Another school year has just begun and you know what that means for me, the slightly sociopathic mastermind behind the latest way to degrade and commodify my fellow E-2 Entertainers: cash—lots of cash. Through this latest debasing stratagem, I’ve found a way to turn that E-2 mark of the beast stamped in the passports of Gwangju’s Western one-room dwellers into an absurdly puffy Norse Pace jacket tumescent with sewn-in fiat currency delivered right to my doorstep by one of Gwangju’s hard-pressed human slugs. I live near the top of a steep hill, by the way.
The ruse takes place each year on orientation day for first graders. The parents, often quasi-bangable ajummas, innocently escort their first-graders to school, where as many as a dozen hagwon owners from the area bombard them with flyers and handbags carrying advertisements and goodies. Most of the hagwon owners are same-same Koreans with a same-same sales pitch. That’s where my services come in. Since many English hagwon owners can’t afford to hire a full-time native English speaker and thus don’t have anyone to stand outside these schools to hand out flyers but same-same-faced Koreans, they have no choice but to consult me—the waeg broker with monopolistic access to scores of pitifully desperate E-2 palefaces—if they want any of these parents to remember them.
I’ve already scouted dozens of fledgling English academies throughout the City of Light and have paid impoverished cardboard collectors to make wearable cardboard signs advertising Rent-a-Waeg Services™. All they have to do is enter these academies without saying a word and walk slowly from classroom to classroom for as long as possible before getting thrown out. For this they get 20,000 krw per academy. To make sure they actually do their work and don’t just lie to collect their 20k, I have my girlfriend call each academy the following day acting like an irate parent who wants to know why her little scholar has bums trawling through his English academy. If owners apologize for the scene, our cardboard collectors get paid; if the owners don’t recall such a scene happening, someone’s knees are gonna get realigned by a squid-masked ajeossi wielding a bag of Master locks.
If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have noticed an uptick in human slugs mopping the vomit-caked sidewalks of Gwangju. Such stars aren’t born, but made, usually of people who tried to fuck me over sometime in the last few years. It’s true that I own the slug trade in Jeollanam-do in addition to the cardboard, rent-a-waeg and ajumma gigolo trades, but of the four, the slug business doesn’t really bring in all that much, comparatively speaking. It’s more like an accoutrement of humiliation that I keep around for people who try to fuck me over in one of the other trades. It stands as a reminder not to get in too deep. The funds from the slug trade cover the cost of hiring a few doughty squid-masked ajeossis wielding heavy bags of Master locks, with any remaining funds going directly to the Sung Bin Girl’s Orphanage in Gwangju. But these are just vain details.
Anyway, on orientation day I rent out about 80 or so E-2 bee-jah holders for 300,000 krw each. It’s quite a deal actually, as hagwon owners can potentially earn that back in a month with just a few new students. Sometimes they hire two on orientation day. In fact, my former boss hired four from my website (rentawaeg.com) without knowing it was mine of course, and I sent her three chain-smoking Uzbeks and an overweight gyopo just to ruin her recruitment for a year, the bitch. For palefaced waegs, the job requirements are minimal: must be able to stand for 90 minutes; must be able to smile convincingly for a third of that time; must not arrive looking or smelling too hungover; males seeking to qualify must do a month-long ajumma gigolo internship at our training facility in Naju and take calls whenever called upon; females seeking to qualify must submit photos to firstname.lastname@example.org and get acquainted with the proprietor’s left and right if called upon. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
My E-2 serfs only work for about an hour to an hour and a half, so it’s good, easy money on their side, too. I originally agree to split it with them but that’s just bullshit. When the job is done, I refuse to pay them and then, when they protest, politely threaten to have my gilf-secretary call their real bosses and tell them what a recruitment opportunity they just lost. After realizing that they fell hook, line and sinker for a scam, my E-2 peers usually pout for a while and tell me that what I’m doing is “totally uncool,” but they’re from the Like Me generation, so they usually end up apologizing in the end so we can retain good relations. Without Likes and good relations their amour propre plummets, so they’re as pliable as teens with daddy issues. Now that it’s all over, today I get to strut around my apartment in a heavy, oversized Norse Pace jacket with nothing on underneath. The gilf will come over a bit later and I’ll give her a puppet show as payment.