The Only Problem With Koreans Is They Nice You to Death

My daddy told me never make fun of a war.

He served in the big one, World War II, even won some medals in it, and never considered jokes about combat to be very funny. He thought “Hogan’s Heroes” was indecent, making fun of a concentration camp and all.

“Dad,” I said. “Life goes on.”

“Tell that to the guys I left face down in the mud,” he said. “There is nothing funny about a war.”

Usually, I take his advice. Oh, I laugh along with Mel Brooks gags about Hitler, and I figure the statute of limitations has just about run out on anything about World War I, and when Robin Williams makes a movie about an outrageous disc jockey in Saigon, telling the troops in a fey voice to stop wearing green so he can see them better--”If you’re going to fight, clash!”--I fall on the floor.

But, I don’t do jokes about wars myself.

Until today. Until here, right now, live, in person, from Korea. I need special dispensation. I need permission to write some battle humor. I need forgiveness for a day, while I turn into some sort of combination Bill Mauldin and Bob Hope, trying to give the troops a smile.

You see, now that I am here for the first time, I think I know what started the Korean conflict.

Yes. Really. It finally is clear to me why Americans got involved in the skirmish over here, nearly 40 years ago.

These Koreans, they are way, way, way too nice.

You cannot move a muscle without some Korean trying to help you. If you yawn, one of them rushes up and asks if you are sleepy, if maybe he can get you a bed or something. If you lick your lips, somebody brings you a drink. If you look about to sneeze, somebody zooms over and puts a finger under your nose.

They bring new meaning to helpful, these Seoulsters. One of these mornings, I am going to be taking a shower, and when I step out of the tub, some lady in a lovely native dress is going to bow and say, “Excuse me, sir. You miss behind ears.”

Some evening I will be reading a magazine in bed, and the boy from the reception desk will run upstairs because it is time for him to turn the page.

I am fairly certain that the Korean kid standing beside me at the moment realized that I was going to end the last paragraph with the word page, so he reached down and typed the p , just to be of service.

With the XXIV Olympics at hand, the Koreans may be making a concerted effort to be as accommodating as any hosts have ever been. You cannot pause without somebody asking you what is wrong. If you stare at any merchandise in a shop window, a sales clerk scurries over to pick it up and show it to you.

And then they bow. Everybody bows. Interpreters bow. Waiters bow. Soldiers bow. I am bowing every minute. My back hurts, but I am afraid to touch it, because somebody will hustle over to me with a masseur.

Anyway, I am pretty certain that the Korean conflict must have begun because the North and South Koreans got so sick of one another being so nice every minute. People who are too polite eventually get on your nerves.

I figure the Americans came over to see if they could help straighten things out between the two Korean factions, and that the North Koreans must have started asking Eisenhower’s people if they could get them some tea, or turn on the radio, or cool them off with a fan, or shine their boots, or fix their Jeeps, and before long some brigadier general said, “OK, that’s it! We’ve had it! You guys won’t leave us alone for a minute! This is war!”

I sat down at a computer, first day I was here, and knew what I was doing. The first instant I looked indecisive, however, the kid hovering over my shoulder anxiously asked me--as he has every five minutes now--what my problem was. “You,” I wanted to say, but I did not. “Not a thing,” I said. He bowed. I bowed.

Last night, we were playing pool. My opponent lined up the 8-ball. Suddenly a young Korean came up to the table with a brush and whisked off some of the chalk on the felt in front of the cue ball. “Thank you so much,” I said, watching my opponent re-aim to win the game. He bowed. I bowed.

These people are the nicest, sweetest, most considerate people I have ever been around, and if they don’t cut it out, I am going to slug one of them.

Either that, or I will stay here forever.

Thank you for reading. Please read me again tomorrow. Have a nice day. I don’t mean it. I just wrote it to please the kid looking over my shoulder.