The Bag Man

I was sitting in the train station having dinner before I went to Seoul, because I couldn't get tickets for a train for another hour. While I was dining away and watching bad Korean TV, this old man sits down next to me. He reeked of alcohol. When I looked over at him, he said hello, but then did a circle motion with his arms so as to suggest that I keep eating. The man was clearly homeless: dirty and worn down in only the way that a homeless person can be. One thing I never can understand about Korea is that the homeless people are always fairly clean, fairly well dressed, and fairly groomed. I wasn't able to pick out the homeless easily when I first moved here. Now I can.

As I continued eating, the man just sat there watching TV. If I'd look over, he'd circle his arms again, letting me know it was okay to continue. Eventually, he started talking to me. The only word he seemed to know in English was American, but he used it often. His Korean was a little hard to understand because it was slurred (and he spoke with a thick accent that I wasn't used to), but I made out some simple questions: where are you frome? where are you going? why are you going there? when does your train leave? etc.

We talked for a couple minutes, then he said something I didn't understand. I told him I didn't understand, but he simply wouldn't believe it. "You can understand," he said. "You speak Korean." I didn't understand.

He then called me a "bad man," so I'd had enough of him. I got up to leave, but he followed.

"Is that TNT in your bag?" he asked. I assured him it wasn't. It was only books and tests to grade; I needed something to do on the three hour train ride.

I tried to ditch him, but I couldn't leave the train station. By this time, there was only about 15 minutes left until my train left. Eventually, I decided to just wait in front of the entryway until my train began bording. The man waited there with me.

I was still holding my bag that had held my dinner, so I began looking around for a trash can. Trash cans are always very hard to find in Korea, which makes no sense because Korea is a fairly clean country. I wonder where all the trash goes.

The old man noticed my predicament and took the bag from me with a nod. "Thanks," I said, thinking he was taking it to throw away. He didn't. He just held it there.

After a few minutes, he began talking to me again. Again, I didn't understand, and I told him so. He wouldn't take this for an answer. He started raising his voice, so I stopped responding. That's when it really got weird. He started jumping up and down and hitting me with the bag my dinner had come in. Luckily all that was inside now was a plastic container and some napkins. Still, it wasn't exactly pleasant, so I asked him to leave.

He kept yelling, and I kept ignoring as best I could. He again accused me of having TNT in my bag, loudly this time. He was relentless. I started looking for a security guard. That's another thing about Korea: crime is so low here, when something DOES go wrong, people tend to ignore it, even the people paid specifically to deal with it. So of course, there wasn't a security guy to be seen....or, for that matter, anyone even willing to make eye contact.

Eventually, a large handsome man in a business suit walked up. He had to be in his late 30s, but was far better built and far more fashionable than the average Korean his age. He was almost certaily Korean mafia.

The suited guy took the homeless guy aside. I didn't understand much of the interaction, but I caught bits and pieces.

Suit Guy: "Leave him alone, sir" (and yes, he DID say "sir." He was very respectful to the guy).

Homeless Guy: "But he said he'd....(something something something)."

Suit Guy: "He's a foreigner. He can't understand Korean. Leave him alone."

Homeless Guy: "No. He understands Korean fine. He said he'd....(something something something)."

This went on for quit some time until finally Suit Guy gave up and started ignoring the homeless man too. This interaction didn't stop him, though. As soon as he was done with Suit Guy, the homeless guy came and stood beside me again. He didn't say a word. He just stared. Luckily, my train came soon after, and I went through the gates. The homeless man couldn't follow me in (of course he had no ticket), but he followed me all the way up to the last possible point before finally turning away.

I never did learn what he wanted: food, money, booze, a free trip to Seoul hiding inside my bag. Who knows? In any case, when I came back through the station on my way home a few days later, I made a run for the subway as quickly as I could. I could do without be beaten with my dinner bag again.

From now on, I'll remember to eat my dinner in the restautant or on the train.

R