ADaptation by 18th waver Woonha Kim

18^th waver Woonha Kim

This is an adaptation of the 2nd chapter of the original text. The place-set is changed to a typical KMLA environment with a typical KMLA student and teacher. Most of the sentences are based on the original text, with some spices and descriptions added up.

Mr. Kim had his own room and all. He was around forty years old or something, or even more than that. I mean, you can never know how old they are unless they tell explicitly, and most of teachers don’t. His door was open, but I sort of knocked on it anyway, just to be polite and all. I could see where he was sitting. He was sitting in a black leather chair, and looked over when I came in. “Who are you?” he yelled. “Woonha? Come in, boy.” He was always yelling, both inside and outside class, especially when he was hunting down for EOP violators in the lobby of 충무관, shouting out “EOP Violation!”. It got on your nerves very much.

The minute I went in, I was sort of sorry I’d come. He was reading the morning Kendo attendance sheet, and there were bamboo swords and wooden swords and real swords all over the place. It was pretty intimidating. I’m not too crazy about athletic people, especially kendo people, anyway. What made me even more intimidated, old Kim had on this very sad, ratty kendo uniform that he probably didn’t washed for a month. It felt like I had to run to the gym right now. “Hello, sir,” I said. “I got your note, Thanks a lot.” He’d written me this note asking me to stop by and see him before vacation started, on account of I wasn’t coming back To be honest, I was never thankful or anything. I just wanted to get the hell out of here as fast as I can.

“Sit there, boy,” old Kim said. He meant the ragged couch on the wall.

I sat down on it. “How’s your freshmen, sir?”

“M’boy, if I felt any better I’d have to make them do Burpee test about a hundred times.”

That knocked him out. He started chucking like a madman. Then he finally straightened himself out and said. “Why aren’t you down at the Rock Festival? I thought this was the day for boys to go crazy.”

     “It is. I was. Only, I just got back from that special training,” I said. Boy, his couch was like a rock.

     He started getting serious as hell. I knew he would. “So you’re moving out?” he said.

     “Yes, sir. I guess I am.”

     It started, all right. “What’s the matter with you, boy?” Old Kim said. He said it pretty tough. “How many subjects did you carry this term?”

      “Seven, sir”

      “Seven. And how many are you failing in?”
      “Five.” I moved my ass a little bit on the couch. It was sure the hardest couch I ever sat on. “I passed English and Math alright.” I said, “because I only had to write a few essays in months or so for English, and Math, you know, Calculus is nothing for a Korean student.”

      He wasn’t even listening. He hardly ever listened to you when you said something.

“I gave you about 60 penalty points since you didn’t even attempt to show up at morning Kendo sessions for a month, even though you are a junior.”

“I know that, sir. Boy, I know it. You couldn’t help it.”

“Absolutely not giving a damn,” he said over again. That’s when he drives me crazy. He would say the same thing over and over again, and secretly, when it is a 1:1 situation, he would secretly swear in the middle of his words. When people say the goddamn same thing forever with swearing, that’s what drives me crazy. Then he said it again. “But absolutely no damn. I doubt very much if you ever remember how to wear your Kendo uniform.”

“Well, I sort of know you should wear the top part first and then the bottom part.” I told him. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and more importantly, hurt myself. He was mad about kendo anyways and you never want to upset a kendo guy.

“You know it, eh?” he said – very sarcastic. “Your, ah, attendance sheet is over there on top of my desk. On top of the pile. Bring it here.”

It was a very dirty trick, but I went over and brought it over to him – I didn’t have any alternative or anything. Then I sat down on this cement couch again. Boy, you can’t imagine how sorry I was down here in Mr. Kim’s lair, not with those kids in the Rock Festival.

He started handling the attendance sheet and looked down for my name. “You flunked the morning kendo session from October 4^th to November 7^th,” he said. Would you care to say why you did so?”

“No sir, not very much,” I said. I don’t feel like it in the first place, anyways.