Book Store Koan: What is the sound of one hand whacking?

It all started on the cab ride home Saturday afternoon after work. The director of the school, myself and another teacher, a Canadian woman, shared a ride back to "Gob-pan-jong dong" Basically, Suwon's "ghetto" before hundreds of new apartments were built two years ago...It was raining and all the taxis were full, so the director asked the Korean receptionist, a super nice lady who can calm any hysterical kid reeling from the paralysis of mommy leaving her in a language institute, in my school, to call us a cab.

"There's an adult book store in our neighborhood," the director said as the taxi turned left along the long stretch of fallow rice fields. "I found it the other day." The female Canadian teacher, feeling a little uncomfortable, said that it would have been better if the cab ride home was just all guys.

"I don't go to those places," the Director added defensively.

"I do," I said a little mocking also knowing that my personal lube is low and needing replacement-- I asked, "Where is it?"

The cab driver made a right turn towards one of the ubiquitous Family Marts that line my area. "It's the place that has green windows. They use some adhesive to prevent looking in," he replied. Except for me, people are having sex all the time.

They have these "love hotels" with funny, 14th century Old English names like "Castle Rock." Couples, lovers, "sanchos/sanchas," cheating spouses, escorts on business and the like use the facilities for quick one hour love sessions. If you drink with Koreans, they down beer quickly. So they must have sex quickly, too. Right? We drove by the adult book store. The green adhesive blocked the light from the store. It looked closed. It was a cloudy, chilly day, unseasonably chilling for Spring. I welcome the chilly weather here in my little "Gob-pan-jong." Back in Los Angeles, it's always warm and pleasant. It has an "unreal" feeling to it like the Hollywood movie set it really is. You've seen the movies where the street is "wet" from a fresh rain but everything else like the buildings look dry? That's Los Angeles. Fake wetness. Fake boobs. Botox lips. Botox butts. Plastic surgery of chins, abs and eyes. Dog diets, dog biscuit stores. And here I am going to buy some silicon lube and look at some whacking magazines (Airplane reference).

Around 9pm I was rested and decided to go out to check out the adult book store. I walked for ten minutes. My big Saturday night plans: I am going to buy some magazines and some lube and take myself out for a nice dinner! How romantic! The road that runs parallel to the rice fields is dark and the cold wind is hitting my face. I walk pass buildings in various stages of construction, big yellow, Tonka style trucks, mud piles, brick piles and finally the green windowed book store! Salvation, reader! I look south towards the large red neon lights of the Presbyterian church a half a mile away. Nothing says Christianity like large, red neon lighting of the Cross of Jesus and tele-prompter flashing verses on a church building.

The Book Store is a large room. There are wood-grained shelves that line all four walls. Dildos, vibrators and edible panties hang from metal mesh or sit on the shelves, nicely arranged for viewing. These are all imported American products. The boxes are in English. You would think that the Korean Chaebols (big industries like Samsung) would have sex subsidiaries that make adult toys but they don't. Maybe "Sam's Hung" would be shot down as a bad idea?

Anyway, I am looking around the shelves, floor and such and there are no books or magazines, anywhere! It's a Porn Store not a Book Store. There's silicon asses, mouths, and vagina's all for sale. All pink, open and ready for adventure. Pink, black and white vibrators of different sizes and shapes and textures. If I had a girl friend would I want her to have a big, black vibrator next to the pillow, ready for action? How could I compete with that? Forgettabout it! Disgusting, huh?

The panties are different colors and sizes. They are of the "easy access" ones for love making. They are taste...full. The owner stumbles out and greets me. He is speaking to me. It sounds like he is inviting me to take my jacket off and stay a while, maybe have some coffee, discuss politics and personal lube choices perhaps? His dark red, blood shot eyes are in need of some major Visine, reader. And his openness and cordiality make me feel uncomfortable. I guess it's just my desire to remain anonymous when I shop for lube. I tell him thank you, I am just looking. He points to the wall that has Korean condoms and lubricants. One of them says "Adam." I have a brother named Adam, I think! His name is on a condom box; I got to tell him! I point to a magazine that laid on the shelf. A pretty girl in panties is smiling from the page. I ask him if he has anymore. He says he doesn't. In fact, he doesn't sell magazines or books. A porn store without magazines? I know this is Korea, but come on! I know I am being culturally insensitive, dear reader, but it's like pizza without cheese. It's like french fries without ketchup. It's like South without North. WTF?

I continue wandering around looking at the sundries. Pictures of Caucasian woman on boxes, their faces smiling, open to any sort of need and desire I may have. But no magazines. Ah, the frustration! As I sometimes do, reader, when I wonder around, I maybe yell out something in English; it's okay no one understands or cares really. Half the population is drunk after work and they must think that anyone who comes here to live must be crazy, so leave him be! However, tonight inside the Porn Den of "Gob-pan-jong dong" I don't yell out loud or babble to myself. This would invite Red Eye to talk to me again. Maybe he's really lonely working in a porn store, in the middle of Korea, so he drinks, his eyes swell up, he watches his DVDs over and over, or from the lack of visitors and when he sees a foreigner, he feels like a new friend, a white savior, has just arrived. One who knows how his lonely heart beckons for late night conversation at the Porn Store. And who wouldn't? There's a Christian church every half mile from the Porn Store. Imagine that pressure the owner feels? He's competing with God. And that's a losing game, kind reader. I leave the Porn Store. No magazines. No lube. Just empty hand. Zen Koan: What is the sound of one hand whacking?