I have often thought that of all the superhero powers, the coolest would be the ability to be invisible. You could roam the earth listening in on private conversations, change the world for the better, and fight crime. You could also just have a whole lot of fun creating harmless mischief.
But it is possible to be invisible, or at least to be treated as if you are, and that is not always fun. I’ve had that experience myself recently. You see, since I was born in Korea and Korean was my first language, I can still understand it very well, even though my spoken Korean is laced with a huge American accent. That means that in settings where Korean is spoken, as long as I keep my mouth shut, I can actually, for all intents and purposes, seem invisible to the Koreans speaking around me.
You would think that someone would look at me and pause and think, huh, with her hair and her eyes, she just might be Korean and she might actually understand us, so maybe we’d better be tactful. All I can say is that sometimes there is no explanation for lack of common sense or tact.
I’ve been going to the same nail salon for years. I don’t go very often, but from time to time, sinking into a plush chair, closing my eyes, and having someone massage my feet is just about the finest guilty pleasure I can imagine. When Katie and Molly are around, we go together, and it’s a great mother-daughter bonding event.
Over the years, I’ve engaged in small talk with the owner-operator and some of the women, but always in English. So they knew that the girls were graduating from middle school, and then high school, and then they were going away to college. At our previous salon I made the mistake of revealing my Korean-speaking ability, and then I could never get any peace and solitude; I always felt forced to chatter away when all I wanted to do was to relax.
On this particular day, the three of us were there, and all of a sudden, like antennae, my ears perked up and tuned in to the conversation among the Korean women. They were talking about us! And not in a very nice way! After all these years, it was unbelievable and I was furious. It wasn’t terrible, but it was gossipy and not appropriate.
When we were finished, I paid, and then, to their shock, said thank you — in Korean — with a meaningful glare, and then walked out. For good. By the stricken look on the owner’s face, I think it dawned on her at that moment that I had understood everything they had said, and that –– heavens to Betsy –– I was Korean after all these years! And she had lost a good customer.
A similar thing happened this summer at a Korean restaurant in Edison. Our favorite one had relocated, so we started eating at our second choice in the area, not as good as the first, but still acceptable. Anyone who knows Korean restaurants knows that when you order your main dish, it is accompanied by small plates of side dishes known as “ban-chan.” Pretenders charge you for these side dishes which usually include kimchi — the hot pickled cabbage –– bean sprouts, sauteed spinach, seasoned potatoes, and many others depending on the cook’s mood that day. Real Korean restaurants, however, provide these side dishes free of charge and they are bottomless, meaning that they refill them as much as you want. The measure of a great Korean restaurant is the taste and number of these side dishes and the quality of the service that comes with their delivery.
On this night, the five of us had a craving for the spicy and satisfying food of my homeland, so we drove up Route 1 to Edison to enjoy our meal. On this day, however, whoever was ladling out the ban-chan was feeling very miserly, because each side dish was a tiny dollop on the plate.
We quickly plowed through the ban-chan and then, in English, I asked for more, please. I could sense our waitress bristling, but it was her words as she walked across the room that floated by crystal clear, something along the lines of “I can’t believe how piggish that family is, they ate through their dishes so quickly, the nerve asking for more like that so soon.”
My blood started to boil. I asked another waitress, again in English, to bring us more side dishes and she complied. We calmly finished our meal, and then, to spare them the verbal shrapnel from my impending onslaught, I sent my family out of the restaurant to the safety of the car so I could launch my attack.
And launch, I did. In Korean, I told the waitress and the owner/manager in no uncertain terms how rude her behavior was. I told them that we would never be coming back and we would tell all our friends and family never to patronize this place. And then, since I observed that there were other non-Koreans at the tables, I told them, this time, loudly in English, that their food wasn’t good enough to justify rude behavior, and that rude behavior in a restaurant like this was never acceptable. It was a bilingual tongue-lashing.
And then, even though I had already paid the bill with a tip, I told them that I had changed my mind about the tip because rude service did not warrant a tip, and I wanted my money back. I got it and then I stalked out. Forever. Who said I don’t have a flair for drama?
You see, being invisible isn’t all that it might be cracked up to be. But then, in ferreting out bad service or rudeness, it is entirely useful. The best rule for anyone, however, in speaking about others, is to observe the golden rule that I’ve tried to teach my kids –– if you don’t have something nice to say about someone, just don’t say it at all, no matter what language you’re speaking. You never know who might be listening.
