Commentary on Korea

NEW!!! The expense of failure

elbear1 — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 04:46:57 +0000

As the sun comes up on the horizon, its bright warming fingers reach out over Korea. Across the nation, the sound of cars, lorries and buses that restricted the natural silence and stillness of the previous night prevails into morning. The punters from the evening line the streets, piling into taxis to ferry them home or straight to work. Other droopy-eyed proletarians wipe sleep from their eyes as they drag themselves into their workplace. The elderly, alert and active, converge and power-walk together in circles. It’s the birth of a new day and the death of another.

Koreans take great pride in their country, their history, their ‘pure’ Korean blood, their culture, the patriarchal society, and – what is most admired by westerners – their industrial and economic growth.

What unhappily intrudes upon this rosy picture is that in South Korea suicide rates have risen dramatically and over the past two decades have tripled. The most recent study from the OECD (published in 2009) confirms that South Korea has one of the highest suicide rates in the world. The data shows that there were 31 suicides per 100,000 people. With a population of around 50 million in 2009 that works out to be about 42 people taking their own life every day.

In that same year the former South Korean President Roh Moo-Hyun took his own life after his reputation or gibun had been tarnished amidst a bribery scandal. Sadly, this is not the only case where a high profile person has chosen to take their own life because of ‘loss of face’ in the eyes of society. Some celebrities over the past year have committed suicide in seemingly minor scandals that apparently were unbearable for them.

Unfortunately, when celebrities commit suicide their actions don’t stop with the harm they do to themselves. As role models to many Koreans, they appear to endorse suicide and the negative message that they unwittingly communicate to their followers can bring about copycat behaviour.

But for those who are not celebrities what makes them reach the decision that they can’t take any more? For many it’s when their body or mind has reached a point where neither science nor sympathy is of help. And could it be that in South Korea new technology, new industries and values don’t mix easily with the ideology of Confucianism?

Confucius (551-479BC) wrote that death is acceptable if individuals do not follow the fundamental core rules; ‘see nothing improper, hear nothing improper, say nothing improper, do nothing improper.’ He believed that these qualities are inherent within everyone and wrote that it is inconceivable that someone should seek to stay alive at the expense of forsaking these qualities. Thus it may happen that they have to accept death in order to accomplish this desired perfection.

In many instances it would appear that Koreans are striving constantly for perfection. From their overwhelming dedication to education to their exceptionally long working days, this can be seen as a striving to achieve success at a cost that would be unacceptable to most westerners (see Scramble for Success). Is it too far out to suggest that this newly evolved striving is linked to the 2009 OECD statistical revelation, that in South Korea the biggest killer above heart disease and cancer for the 20-40 year old was suicide?

The South Korean government is not unaware of the human toll of this transition from the old to the new. Steps have been taken to counter the unwelcome downside of success. Support is now available on the internet and over the phone. In fact, the government has even placed phones on certain ‘hotspot’ bridges in an attempt to offer potential victims the opportunity to call somebody who will listen. The number of people who have been moved away from their original intentions by this support is not known.

An unusual route some specialist schools have taken is to offer people the chance to study and ‘experience death’. This is done in a controlled environment, where the ‘students’ are encouraged to reflect on their life and describe how they would wish to be remembered. Following this session, comes the writing of the last will and testament and then the ‘student’ is given the opportunity to lie in a closed coffin for up to ten dark, lonely minutes. All of this starting from just £15 ($25USD).

Many have embraced this idea of shock education and some companies – hoping to instil the importance of life — have made it compulsory for their staff to attend. Others have been more critical of this type of enlightenment – describing it as a way of glorifying death.

It will come as no surprise that education and a few phones won’t be enough to bring about a different way for the individual to deal with life’s challenges. Though it may be difficult to accept, there is (most probably) no quick-fix and South Korean society cannot be expected to change overnight. New statistical data is currently being compiled by the OECD and it is hoped that when published it will show some decrease in the suicide rate.

The transition from a rural England to that of an industrial one has taken over two centuries. And it has had a profound influence on the English. So for Korea to absorb and adapt to a similar transition within a couple of decades is, perhaps, asking a little too much.

In the meantime, all we can do is wait.

