The joys of my job

여보세요?

This is how I answer the phone at work. Yes, believe it or not, part of my job is to be a receptionist. It's not glamorous, and it's not fun, but I do it.

It all started out about 8 months ago. Every day the Korean teachers have a meeting and leave me and my co-worker to man the front desk. We used to run get them whenever the phone rang or whenever people came in through the door. Then my boss figured out that I could speak a little bit of Korean (or at least read the letters) and she gave me a little slip of paper to read to anyone who calls.

It goes like this:

안녕하세요 (Hi)

회의 중입니다 (We're meeting)

2시 이후애 다시 하세요 (Call back at 2)

감사합니다 (Thank you)

I hate it. I've hated it for 8 months, and despite the fact that my Korean continues to improve, I still hate it just as much.

Here are the reasons I hate it:

1. I can't say the words correctly.

2. Half the time, the people on the other end just hang up, presumably because my accent sucks or they just don't feel like being polite enough to say “Ok, I get it.”

3. Often, the meetings go beyond 2. This was a major problem at first, because people would call back at 2, and I didn't know what to say. I fixed this pretty quickly by learning how to say “2:30” instead of “2.” This was back in the days when numbers were still difficult for me. Nowadays, I can change the callback time at a moment's notice.

4. About 3 months ago one of my student's let me know that the first line (the one that says "Hi") is wrong. It should be “여보세요,” not “안녕하세요.” Actually, I'd known about that for a while, but this was what my boss had written down for me to say, and I hadn't bothered questioning her authority. So, for the first 5 months I sounded really stupid answering the phone and confused a lot of people. Nowadays, things go a bit smoother.

Actually, to top that off, my boss hadn't even written any sort of greeting to begin with. It wasn't until I'd said, "Hey, don't you think I should say something like 'Hello' when I answer the phone?" that she'd written down some sort greeting, and that ended up being totally wrong.

5. Sometimes, people start talking. They don't understand that I'm serious when I tell them to call back. Or, maybe they think that they're talking to a real Korean – one that has decided to talk with a harsh American accent. I don't know. Or, probably more likely, they totally can't understand my words and they just assume that if they ask more questions that things will get done faster. Ironically, this line of logic does work, as I just say “Hold on a second” (in Korean) and go and pull someone from the meeting.

6. I can never tell if I sound like a jerk or not. I don't understand the inflections or subtl e nuances of this language, so I often fear that maybe I sound really cynical or pissed off when I say “회의 중입니다.” I occasionally try to say it in different ways: sometimes I try to sound like I'm tired, or like I just finished laughing at a co-worker's joke. I figure that it can't be any worse than it already is.

7. On rare occasions, people call back immediately after. And I tell them the same thing I just told them. On extremely rare occasions, we have what I like to call a “three-peat.” Maybe it's cultural stubbornness, or my accent....who knows. Either way, I hate this the most.

So, why the long rambling complaints?

Well, today, the phone rang. I cursed, and then I picked up the phone.

“여보세요?” I said. “회의 중입니다---”

“Ryan Teacher!” the other voice said. “Ryan Teacher! Hello!”

“Hi,” I said. It had to be one of my students.

“Ryan Teacher!”

“Hi, I said again. This could go on for a while.

“Ryan Teacher! It's Annie.” I knew exactly who it was. One of my most energetic students. A sweet kid with a semi-annoying personality who exudes excitement.

“Hi Annie,” I said. Trying to ask her why she was calling or what she needed wasn't worth the effort; we've been struggling through concepts like “Ryan's eraser” and “Jason's book” in her class for the past month. I just decided to wait for her to initiate what she wanted to say. And, after a few moments, she did:

“Ryan Teacher. I love you.”

Without thinking I said, “I love you too.”

“Ok. Bye Ryan Teacher.”

“Bye-bye Annie.” And that was that.

It kinda stopped me in my tracks. I'd been expecting some voiceless confused Korean parent, but instead, I get Annie. Annie, a 9 year-old kid with a knack for getting in trouble but redeeming herself by giving me weekly presents of candy and various odds and ends, calls up her English school and tells me she loves me.

Years from now, she may or may not be able to say “This is Sally's eraser.” She might not be able to say that next week. But, I'm ok with that. What she did was sweet. It was genuine. It's one of the reasons I like what I do.