

[Double aiieee!]

“But, what I think is the best solution, is that I will wire the money from my personal account and you can pay me at work tomorrow. If you try to do it, you will have a hard time talking to the people at LG to tell them the money is there. Next month, you can get the LG to do an automatic debit from your account, but this month, I will send it and you pay me. I think this is the best solution.”

So, to make a long story short, or at least shorter, my coworker—who has already spent a day waiting in line with me at immigration just to spend 5 minutes translating–has now paid my monthly cellphone bill on a moment’s notice.

“Gee, uh, thanks” just doesn’t seem adequate. (I’m hoping a nice bottle of wine packaged with the 26,000KRW I owe him will help.)

Another Korean friend of mine, when trying to explain the rather flexible attitude many Koreans have toward business agreements, put it this way.

“In Korea, we are all mostly one race of people—one blood. So, it’s like we are all related. If I am doing business with someone, it’s like he is my family. So, you don’t ask your family to sign a piece of paper. You just work out how it will be.”

At the time, I couldn’t help but think that such an attitude would not be applied to foreigners, particularly Westerners. After all, most of us are pretty clearly not “family.”

But, in many instances, lots of Koreans have treated me like a relative . . . albeit a tall, pale, boisterous cousin-in-law who can’t speak the language, bows at all the wrong times, and is always prone to embarrasingly exuberant displays of emotion.

I can’t help but wonder what my Korean coworkers must think of me. They started learning my language in elementary school, yet after three months here, I can barely speak two sentences in theirs. I am loud and clunky, and wear weird clothes. I can’t take my kimchi too spicy. I don’t like soju.

But, they never mention it. They just sort of smile (and try to hide their giggles whenever I attempt my limited Korean) and then take care of things.

So, OK. One family member told you the rules for getting a phone were X. Another says they are Y. There is no rule book to go to. It is useless to argue or debate. Useless to show them the service contract and explain who you spoke to, and when, and what they said, and what you said, and why you really, really, really just want to give them, someone, anyone at their company the money you owe . . . It’s much more effective, if you are so lucky, to just go get your well-spoken cousin on the phone and broker a new deal.

It’s not what you’re used to. But, it will all, usually, work out fine.