RECENT! Scramble for success

elbear1 — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 01:17:51 +0000

For many (myself included) the happiest times were the carefree days of youth. A time when play spanned from getting up in the morning until the closing of one’s eyes at night. That blissful period of life is sadly missing from many children in Korea. From an early age, the youth of Korea are impelled into a highly competitive world.

As with most good parents, wanting the best for their children by making sure that they have rewarding opportunities in life is paramount. With this in mind, competitiveness for success in Korea usually starts from the age of three. Children are first sent to kindergarten – preferably an English pre-school – and the extra-curricular activities could well be bolstered by additional classes in the sciences, languages, mathematics, Korean, martial arts, music. So that by the time the children start their primary school (elementary) they already have the accepted foundations for success. However, whilst the child may acquire these advantageous skills, so can all of his or her peers. To be unique, more academia must follow. For instance, schooling after school with evening studies and weekend lessons that swallow a child’s precious free time. While not making for the most delightful childhood, this exacting regime ensures that for the parent behind the child every possible base is covered.

The heavy emphasis on education continues throughout childhood. Attendance at private schools working as late as 10pm can call for the use of tablets and caffeine to lever the still maturing mind and body to the limits. The pressure to succeed only grows stronger as they reach their teenage years and as they are on the brink of becoming an adult the intensity reaches its peak.

Before university, in their final year of high school, Korean students nationwide take the Suneung, The Suneung is a monstrous examination that takes place in November and lasts over six hours to provide the results that can affect the rest of their lives by determining the level of the universities that will accept them.

Last year, over 700,000 students took the test at the same time. The pressure was so intense that on the streets around the schools the police expected drivers to keep their foot off the accelerator and avoid using the horn. And, as if that wasn’t enough, it’s reported that planes were diverted so as not to distract the pupils. Meanwhile, mothers, fathers, family, friends and even celebrities all seemingly were as one to encourage the future makers of Korea.

Failing the exam or not getting satisfactory results means retaking the test and also falling behind the pack.

But failing or succeeding makes no difference to one particular aspect of what growing up in South Korea entails. From the age of eighteen, Korean men are required to undertake twenty-one months of military service. This may not be as daunting as it sounds as it can be carried out in a variety of ways based on fitness levels and basic aptitude tests. Also, as some kind of vague recognition for each month’s service they are paid the magnificent sum of 100,000\ ($90).

It is more or less up to the individual as to when they shoulder their military commitment. Some prefer to do it immediately after the Suneung, whilst others leave it looming over themselves as they continue their studies at university. Either way, it is compulsory and failure to report for service can lead to imprisonment.

Leaving university a success is, of course, not the end of the story. The next step is moving into a career. The problem then is that over-qualified graduates already saturate the job market with all competing for limited positions.

Should the university graduate be lucky enough to find a job and also a potential career, he or she can now look forward to long bouts of unpaid overtime with the frequent weekend commitment at the office.

Added pressures outside of work include impatient parents burdening their son or daughter with the need to start a family. Koreans are expected to mate and marry before the age of 30. After that time the dating pool normally begins to dry up. And as time goes by, it becomes more difficult to find the more desirable of the opposite sex and even people willing to date the lone individual who has already endured so much.

But looking on the bright side, with the assumption that a marriage eventually comes about and is consummated the former student enters a new phase of life for which no exam was set. After the successful sperm cell has won its way through its myriad competitors and fertilizes the ovum, nine months later the young parents will be gifted with a baby or babies. From there, it is important to the now seasoned competitor to provide for his family. In this endeavour he may or may not be helped by his partner but no matter what, it means longer hours at the office making sure that the child has the same opportunities as the parents had. And so the cycle continues. Most probably, ad infinitum.

Changing the Face of Korea

elbear1 — Wed, 25 May 2011 08:50:58 +0000

It’s early morning. As the sun creeps over the horizon I am dressed and walking as people around me sleep. The eerie stillness of dawn is broken by a 50-year-old woman clad in bright pink jogging around the nearby playground. As she makes her approach to the swings, feeling eyes upon her, she turns to stare at me. Ignoring the glare I walk onwards to the bus stop.

Koreans care for their image. Walking down a high street you will see brands plastered over the citizens who have opted to buy luxury brands with their hard-earned cash.

As a westerner it is an unwritten requirement that you fulfil a certain English-speaker stereotype. This manifestation must preferably have white skin, be born in a country with English as the native tongue and ideally have blonde hair and blue eyes. In a similar fashion, Koreans also have certain physical features that are appreciated and sought after by their compatriots.

