the boss thought I might be dead

There was a sharp knock on my door late Wednesday afternoon. I don't normally hear a knock like that unless I've ordered some sort of food delivery, so I was honestly confused as I went to the door. And when I opened it, I was surprised to find my boss standing there, complaining about how I'd been ignoring his phone calls. He said he'd tried calling me five times that day; I checked my phone and saw no calls in my cell-phone records. I invited the boss in and shared a Diet Cherry Coke with him.

Eventually, I realized why I hadn't received any of his calls: since last week, when I'd had no internet (until the guy came by and installed it), I'd had my phone on airplane mode to avoid consuming too much data. Apparently, when you're on airplane mode, you can't receive calls via the regular LTE signal. I switched airplane mode off, and a few seconds later, the boss's several texts arrived, and he showed me the call log on his phone to demonstrate that he had literally called five times (along with texting).

Anyway, my lack of response apparently prompted the boss to pay me a visit. He lives in the Suwon/Yongin area (technically Yongin, but close to the Suwon border), so it was a long drive for him. He gave me shit about ignoring his calls; I half-heartedly griped about how France had passed a law making it illegal for bosses to contact workers outside of work hours (the boss and I are both jobless, so we're always "outside of work hours"). 

The boss is one of those "English teachers" in Korea who, ironically, hate writing; he much prefers to call and jabber. The problem with talking, I find, is that I have to be on the line with my interlocutor; I much prefer text messages, which I can respond to at my leisure (diachronic, not synchronic). And since I'm not the type to leave messages unanswered, I'm normally pretty prompt about getting back to anyone who texts or emails me. But the boss comes from a different era, and he's a schmoozer type, so talk, talk, talk it is.

I have another friend who prefers to talk instead sending emails or texts; in his case, he's an English teacher whose written prose is horrible—full of stupid typos and other gaffes, enough to make me wonder how it is that he gets away with teaching English. He hates reading almost as much as he hates writing, so again, I have to wonder how he survives in the classroom. I feel a bit sorry for the students who love him: they have no idea what it is they're loving. Something as nebulous as his "personality," I guess. But personality, while flashy, doesn't make students competent at English.

Anyway, the boss thought I might be dead and moldering in my bed (hey, it's conceivable), and he said he still remembered my door-lock number from when he was my guardian while I was in the hospital, so if I hadn't answered the door, he might have let himself in. I need to change my door-lock combo. Upshot: I had a good laugh at the thought that the boss had come all this way to check whether I'd died. He gave me some employment-related updates, used my bathroom for a one-for-the-road piss, then lumbered out.

He called me again Thursday evening as I was in a taxi and on my way to meet Charles for dinner. He said he was in the neighborhood and hungry, so he'd called to see whether we could go out to eat. I told him I was on my way to a rendezvous, but I imagine the boss will try again sometime before I leave for the States. He's a determined bastard when he wants to be.

I, meanwhile, have less than two months before my next doctor's appointment, and I'm about to go to America, which will be full of temptations (come to me, Jamaican beef patties). I shouldn't have too much trouble staying away from those temptations, though, since I'm at a point where a concentrated dose of carbs might actually kill me, but that being said, I still have to watch myself. The temptation to fall off the wagon will be great.