I fought it off.
As long as I could.
It didn’t work, as I woke up in the morning and I could not get it out of my head.
What good would resisting be?
Resistance is futile.
I just couldn’t get it out of my head.
You know what I mean; it’s there, hanging over your head, teasing you. Fight it off.
Not possible and I am only human, although, I like to think of myself as more.
Even Batman has his weakness. He can die, he too, is human.
I tried to talk myself out of it and just when I thought I could; my mind would go back to it.
I even made it as far as the subway station, fighting, fighting, and getting weaker.
Then, I could not take it anymore.
Yes.
I had the BK’s.
WHAT?!?!?! I hardly ate there when I was at home, but I had the itch.
Hayden Fry always says to “Scratch where it itches.”
So I did.
I stood at the top of the longest set of stairs in my life, they kept going and going and going down. No end to them at all.
I was on a mission.
Immigration ain’t got nuthin’ on me. I plod past the group of Koreans, all of them giving me the look. I must have been growling and making weird sounds, because they all moved away.
OR.
Maybe there was a story about me in the newspaper, which I would not be able to understand anyway, detailing my wonderful foreigner exhibition..
Do you have any idea how long it takes for the train to arrive? Huh? Well, it took F-O-R-E-V-E-R. (Say that like Squints in “The Sandlot”).
What the metric scale for time? Pat?
Pacing.
Growling.
Foaming at the mouth.
Stomping.
Remind me to apologize to the little kid, he didn’t deserve it.
Finally, the train to Heaven and beyond. I could taste it. Again, WHY? Because Max’s Auto diner isn’t here. Because Winstead’s blocked my e-mail and won’t answer my international collect calls. Because The Westport Flea Market just won’t act. Because any of the better burger joints don’t want to expand the horizons. NOT cool.
I know, I know, there a bunch of burger places here. There are. I have seen them. I wanted BK.
The transfer was ugly. I took the 5-Line (HA!!! I sound Native now. OK not too Native, but at I sound like I know what the hell I am talking about.) to the 6-line.
I stepped out of the train, yelling, “WHERE IS THE 6-LIIIIIIINE????????”
Again, people ran and cowered.
People. Hmpf.
The transfer went smooth, only 4 people were hurt in the mêlée. I sent flowers to the hospital room, but I don’t know if they went to Bongwasan or Banghwa. I guess I’ll never know.
It stopped.
The train has stopped. And that’s when the old basketball elbows came back. I start elbowing my way out of the train, one poor guy was just about off and got elbowed back into the subway car, he ended up having to ride the subway for a while. For those of you who have looked, the 6-line circles at the end and starts back. He was unconscious, so he had to ride it around the loop..
ITAEWON.
Yes, Foreigner Central.
I, too, for the moment, was a foreigner. That poor German never knew what hit him as I burst up the stairs, turning around 360 degrees to get my bearings. I actually went 540, because I went past it during my pirouette.
There it was, big ENGLISH sign—American isn’t a language. At least, I don’t think it is……
Beautiful. I knew what I wanted, I didn’t even have to look at the menu, but I did anyway.
I couldn’t even see the menu, I didn’t care. I was waiting for the American to hurry up and make his stupid order. I mean, what’s the deal? He gets the same thing in Paris, Frankfurt, and Calcutta. OK, maybe not Calcutta, but you get the idea.
At last, he gets out of my way. It must have been me grabbing his jacket and throwing him out of my way. My favorite tactic of persuasion, the obvious “Get out of my way”!!!
The girl behind the counter stepped back and asked me if I was ready to order.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked, as the American was standing up, brushing himself off.
“Yes, sir, I am!!!”
“Um, yeah, I am ready, I am standing here, aren’t I”
“Uh, yes, you are.”
“Enough with the small talk, Hon, I want a #1 with cheese and NO Mayo.”
“Number 1 with cheese?’
“NO Mayo!!!!”
“No Mayo.”
“Yes, I do not want ANY Mayo on my Whopper® with cheese.”
‘No mayo.”
“What, is there an echo? I said it THREE times!!!!!” I exclaimed, as I grabbed her shirt and pulled her to me.
“No mayo, sir,” she replied, sounding like Gollum.
I had part of her throat, too, I kinda felt bad about that.
For a second.
This was taking too long. I had half a notion to get back there and do it myself. I mean, look at some of the jokesters who have and still work in the BK’s around you. Although it is considered a good job in Korean.
IT AIN’T THAT HARD. Most of the work is done for you.
I requested a Coke with my Whopper®, they don’t have Pepsi at BK here. That’s just not right.
I waited and waited and waited. Finally, 5 minutes later, it came to the counter. My Coke was in a real cup, real plastic (No, I didn’t steal it; I’ll do that next time). I had the tray in hand, shaking.
I spilled some of the Coke on a French person’s shoes.
What are they going to do about it? I didn’t see any British around to come to their rescue.
I noticed a seat, in the window, but I had to remove the Italian lady from it, while I was muttering something about her embassy and being chased away from it.
