David’s hand shot up. This wasn’t the Corvette David. this was the pizza David. Among the teachers, we either call him “PK5A David” (his class code - Post Kindergarten 5th grade A level), or “William’s brother David.” William is an oozing, terrible little goblin and I’m glad this isn’t about him.

“Joe Teacher, you live in Kyodae?”

“Yep,” I said. “I thought you knew that.” Then PK5A Ryan AKA D.K.’s brother piped in.

“Where in Kyodae?”

I remembered some big, gold Korean characters marking the front of my apartment building. I had answered this question about a dozen times since moving there. What did they say? 

“I live in the… the Joochajang.”

This news was received with endless laughter. Did I say it wrong? Was I in trouble? I wasn’t sure. I wondered if I ought to write it just to make sure. I took out my board marker and wrote “JOE TEACHER LIVES IN THE 주차장.” If you’re reading this you’ve probably guessed that this didn’t straighten anything out at all.

After about 5 more solid minutes of pointing and laughing at me (a humiliating but typical part of any foreign teacher’s day), Ryan took the board marker and let me in on a little secret.

주차장 = parking garage

Why does that tiny little parking space have such a fancy, misleading sign on it?! I imagined what it would have been like if, when I was a boy, some Mexican immigrant Spanish teacher had told me, “I live in the parking garage.” I would have lost it. In retrospect, the kids showed a lot more respect than I would have. Now, when they see a sign for a 주차장 on the way to a field trip—and they’re everywhere—they all point and shout, “Teacher’s house! Teacher’s house!”