The adventure started, as usual, with me trying to negotiate a destination with a justifiably puzzled cab driver, to whom I am still unconsciously speaking Spanish.

Driver: "Ahn-yung ha-sey-o."*
Me: "Ahn-yung ha-sey-o. Um. Serim Hospital. Serim byung-wuhm."
Driver: "Serim okay."
Me: "Okay." (silently fist-pump in my head to congradulate self)
Driver: "[something something] Hangul?" He wants to know if I speak Korean.
Me: "Um...no. Un poco." Dammit. I hold up my thumb and index finger in the universal gesture "only a little bit" and smile apologetically.
Driver: "English teacher?"
Me: "Yes. Si. Um....ney." Third time's the charm.
Driver: (laughing) "Canada?"
Me: "No. Uh, ah-nee-yo. America."
Driver: "America where."
Me: "America...Idaho."
Driver: Blank stare. "America where."
Me: "Umm. North. Up. By Canada."
Driver: (delighted) "Ah! Canadian!"

I sigh. He is so pleased with our cross-cultural exchange that I figure, close enough. Plus, we have made it to the hospital, and a new set of challenges awaits. I walk inside. I've noticed that all hospitals and airports are essentially the same; just follow the question-mark signs and you can usually survive. This time, however, the plan backfired. I found a question mark sign, which did, of course, lead me to Information. And I'm certain there was a ton of incredibly useful info there, for those of us who speak Korean. I wandered through the halls aimlessly for about five minutes, trying to come up with a plan. The only thing I could see in English was the Ultrasound room. Thankfully, I don't need that. But what to do? The obvious answer was to call my boss, the principal of our school. I'm sure I could have put him on the phone with a nurse and hashed this whole thing out.

But I couldn't do that, because I have this thing about asking for help unnecessarily. I like to do things on my own. I like to be capable. Or, as one (ex)boyfriend put it, "You are frustratingly independent." Fair enough. I don't necessarily see this as a flaw, but I will concede that it sometimes makes things harder for me than they need to be.

So I went up to the nurse station, prepared to look like an idiot, once again. "Do you speak English?" A vain hope. No. Time to pantomime. Rather than go with my initial Mork-and-Mindy idea and hope they got "alien" out of my dance, I got out my passport, and made a motion with my thumb and left forearm that either communicated "blood test" or "mainlining heroin" to the nurse. Either way, after a ten-minute wait, I was redirected to someone important that spoke enough English to get me my required documentation. "You are very normal," she said. "You will be okay." I know she meant only that my tests came back clean, but God bless her nonetheless.

Inspired by my success, I went to the Lotte Mart (giant one-stop shopping complex a la Wal-Mart) and bought some real coffee and a French press. They generally only drink instant coffee here, which doesn't cut it, but I didn't know how to use a press. Time to learn.