Samsung (Group) is accountable for about one fifth of Korea’s exports. The company itself was founded in 1938 by Lee Byung-Chull and he built his empire firmly on three main factors: market, management and people. He was a pioneer in hiring staff, choosing a psychologist as his consultant rather than a business specialist. It was also his belief that the human face was an open book to that person’s life and personality. He believed this so strongly that only those prospective employees with certain defining facial features would be hired. This unusual method of selection has become ingrained into Samsung’s recruitment process. Although perhaps not as strictly applied, it would appear that this reliance on looks is part of Korean culture.

When applying for a job in Korea, native applicants must provide everything from their social status to a recent photograph. Date of birth, experience, qualifications and references are also necessary. In addition to all this, the strangest piece of information required is details of the applicant’s parents. Curriculum vitae must include your parents’ social and employment status and failure to do so will void your application. And if your parents were unsuccessful in life, regardless of how many qualifications you have, you may well be discriminated against.

But there’s much more to be taken into consideration if you are fortunate enough to get to the interview stage at Samsung. At this mighty company you will be met by the interviewers and a ‘face reader’. The ‘reader’ is there to provide ‘expert’ opinion on the applicant’s face. Such features as the eyebrows and how far apart they are, the shape of the nose and the size of the nostrils, the regularity of the teeth and even the plumpness of the lips. Lacking the prescribed aesthetics, you are likely to be shunned.

Plastic surgeons have capitalized on this and the market has expanded, with many Koreans making the decision to go under the knife in an attempt to change their appearance as a means of upgrading themselves in the recruitment process.

It is common practice for women to have their cheekbones raised to finish up with a look closely resembling a triangle. Also, a more widespread operation is to insert a crease on the eyelids to give the impression of larger and shapelier eyes. This kind of surgery is well-established across Asia – as it estimated that about 50% of Asians are born with a ‘single eyelid’ (whereas most Caucasians are born with a ‘double eyelid’).

As with any surgery, there can be complications. For instance, a faulty operation could disfigure the face by leaving unsightly scars or actually deform the facial structure. However, the risk appears to be the same as in any developed nation. It is just that the deemed necessity to go to such extreme measure is so much more generally accepted, and expected, than in the West.

So does this drastic approach work? Yes, sadly it does. Plastic surgery is changing the rules of the game and if you can afford a procedure then it can give your career a well-needed boost.

Soon we shall see a people with a crisis of identity – a people with only one.

RoK Window Pains

elbear1 — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 09:04:58 +0000

Finally, spring has sprung and we no longer have to wear our entire wardrobe before braving the outside world. These past few weeks have seen some glorious spring days with temperatures over 16°C. As the buds begin to open and the blossoms begin to bloom we prepare ourselves for the unbearably hot, sticky summer in the concrete urban jungle.
Meanwhile, the next few cooler spring months are welcoming after the torturously barbaric winter. It was during this weather transition that I was introduced to a strange Korean custom. Travelling shoulder to shoulder with complete strangers in a moving airless box is already uncomfortable, but when you add heat into the equation you get meals on wheels. You would think that opening a window to let a breeze in and the air circulate is a completely natural
reaction. However, keeping a window open as a bus makes its approach to a tunnel creates an awkward atmosphere. Almost perfectly synced it is like observing some ancient ritualistic tradition as the click of locking windows is heard around the bus.

Should one window be open, mad hysteria ensues. People work together in an effort to close it; bodies move and invade personal space whilst attempting to reach their goal. I was blissfully unaware of this tradition and almost made a 16-stone (224lbs) man cry as I fought with him to keep my window open. Sadly, the whiney voice that came out of the mouth of this mature man in his mid-30s was too much for me. It was a sound that reminded me of a half-dead animal, whimpering to be put out of its misery. Pity and weariness took over and for the next peaceful thirty seconds the window remained closed.

When my stop came up, I fiendishly made sure to open the window before I left the bus. As I walked away, I couldn’t help feeling perplexed by the whole fraught experience. I thought why do South Koreans react in this way? Was their some arcane science that passengers would be sucked from the bus as it reached high speed in a tunnel? Could the wind cause uncontrollable resistance to the degree that the bus driver could do nothing to avoid a crash, with the hope that the passengers would survive?

