I Don't Think That Guy was Really a Monk

Ashley and I collapsed heavily onto the pavilion. God, what a disappointing day.

First we’d gone to Itaewon, a neighborhood known as Seoul’s International District due to the high number of expats and U.S. military personnel in the area. It sounded like an amazing place to visit. And maybe it would have been, if it weren’t for me. For some reason, I hadn’t thought to find specific places within Itaewon to visit, so we’d just kind of wandered around the neighborhood for a couple of hours. The only interesting thing we’d found was a café that, while offering many delicious pastries to buy, was so crowded there’d been absolutely nowhere to sit.

Then we’d come to Namsangol Hanok Village to see the traditional Korean houses. Except the place didn’t have much to offer. It was kind of small, offered very little in entertainment, and honestly didn’t contain anything we hadn’t already seen.

So we’d decided to cut our losses and plan the route to our next destination: Namsan Park. I’d been looking forward to visiting the park and the tower and riding the cable car for years. This was sure to be one of the highlights of the trip, and would definitely make up for this admittedly sub-par day.

As I opened Naver Map to figure out how to get there, a monk with a friendly smile on his face came up to us. The man didn’t speak English, but he seemed nice enough. He handed over some cheap beaded bracelet, which my sister and I politely took. I was reminded of an episode of The Return of Superman, when Seungjae and his father visited a reenactment village and interacted with some pretend beggars. I figured this guy was a paid actor who handed out these bracelets to all visitors.

But the situation suddenly changed when the man asked us for money.

Confession: I’m not good with surprises. If I encounter a situation I’m unprepared for, my brain stops doing that thinking thing it’s supposed to be really good at. Which explained why I just forked over 20 won—a little under 20 US dollars—without question.

In hindsight, all the names in the record book he was carrying were Western. If it walks like a con and quacks like a con…

Ashley, to her credit, was more quick-thinking than me. She tried to hand him 5 won instead of 20. Unfortunately, the man wouldn’t have it. He kept pointing to all the other names in the book, all of whom had donated 20 won. It seemed he wasn’t going to leave us alone until Ashley gave him what he wanted. So she did.

After he left, Ashley glared at me. “Why did you have to give him that much money?”

I shrugged unhappily, the knowledge that we’d likely been conned swirling low in my belly. “I just saw all the other people in his book had donated 20 and just automatically gave it to him,” I said as I reached into my purse for my phone. “I was so surprised, I just couldn’t—”

I left off suddenly, my shame sharpening into fear.

My phone wasn’t in my purse.

I stood up quickly, looking around at the pavilion, then on the ground. I checked my pockets. My phone wasn’t there. I swear I’d had it in my hand when…when the monk showed up.

“Oh my god. I think that monk stole my phone,” I whispered harshly to my sister.

“What?” Ashley stood up too, searching to make sure she hadn’t grabbed it by mistake.

“I cannot believe this is happening!” I explained, struggling to keep the panic at bay. And failing horribly.

I looked up and found the monk, who making his way to the restroom. Perhaps I was reading too much into it, but he just seemed suspicious. As he reached the door to the men’s room, I could have sworn that he glanced right and left, as though he were searching to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Why did he look over his shoulder like that? I wondered. Is it a coincidence that he immediately headed to the bathroom after leaving us? Is he meeting somebody—a partner, perhaps—and he’s going to pass my phone off to him so that, if somebody in authority checks his pockets, there’s nothing there and so I look like I’m accusing an innocent halabeoji of theft?

I continued to frantically check my pockets and my purse once again, but it wasn’t—

Oh.

I glanced sheepishly at my sister as I removed my cell phone from my purse’s smallest pocket. A pocket I’d never once put my phone in the entire time I’d owned this purse. Until now, apparently. “Found it,” I said with a grimace.

Ashley sighed and shot me a glare, one which I’d definitely earned. “I think it’s time we go to Namsan Park. Unless there’s an elderly person you’d like to accuse of stealing our Wi-Fi egg?” she asked with exasperation.

I paused to consider. “No. I had that on the books for our trip to Myeongdong in a couple days.”

Ashley rolled her eyes and started walking away instead of replying. Well, I thought I was funny.

I jogged to catch up. “Okay, so he’s not a phone thief,” I said to my sister as we exited the disappointing village. “But I also don’t think that guy was really a monk, either.”

Check back soon for the next story: Disaster 2: I Kind of Wish I’d Been Eaten by Zombies.