One of the earliest phenomena to attract my attention here were the Korean ajumas (ah-joo-mas). Ajumas, are a species unique to Korea, certainly unlike any known to the US. Although technically I believe Ajuma means married woman, what you can expect is an older woman who invariably has short, permed hair and an exceptionally large visor. They are easy to spot by their ability to scuttle at high speeds, their low centers of gravity, and their staunch tenacity.
Although Ajuma's are certainly known for their feisty attitudes and unyielding sense of entitlement and superiority in all matters, (you are more likely to be forcefully pushed out of the way by a zealous ajuma than to actually sit in that seat on the bus, so I've found it best to always opt for standing) the first time I really noticed them, which, mind you was within my first 24 hours here, was doing what has been termed the "ajuma shuffle." Ajuma shuffle is a bit of a misnomer really- there is no shuffling involved- it's much more of a high velocity scuttle. While the scuttling may occur at any instance, (again, don't even think about that seat on the bus...or getting in the elevator first...or being in the way in any possible sense of the term) it's most noticeable when the coveted green "cross" sign blinks at a cross walk. That little green man lights up to guide you across the five lane street in safety and without fail, ajuma's half a block down start the scuttle. I swear you can see the head tilt down, the body tense, and the sense of "I will have that" is almost palpable.
At first I thought it was just plain hilarious to watch these five foot tall older women do the shuffle to make the light. But now, after being here for a month and a half, I have to say not only do I get it, but I'm behind the shuffle one hundred percent. While I would certainly not go so far as to say I support the general rudeness that is "acceptable" with being an ajuma, I do support the shuffle. Traffic lights here are horrendous- it takes positively forever to cross the street, and I still can't work out the system. You would think that being able to cross one way on one side of the street, you could cross the same way from the opposite side of the street, but no. Of the four crosswalks at any given intersection, the little man only lights up one at any given time. It can be infuriating to watch people cross to the side you want to be on from the opposite side of the street, and know that your little man won't lead you there for at least another 5 minutes...even though all cars are stopped and you could cross right now. (Some misplaced sense of guilt at the idea of running across holds be back every time...I even feel a little guilty when I J-walk. Where, mama, did this come from?) Needless to say, I quickly learned that the ajuma shuffle is an entirely understandably act, and though I can't claim the term ajuma, I will say if I see an intersection light up and I'm within reasonable scuttle distance, I'm scuttling right along with those ajumas.
Shuffle aside, the ajumas here really do present an interesting cultural norm. Respecting one's elders is so deeply ingrained that ajumas really do have free reign, and often don't hesitate to use it. I will always let an older person, man or woman, take a seat on a bus or the subway before I do. Always. I will give up my seat on the bus or subway to an older person any time I see them standing. I guess my mama must have done something right in raising me, because I feel physically uncomfortable if I'm sitting and an older person isn't. But that's the thing- I will give you the seat, my seat, any seat- anyway. Not because you are entitled to it, not because you are superior to me, and certainly not because you just elbowed past me while giving me a challenging look to make sure that I understand that seat is yours, but because I do respect you. There is no need to be rude about it. Ajumas' sense of entitilement to respect often negates their actual deserving of it. Growing old is certainly something to be proud of and to be respected, and while it is a free pass to wear funny hats and oversized visors, it's not a free pass on manners. Ajumas, if you've raised your babies right, there is no need for you to be rude.
Apart from the frequently dour tempermant with regard to public transportation, Ajumas really are a delightful species. After all, they are the proponents of the ajuma shuffle, an act that when witnessed, brings me joy every time.
Although Ajuma's are certainly known for their feisty attitudes and unyielding sense of entitlement and superiority in all matters, (you are more likely to be forcefully pushed out of the way by a zealous ajuma than to actually sit in that seat on the bus, so I've found it best to always opt for standing) the first time I really noticed them, which, mind you was within my first 24 hours here, was doing what has been termed the "ajuma shuffle." Ajuma shuffle is a bit of a misnomer really- there is no shuffling involved- it's much more of a high velocity scuttle. While the scuttling may occur at any instance, (again, don't even think about that seat on the bus...or getting in the elevator first...or being in the way in any possible sense of the term) it's most noticeable when the coveted green "cross" sign blinks at a cross walk. That little green man lights up to guide you across the five lane street in safety and without fail, ajuma's half a block down start the scuttle. I swear you can see the head tilt down, the body tense, and the sense of "I will have that" is almost palpable.
At first I thought it was just plain hilarious to watch these five foot tall older women do the shuffle to make the light. But now, after being here for a month and a half, I have to say not only do I get it, but I'm behind the shuffle one hundred percent. While I would certainly not go so far as to say I support the general rudeness that is "acceptable" with being an ajuma, I do support the shuffle. Traffic lights here are horrendous- it takes positively forever to cross the street, and I still can't work out the system. You would think that being able to cross one way on one side of the street, you could cross the same way from the opposite side of the street, but no. Of the four crosswalks at any given intersection, the little man only lights up one at any given time. It can be infuriating to watch people cross to the side you want to be on from the opposite side of the street, and know that your little man won't lead you there for at least another 5 minutes...even though all cars are stopped and you could cross right now. (Some misplaced sense of guilt at the idea of running across holds be back every time...I even feel a little guilty when I J-walk. Where, mama, did this come from?) Needless to say, I quickly learned that the ajuma shuffle is an entirely understandably act, and though I can't claim the term ajuma, I will say if I see an intersection light up and I'm within reasonable scuttle distance, I'm scuttling right along with those ajumas.
Shuffle aside, the ajumas here really do present an interesting cultural norm. Respecting one's elders is so deeply ingrained that ajumas really do have free reign, and often don't hesitate to use it. I will always let an older person, man or woman, take a seat on a bus or the subway before I do. Always. I will give up my seat on the bus or subway to an older person any time I see them standing. I guess my mama must have done something right in raising me, because I feel physically uncomfortable if I'm sitting and an older person isn't. But that's the thing- I will give you the seat, my seat, any seat- anyway. Not because you are entitled to it, not because you are superior to me, and certainly not because you just elbowed past me while giving me a challenging look to make sure that I understand that seat is yours, but because I do respect you. There is no need to be rude about it. Ajumas' sense of entitilement to respect often negates their actual deserving of it. Growing old is certainly something to be proud of and to be respected, and while it is a free pass to wear funny hats and oversized visors, it's not a free pass on manners. Ajumas, if you've raised your babies right, there is no need for you to be rude.
Apart from the frequently dour tempermant with regard to public transportation, Ajumas really are a delightful species. After all, they are the proponents of the ajuma shuffle, an act that when witnessed, brings me joy every time.
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