I could not fathom any reasonable explanation for this bizarre ingrained behaviour. After some detective work I found that the Koreans are fearful of the toxic fumes thriving in the tunnel and that inhalation could potentially be fatal.

My girlfriend told me of another false belief currently circulating. With Seoul being 700 miles from Tokyo, concerns about radioactivity have been in the news. Apparently, one questionable way to stop the radiation is to ingest some salt as doing so will offer protection from radioactive iodine. Unfortunately, the large amount of iodised salt (at least 1.5 kg) needed to bring about this ‘protection’ would be enough to put the believer into intensive care, or worse.

Another protective notion relating to radiation and that is actually instructed by her school is to shut all the windows to keep the radiation from entering the building. I’m not a scientist, but if glass had the capability to stop radiation wouldn’t it have made sense for the Japanese to have built a glass nuclear reactor? Whether or not my partner’s co-workers and students had complete faith in the protection of glass I don’t know, but I do know that they became increasingly disgruntled as they slowly suffocated in their ‘radiation-free’ classroom.

So if you don’t want to cause offence in Korea – don’t open a window.

See Death by Fan for another strange belief.

Rant and Rave 5: How many fingers…?

elbear1 — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 06:51:10 +0000

It’s funny how something I see every day here in Korea stirs memories of primary school in England. During that time, my days sitting at the back of the classroom were numbered as it became harder and harder for me to read what the teacher was writing on the board. My difficulties were not really noticed until my first visit to an optometrist. It was there I was diagnosed with mild astigmatism and recommended that I needed aid in the vision department. To me, having my eyesight corrected was nothing short of a miraculous opening up of the world. Suddenly, I could fully enjoy growing up in the heyday of Thundercats, Grotbags, Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles and other such delights that I considered to be the finer things in life. So, to sport my affections, I chose a pair of tortoise-shell blue frames for my first glasses.

On the sides of these frames were small pictures of the TMHT Raphael (named by a giant talking rat after the famous renaissance painter). However, it was not until I got to school that I realized that whilst many of my fellow pupils shared my love for the four green heroes they did not have the same taste in fashion accessories as I did. Mocking ensued and it was not long before I attempted to scratch off the green turtle with the red bandana. But to no avail. Recklessly uncaring, I played sports with those glasses on, I fought with them on, and they were dropped, thrown, dumped and stepped on during my younger days. Finally it was not my destructive attempts that won me a new pair of sight enhancers but rather they no longer fitted properly. So, they were replaced with a huge pair of eighties’ gigs.

Then the troubles began. As a ten-year-old of above average-height, the glasses I had to wear were big enough for a giant. Now at middle school, with kids coming into puberty and bigger guys and bullies I was introduced to a whole host of new words; Biggles, four-eyes, geek as well as other equally unimaginative sobriquets. Not surprisingly, this made me angry and more fighting followed.

By the time of grammar school (13-16) I had a reputation for not taking insults lightly but, more importantly, I was more comfortable with myself and I also wore a less confrontational pair of optical aids.

Roll on five years and I start wearing contact lenses and rarely use glasses. Another set of years roll by and I’m here in Korea getting laser eye surgery. Today, I’m looking at this computer screen with better than 20/20 vision.

What does this have to do with Koreans and Korea? Here, every day, I get flashbacks of my early days at school. This sorry condition is brought about by constantly seeing people wear those 80s style glasses as part of their image. Indeed, so desperate are they that many wear just the frames without lenses. They are choosing absurdity purely to be part of the scene. As a kid I don’t believe I ever had a real choice but I quickly discovered the meaning of absurdity and also the troubles that come with it.

Rant and Rave of the Week 4: Good morning Mr Kim

elbear1 — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 10:51:07 +0000

“Good Morning, Mr Kim” These are not the first words that instantly come to mind when being woken up to the sound of metal pipes being dropped twenty foot into a large hole. This clangorous assault on my sleep is accompanied by the inconsistent banging of a hammer, a utility van with its engine running while blasting out K-Pop as men attempt to shout over the noise. It’s Tuesday, seven in the morning – not my ideal wake-up call as I was expecting at least another uninterrupted hour in bed.

