HELP! It is 10:46 PM on a Sunday night and I am locked inside an empty, darkened student dormitory with only my computer and a Canadian guy for company.

Seriously.

But no need to panic and rush aboard the next flight to Korea. I’ve been well watered and fed and assured of my release upon the morrow.

I cannot recall actually consenting to this imprisonment. A few weeks ago, my guiding teacher informed me that I would need to come to work next Sunday to “record a test.” (My reaction: “?”) Oh, and that I would need to spend the night at school. (My reaction: “???”) Oh, and that I’d probably be going on a field trip with other teachers the next day. (My reaction: “??????” and a shake of my head). I perfectly understood his words but had no clue what this really meant. Although, now that I’m remembering this, my reaction to this information was a wrinkling of the nose and a dubious “ok.” Hmm… I guess that level of consent is all that it takes!

As this weekend approached, I questioned several people and gleaned a few more pertinent details. First of all, the test that I was recording was for next year’s prospective students. Second, our school would also be utilizing a Canadian guy with a different, yet preferable, accent. (I laughed at this notion and again when I found out that the Canadian is from Vancouver, BC) And third, that the Korean English teachers would be working the entire weekend to create this test: on Saturday they would craft the test and on Sunday we “might do a little proofing” (uh-oh, I knew what that meant), and then we’d record the test.

But I live a half a block away from the school and am already handicapped when it comes to communicating with the general populace. So, why, why the need to sequester me? Well, it isn’t just me. It is everyone involved with the test. All of the English teachers (11), a vice principal (1), me (1), and the Canadian (1). And we are all locked in for security reasons. Tests are a major deal here in Korea. Major. And apparently, for a test like this, there are many unscrupulous parents that would be willing to pay for information relating to their child’s admission into our special school.

Wow. (grimace)

So this morning I threw overnight items into a bag and arrived at the student dorm, as instructed. I surrendered my cell phone and was welcomed into the fold, given a few minutes to select a dormitory room for myself (remind me to teach my girls the English idiom “cleanliness is a virtue”) and immediately sat down with a red pen, a draft copy of the test, and two other English teachers. And we proofed. A lot. Although the test English was far and away the best English that I’ve yet proofed, there were 40 questions comprised of dialogs, lists, long statements, and there were lots of details to iron out. My proofing started at 9:10 but when the Canadian arrived an hour later, we all gathered in one of the classrooms, with literal armfuls of fruit and snacks and juices and more snacks. One teacher edited on the laptop while we “natives” read aloud from the test and edited it. Decisions such as “how should we pronounce batting average: .400 or 400?” or “Does this or that sound better?” were group decisions. Once I finagled us “natives” a five minute break just after posing a doubt to my Korean peers about an inference question relating to population (ever a touchy subject in Korea). Proofing the test was taken very seriously, and was very detailed work.

When the group proofing had been completed, we piled into three cars and had sushi for lunch. We ate well and I kept the entire crowd entertained with my sparkling wit. Too entertained because on the way back to school, there was quite a bit of teasing about the amount of talking that I did. Although I protest to all of you that sometimes my role here in Korea and at TFLSH is similar to a court jester and that I truly do my best to ask everyone lots of questions (to get everyone to talk instead of me). After the teasing, I sulkily clammed up for about 5 seconds before reverting to form. We returned to school, did another hour or so of proofing and then the recording process began.

A table with two microphones had been set-up in the classroom, which is truly a well-equipped media lab. The Korean test sections were first recorded and sound-checked. Getting the sound right took some time but the Korean was a trooper and she got through the test with an enviable lack of fuss.

And then it was our turn. The Canadian and I sat at a table, water in reach, and began to read from our scripts with the microphone at easy chomping distance. It took some time to perfect that sound and then there were the natural reader errors. With practice, the recording process was somewhat smoothed out, but it was rare that we nailed a question perfectly on the first try. It was rather grueling for all involved: our engineer (my hard-working Koran guide teacher), our proof-readers (fellow English teachers), my Canadian peer and myself. And I cracked first. We had closed the classroom windows in order to shut out neighborhood sounds and as a result the classroom began to get warm and the words on the page began to blur, which didn’t enhance my ability to read the words from the page, let alone twist my tongue and vocal cords into comprehensible language. Also, some of the test language remained unnatural, which made it that much harder to read the test word for word. My Canadian peer rarely made changes to his script but I have a habit of editing as I read aloud (and reading aloud while I edit) and sometimes I’d make a change without consulting the test writers. Amusingly, my errors (edits) would result in a spate of Korean - but I won all but one of those changes. Towards the end, I simply pre-empted this discussion by making the changes up front, which helped. All and all, the recording went well and with the remaining work being the editing and test printing, we again piled into cars for dinner at around 8 pm.

We went to a Korean restaurant and shared another lovely meal, although shoulders began to sag and smiles were rare. After eating our fill, we returned to school and us two natives were locked in the dorm just after I rather annoyingly developed a need to call my British co-teacher (regarding tomorrow’s adventure). After the dorm doors were locked, I found myself pacing, my words echoing through the empty halls while I was doing the forbidden: talking on the phone. The Vice Principal’s cell phone. (grimace) And I kind-a ran down the battery. (Big grimace). This entire situation is surreal.

Anyway, midnight is now approaching and I’m seated, cross-legged, on the floor of a 4-bunk-bedded room, nicely warmed by the Korean “ondol” flooring. The Canadian is asleep, I’m getting sleepy, and my Korean peers are still hard at work on the listening test, so, yes, I’m still trapped. If there is a fire, I could be in trouble. But listen, you don’t have to call the US Embassy. Or if you do, assure the embassy that I sound well and as someone is already scheduled to swing by and give a talk at our school this week, surely you could talk the embassy into an opening dialogue with the school insisting that I get a shower and change of a change of clothes before that important person visits?

Sending all my love…

Laura

PS: When sequestered there was also no Internet access, so I’m posting this entry from my apartment, after the test was conducted. All’s well that ends well, although predictably I didn’t sleep well last night because of the strange situation, the strange bed, and because the Vice Principal’s pre-set cell phone alarm awoke me at 4:50 am. Hmm... actually, if you are planning on calling the embassy on my behalf, please finagle me a shower and some extra sleep time…