Fascists.
So, I push her chicken sandwich and salad in a cup to the floor and take up my spot in the window.
I was overlooking a busy corner, great spot. I could see a ton of stuff going on.
I took off my coat, told the Italian Lady to quit crying, and snapped my neck and popped my knuckles.
I was pleased. I had a craving and I was feeding the crave.
I stood up to stretch my legs, kicked the Italian lady’s purse out of my way and exclaimed, ‘I GOT MINE!!!!”
Now I was ready. So ready, I took a picture.
I was at home. The fries were even cold.
Shaking, I unwrapped my Whopper® and looked for Mayo, fully willing to take it back to the counter and start a brawl.
No Mayo.
LUUUUUUCKY.
Brown lettuce, a drop of ketchup, grainy tomato, flimsy bun, decent sized hamburger patty, and no freakin’ mustard. Oh, well. I took my first bite.
Orgasmic.
I am a TRUE American.
So, I am chewing my hamburger, loudly, I might add and what do I see?
A red and yellow jacket.
Yep, red and yellow. Coming my way.
What’s the first thing to pop into your head?
Mine, too.
A CHIEFS jacket.
In SOUTH KOREA.
Go away Americans.
So I see the guy getting closer and it turns out we are right, I get all fired up and stand on my stool and pound on the glass.
“CHIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFS!!!!!!!!”
The guy, startled, looks at me.
At this point, I am doing the Tomahawk Chop, “AAAAAAAAAH AH AAAAAAAH AH!!!!”
And then I start screaming, “Chiefs and Chopper! Chiefs and Chopper! Chiefs and Chopper!”
The guy flips me off and continues to walk.
I go back to my Whopper® and fries.
Do you have any idea how many fries you can shove into your mouth?
Neither do I, I lost count at 50.
As I am sitting there in all of my glory, I take the time to soak BK up, with the décor of the 50’s and 60’s of which includes: pictures of Audrey Hepburn (never a bad thing), pictures from scenes from various movies, black and white floor tiles, stools on chrome, nostalgia dripping from the ceiling, and AWFUL K-Pop. The only thing missing was a picture of Janet Leigh getting slashed in “Psycho”.
There was no sight of the paying Muslim.
The streets were teeming with people, foreigners and Koreans, alike, but it was the foreigners who were the most fun to watch, as they think they own the place.
Case in point, a guy is walking his two dogs down the sidewalk--crowded with lunchtime population, no less—and he’s not giving an inch. I mean TWO dogs in the middle of Itaewon, at NOON?!?!?!?! (I was waiting for him to let the dogs relieve themselves on the street, “Good Boy Rover, Good Boy Spot!!”) You guessed, an American. How did I know this? Would any other citizen of any other country walk around thinking they own the place? The Brits don’t count.
So as I finishing up my lunch, I am finishing up my little game I am playing, called “This little foreigner went…...” as in “This little piggy went…..” -- I don’t know if you had an Aunt Hazel, but I did and she played “This little piggy….” with my feet until I was at least 15.
So, anyway.
“This little foreigner went to Starbucks, this little foreigner stepped in my way, this little foreigner had BK, this little foreigner had none, and this little foreigner got taken for all of his money by the street vendors and cried all the way back to the States!!!!”
So now, I have to get to work.
Priorities.
My belly full.
And I have been an American in Itaewon, if only for a moment.
I am ecstatic of my journey and the knowledge I can be a little boy and go to BK , anytime I want.
Just keep the Italians out of my way.
The subway ride home wasn’t too bad, my reputation has been growing.
Little old ladies get up to offer me their seats, mothers want me to kiss their babies, men want to shake my hand, and the teenage girls scream and faint every time I approach.
I am more popular than The Beatles.
And if they were popular than Jesus Christ, then you know what that means.

Salesmen.
We all love them.
I know I want to buy and umbrella for 20,000 Won.
I want a knee brace for a couple billion Won.
I want to have the free entertainment which comes along with the ‘Subway Salesman’.
This poor guy on the way home from Foreigner Central, he was funny, I think, but most of all, he took the attention away from me.
Knee braces, back braces, and elbow braces.
OH, MY!!!!!!!The whole spiel.Nobody is paying attention.
A crowd of people turned away.
But I just had to look
All of a sudden, the newspaper is the most intriguing thing they have ever read.
All of a sudden, they have to make a phone call.
Dancing around on one leg, pulling the pant leg up to show off the knee brace, pulling up the sweater/shirt combo to show off the back brace, and showing off the elbow brace.
Quite impressive, a talented guy, wasting his talent on the subway, when he could be in “The Full Monty”, which is playing somewhere in Seoul, I know this because the ads are everywhere.
My ride is coming to an end.
The 538 stop.
I have to get off, I came here to teach, so I have to get to the school shortly, but oh, I would love to sit and watch this guy sell and sell, to no one!!!
I push him out of my way and make it through the door, just before it closes.
Then I realize I have to walk UP those same stairs I walked DOWN.

I hate BK.