Ewha Little Campus

Nestled between a soju bar, a corner store, and what appears to be a korean mafia headquarters masquerading as some type of laundromat, is Ewha Little campus. This is where we go every day to teach our youngsters. The building is a good mix of tuscany, meets the hobby lobby sales bin. Inside the school, some of us taller folk have to dodge and weave low hanging ceilings, catacomb like thresholds, and a stairwell into the basement classroom that simply wont quit. The computer lab consists of two PCs. One that types in the familiar romanized alphabet, and one that...doesn't. The copier that we all use is an absolute piece of "dong". (dong is korean for mookie, while out here mookie coincidentally means fly; the insect, not the super power.) The copier jams every single time it's used. Part of the charm of the place I guess. 
This brings us to our personal favourite: The kimchi fridge. Located in the foreign teachers office, right next to all our desks is the kimchi fridge. Every morning, adjumma opens this fridge to get the kimchi for the day, and it smells like death. Pure, pickled, fermented, rotten death. You could try to keep grading papers while holding your breath, but the battle is always lost to the fridge. As soon as that fridge door opens, it's bye bye curly haired people, hello playground. It is a smell we will never, ever, get adjusted to. Despite all its "charm", we have really taken a shining to this school. The quirks make every day that much closer to a Wes Anderson movie, and let's be honest, why else would we be here? 

This little boy didn't turn in his journal to jamie teacher

My panic room