Of course, alarm clocks are normally not a sound people like and can be associated with that of a crying baby or somebody dragging their finger nails down a chalkboard. Generally these are universally considered sounds of aural torture. I have yet to speak to anybody who when asked what music they like, reply with ‘a cat on heat’.

In Korea I have had more unexpected awakenings than I have ever experienced anywhere else. Prior to the ridiculously early building going on just a few feet from my door I have had to suffer the ‘vegetable van’. This frequently siphons away my precious sleeping hours. Fitted with loudspeakers, it informs everyone within a hundred-foot radius that its radishes are ripe, the oranges are organic and the offer of the moment is onions.

My temptation to stay in bed is now dwarfed by the loud interchangeable noises,incompatible with my rest time.
However there is yang to my yin as I now get my five-a-day.

Rant and Rave of the Week 3: The Gym Gargoyle

elbear1 — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 10:48:58 +0000

Despite the subtle differences between my previous experience with gyms and my current one I was not prepared for a recent encounter with a gargoyle husk of man who has been attending my morning sessions. It was not until the loud clearing of his throat that my attention was brought to him. Sadly the unfortunate man was burdened with cold. However luckily for all, the gym was acoustically equipped to handle his mucus movements from the gullet up his windpipe to his mouth and back again.

Unsurprisingly, it was not long before a loathing grew for this creature. I watched him as he slimed from one machine to the next. One of his favourite haunts was the ‘Well-Being Master’, a machine that has a cotton belt attached that vibrates furiously. He spends on average 10-15 mins being pleasured by it, letting it vibrate from top to bottom whilst he indulges in the melancholy motion he clears his throat like a gorilla beating his chest to ward off foes.

Moving around the gym, I try to forget about him, letting the music and endorphins take me. Shortly, however, we meet again. This time naked. In the shower room. A closed small tiled room is perfect for sound to bounce from wall to wall. As hacking fills the room, the unpleasant expelling sound of gunk follows. Disgusted by this ritual I hastily finish showering, turning into horror as the same man is now squatting on the floor cleaning his anus with his hands and a bar of soap. Granted I’m all for cleanliness but there are other methods of cleaning oneself and also in private.

I leave, nauseatingly tarnished by this grossly hygienic toad. As I exit into the changing rooms I spy a pair of socks over the nozzle of the hair dryer. Like a bad episode of Scooby Doo my guess at who dunnit is spot on as shortly after irrigation the toad retrieves his toasted socks from the dryer.

One can hope that this man is unique in terms of grooming habits and his social etiquette. Thankfully for all, his cold has subsided leaving us with just his abnormal cleaning habits.

Rant and Rave of the Week 2: The Rush

elbear1 — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 12:31:13 +0000

This week’s RoR is about public transport.

The sun is shining. Its warm rays haven’t reached my spot as I stand envious, watching the light slowly creep towards me six car lanes away. On my side, the shade gives me wind: cold and bitter. This is Nature’s other offspring, bringing temperatures below -5C.

It’s 8am on a Spring morning in Korea’s capital. As I wait for my bus to emerge around the corner the harsh wind whips my face to tears. Here there is no organisation only chaos. Around me are other eager travellers, all Korean; some standing, some sitting, some leaning, some hovering, all awaiting the next bus to take them into the heart of Seoul. I make my way to the curb ensuring that when my transport stops I will be first to enter.

As I see my bus approach adrenaline fills me and I feel my body tense.

Around me I sense movement as people make their way towards me. People emerge from the shops, apartments, cars and the street instantly comes to life, a crowd has suddenly materialised surrounding me. The bus is almost upon us and I can feel the tension within the group.

Spaces are limited and reserved only for the daring and brave. Like a pack of hyenas at the whiff of fresh meat, as the bus comes to a halt, carnage engulfs the pavement. There is no social etiquette or hierarchy as bodies collide and arms fly – everybody fighting for an exclusive place on the bus.

I push, shove and claw my way to the front. Today I am aggressive, I am the alpha and my reward is to be uncomfortably sandwiched between complete strangers. As we drive away I look back and see the disappointed faces of those left behind who bear the cold, waiting for their next battle.

How to imitate a stone at the gym

elbear1 — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 15:06:22 +0000

For the first time in my life I actually committed myself to one of my New Year’s Resolutions. This year I joined a gym near my work. Pure narcissism drove me to joining. A more toned body, less weight and higher fitness levels were the desired objectives and had been put off for too long.

