In Seoul there are some corners that you will find just as many Chinese neon signs as Korean signs. There are pop up signs that come out only at night for clubs and signs for 24 hour lamb kababs and sleazy motels.
Don't ask how I get in predicaments like this. We were on the Riverside expressway and suddenly my friend Chuck got off and we ended up in a little China town where guys wear sleeveless t-shirts and girls wear less than sleeves.
Chuck stopped the car in front of a Chinese Club and told me,
"Wait here. I just gotta take care of a few things."
I did not like waiting in the back seat of the car in that kind of neighborhood. It was almost midnight and it was still sweltering hot outside. Chuck smiled and said,
"I'll leave the air-conditioner and the radio going. If anyone bothers you just honk the horn."
Chuck is one of those guys that you want to have around in a place like this. He was raised in a country town outside of Pusan and he knows how to deal with trouble. I'm just not sure that trouble knows how to deal with him yet.
Every minute he was gone seemed like twenty minutes waiting in the car. There was no way I was going outside in that heat. I just decided to sit still and listen to some music. There was a bouncy tune on the radio so I started jumping a little bit from side to side with the beat. Then I heard a muffled voice,
"I like that tune too... but would you mind... please stop bouncing so much."
I looked around and no one was in the car.
I had a late dinner and sometimes when I get nervous the gas builds up on one side. I can't do anything more to hold and then... whoosh!
Why'd you have to go and gas the place up! Just roll down a window please!
This time the voice was less muffled and more irritated.
It seemed to vibrate under my legs.
I wondered if my fart was talking to me.
I looked down to see where the voice was coming from. Maybe it was one of those talking mice in a fantasy novel. There had to be something because Chuck was nowhere in sight.
"What are you looking at rump roast!"
The seat cushions in the back seat moved with every word that was spoken.
"This is nuts!!"
Did I say that out loud?
That thing answered,
Yes, your sweaty nuts are on my face. Please skootch your fanny over a little bit so I can breathe.
I was thrown back to realize that Chuck's back seat was talking to me, but boy did he have stories to tell.
It was hard to tell exactly what kind of accent this back seat had, but it was basically Korean / Mexican. Every once and a while he would throw in Korean and Spanish words in the middle of his English sentences.
Hombre, now you are catching on!
My Spirit has been stuck in the back seat cushion since somebody stuffed me in the trunk of a car two years ago. Since then I have not been able to figure things out. I just know that people come and sit on me. Every week Chuck has to pick up- his Aunt Edna and she weighs a ton. I'm telling you... You have never seen trasero like hers. Her Caboose takes up my entire head, the whole back seat.
Sometimes Chuck picks up his niece and nephew. They have little tiny tushies but they are so bony and they jump on me so much that they give me a headache.
The worst part of being Chuck's back seat is not Aunt Edna's giant caboose or the kids jumping or being left in the freezing cold without heat and the blazing sun without air-conditioning.
The worst part about being Chuck's back seat is Friday nights.
This Friday he brought Jisoo to the drive in to watch the new Thor movie. Chuck used that line from the movie. You that line:
"These hands were once used for battle, now they're humble tools for peace."
Then they were all over each other. Some of my springs broke loose. Look at this one here in the corner.
He was right. There was a spring almost poking out of the seat in the corner.
Awe!! Ewe!! Why did I have to go and put my hand there. Chuck should have done a better job cleaning up after himself.
And he should have known better not to go out with my girl Jisoo, at least not within the eyes of a witness. The backseat was clearly a witness of all that was going on.
The keys were in the car. It was tempting. Should I just drive away with Chuck's car or should I wait for him to come back and then punch him in the face?
When Chuck came back I found someone already beat me to it. He had a bad black eye and it looked like someone broke his nose. This guy was a loser and I had enough of his haunted back seat and messed up life.
The cool thing about Seoul is you can always find a taxi or a subway somewhere.
I looked at Chuck and said,
"Bye bye bro. You really need to have a talk with your back seat."
I slammed the door and walked over to the subway station. Not only do trains come every five minutes but there are also a million Jisoos.
Maybe the next one I meet will have the decency not to get in the haunted back seat of Chuck's car.
