Soju

 

(You can get blind drunk in Korea for very little money.)

Yesterday, my middle schoolers read about the death of Edgar Allan Poe during class. Poor Edgar was found piss drunk in a Baltimore tavern wearing ill-fitting clothes and a dirty hat. He was eventually taken to the hospital where he suddenly died after screaming, “Lord, help my poor soul!” Those were his last words.

I looked at my students. “Alcohol isn’t a harmless drug. If you drink too much of the joy juice, you can actually kill yourself. I bet you didn’t know that.”

One girl said, “We all know it, Mr. Woodd. The other teachers tell us all the time.”

“Well, good for them. It’s important news, especially here in Korea.”

A boy raised his hand. “Why Korea? Alcohol is everywhere.”

I smiled at him. “The peninsula is a different story because of soju. A guy can drink himself blind for less than five dollars a day.”

He said, “It’s a free country. Are you saying that soju should be illegal.”

I tapped myself on the chest with my fingertips. “Me? Never in a million years. All the Korean drunkards would nail me to a cross if I ever suggested such a thing. I’m merely saying this: Be careful. Life is fraught with danger.”

But he continued pressing me with questions. “My dad loves soju. Does that make him a bad person?”

“Of course not. He’s over nineteen, so he’s allowed to enjoy whatever cocktail floats his boat.”

“OK, I’m just checking. Because sometimes you come across as a fascist. A real Nazi, if you want to know the truth.”

I quickly changed the subject. “Many experts claim that Poe wasn’t killed by joy juice. Instead, he expired from rabies. But I don’t believe it for a second. Whiskey was definitely the cause of his demise. That stuff is real poison.”

Of course, I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I’ve been inebriated more times than I can count. In fact, I was so shitfaced one night that I actually woke up on a busy sidewalk at 11 a.m. People simply stepped over me to get to work. But that occurred when I was in my 20s. I had a lot of stamina back then. Now I’m just a twisted old eunuch who pretty much sticks to cola. I guess it happens to the best of us.

I eventually got back to my apartment at 6 p.m. and did two loads of laundry. After that, I cooked dumplings and French fries for dinner. The meal wasn’t great, but it was sturdy enough to make a turd. Rice-Boy Larry ate every last morsel on his plate. Good for him.

Then I sat on my sofa and watched Peaky Blinders on Netflix. I’m currently on the last season of the series. The stock market has crashed, sending the family business into turmoil.

A few hours later, I walked to my room at 9 p.m. and enjoyed a quick wank before falling asleep. My night was plagued by strange dreams. I was in church listening to a sermon by the famous pastor John MacArthur. He proceeded to lash out at me verbally before throwing me out of the building. Nobody in the congregation would even speak to me.

I woke up at 5 a.m. with this soul-crushing mood of bleak depression. But after I had a cup of coffee and a cigarette, I felt much better. It was time to start another day.

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