I found that this Korean gym was very much like the gyms back home and in some ways better. Just for starters, there is a range of bikes, a selection of work-out clothes, clean towels, extensive weight lifting equipment, a sauna room and powerful showers. Each of the treadmills is equipped with a TV offering over 70 channels. Admittedly, 95% of these channels are in Korean but the thought is there

The biggest difference between here and back home is the clientele. I had assumed that my motives for using the gym would be similar to that of the other members. But I was grossly mistaken. Whilst there are a quite a few who make full use of the gym and all of its facilities, these regulars are outnumbered by those members who appear to lack any motivation whatsoever when using the equipment.

From a westerner’s point of view, Koreans have no body shape. In general, the women’s breasts are much less developed and the same applies to the buttocks. Obviously, the males are even more lacking in these physical protuberances and share with the females a common national mentality that freakishly skinny is more attractive.

From this you are quite right to think that most Koreans do not need to lose weight – rather that they should put it on. Be that as it may, many are still overly ambitious to achieve those extreme ‘paper thin’ sizes.

But what is the best way to do this? As most of us know: to lose weight you simply ensure that your daily amount of calorific intake is less than your body needs. Once this happy state is accomplished your body will burn excess fat to produce energy.

One clear way to speed up the process of burning off excess fat is to exercise. However, this solution is rarely seen at the gym which I attend. Within this supposed temple to fitness I have witnessed a couple of young women in their early twenties who have not quite grasped the basic principles of losing weight. For instance, they start their workout on the treadmill set at the lowest possible setting. As they move their legs they throw their arms up and down to maximise the slow motion crawl.
This almost hypnotic choreograph of limbs continues for about ten minutes. That is to say, until about the same calorific value of a small banana has been burned off. Then after this herculean effort there is a rewarding visit to the water cooler before moving to the weights machines. Once there they perform a repetition of two undemanding exercises.

Pausing from this unaccustomed physical effort, they switch to an activity that comes more naturally and is less energy consuming. That is to say, they go on to their mobile phone to indulge in some finger exercise. Most likely this will be to text their friends with a fulsome report about the hard workout they have endured. Finally, after another water break with attendant calls to friends, the decision is made to call a halt to all this exhausting action.

From what I’ve observed, this strain-free attitude to fitness mainly applies to the younger set. Surprisingly, it is the elders who offer a somewhat more aggressive approach to fitness by upping the pace on a treadmill to a brisk walk accompanied by a vigorous flailing of the arms.

As in virtually any gym throughout the world, at the end of a workout it is customary for people to shower. The gym I attend has a medium-sized shower room which can comfortably accommodate up to nine people and showering is carried out just as showering is anywhere. But it’s on leaving the shower room that the similarities end.

Many male Koreans – probably females, too – prefer to air dry. Almost immediately after stepping from a shower, towels are quickly superfluous to needs. Now is the time for a good five to ten minutes of naked preening in front of the large communal mirror. Then having finished his initial grooming, the Korean male dresses whilst taking frequent glances at his reflection in the mirror. During this drawn-out performance his expression, hair and physique have not changed but simply reconfirmed the adoration of himself.

In my experience, there are quite a few notable differences between a Korean gym and a gym in the UK. One of these is the lack of motivation amongst most members and another is the unabashed love the average individual has for his own body. It’s all harmless enough and easy enough to ignore when you keep in mind all of the modern facilities, cleanliness and service that the modern Korean gym has on offer. And don’t forget that ever-popular large communal mirror.

Rant and Rave of the Week 1: Germs will be the death of me.

elbear1 — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 13:55:28 +0000

This is my first in a series of rants and raves at Korean living and lifestyle.

Luckily her eyes are closed

This week’s affliction is about lack of courtesy and hygiene when coughing and sneezing. Yesterday morning whilst waiting at the bus stop with my girlfriend and several Koreans. The cold wind was hitting us, strangers huddled like Penguins during their dark winters. A Korean woman next to me had a mild coughing fit, initial concern quickly changed to disgust as her coughing was directed at me. My medusa stare was too effective as she looked at me unflinching mid-whoop. Whilst obviously innocent, I was unamused and made a huge gesture of brushing her phlegm from my jacket.