Now I’ve never been one to mingle with the rich. And any sort of attention brought to my financial status or my family’s financial status has always been a sensitive issue for me. I’m not a gold-digger. I don’t care if my future husband is rich or poor. I’m more for character (and yes, physical attraction helps.)

So when Grace invited me to go with her to Seoul’s trendiest district--Apkujong, for a night of “booking,” I agreed, but then quickly panicked.

First a little about this South Korean cultural thing called “booking.” Basically it’s like a matchmaking service for university students or young professionals (Grace and I fall into the latter category). Women call in for table reservations and the mandatory array of side dishes (usually a fruit platter), a bucket of ice and some beer and sodas. Likewise, groups of men will reserve either a private room geared with a T.V./karaoke machine, plush seating around a large table and also the mandatory array of food and alcohol or a secluded table off the main floor. To put it bluntly, the sexes are segregated. And a dress code is required.

The young, suave waiters (no waitresses here) then play the role of match makers. Basically it works two ways. If a guy sees a woman who interests him (either via the T.V. in the private rooms with live feeds of the dance floor and the tables on the main floor where all the women sit) or from the vantage point of his strategically located table, he’ll summon the waiter to go retrieve the desired woman and bring her to him and his buddies. Or, what also happened just as frequently, a waiter will choose a particular girl and bring her to a random room that looks like it needs some female companionship and then hope for the best.

The place reeks of meat and if any sort of venue can be called an “up-scale meat market” Seoul’s booking clubs deserve the title.

But Grace wanted to try it out with someone so she asked me to come along. She knew a guy whose friend worked as a waiter at Apkujong’s BOSS Booking Club and who went by the nick name “Charlie Chaplin.” (I kid you not.) Anyway, by Friday at noon, our reservations were made, our food and drink orders taken, and we were off to BOSS at 9:30 that night.

We approached the door where a group of very well-dressed young Korean men had congregated and we asked for Chaplin. A young Korean guy dressed in a flashy suit appeared, introduced himself as Chaplin, and took us to our table which was waiting for us, already set with the fruit platter, beers and a bucket of fresh ice. He then poured our drinks and proceeded to then kiss Grace’s hand. (Once again, I kid you not.) Meanwhile, Grace is looking at me as if to say, “Is this normal?” (Little did we know that there were two Chaplins working at BOSS and this was not the friend of Grace’s friend as we had thought.)

We didn’t even have time to sip the beer that had just been poured for us. Chaplin then grabbed Grace by the arm (who grabbed me by the arm) and we were taken to a private room on the upper floor of the club. I can’t even describe to you how much it seemed like a strange, Woody Allen/Sofia Copolla movie. The big door opens before you and you are pushed out of the dim hallway into a well lit room with several young Korean guys (usually in their 20s) sitting around a table packed with food and imported liquor, all of them looking you up and down, evaluating you like a BMW. The waiter says something to the men (who are still checking you out with critical eyes) and then holds your hand until the very moment you are seated, and promptly exits, leaving you with a roomful of guys and usually some other girls who have landed the same fate as you. Depending on the men, the conversations could be very pleasant, or in other cases, pathetically hilarious. But I’ll get to those conversations in a moment.

Before entering BOSS, Grace and I had made a promise. We would not get separated. Even if one of us was “ordered”, the lucky man was going to get 2 for the price of 1 whether he liked it or not. Now this worked only the first few times. We spent most of our night separated from one another as men from different rooms requested our time simultaneously or as the waiters saw to it that all the rooms were occupied with women, meaning we would end up being with guys who didn’t order us, but who didn’t object to our visits.

Our first visit was strange. There were two of us and one other girl who had been brought to the room, and maybe about 6 guys around the table. If anything, it was small talk. But it was an interesting way to catch a glimpse into the life of Seoul’s young, VERY rich, upper-class men. The guy I spoke to spoke English just like an American. He was finishing up his last year at University and was looking forward to a job as a consultant in Singapore, which was close to where his parents were currently living in Malaysia.

Aside from the fact that this was our first experience doing this, the visit was uneventful and within 5 minutes, Grace and I had only to exchange looks before we excused ourselves and headed back to our table on the main floor.

I was just about to take my first sip of badly needed beer when Chaplin again was all over Grace (who was on fire that first part of the night), dragging her to yet another room, with me in tow as promised. This next guy was pretty weird.

He was in one of those private rooms with enough food and alcohol to feed an army, yet he was all alone with no other male friends to swap jokes or comment on the women with. Also, he was not the kind of guy you’d expect to see in Apkujong. He didn’t adhere to the dress code and looked like he was on his way to the flea market. He was older, maybe in his late 30s, not particularly attractive and looked like a Korean version of George from Seinfeld. I tried my best to contain my laughter at the thought that this kind of man would order Grace, who is gorgeous and spunky, unlike him.

We gave him about 3 minutes of our time before we headed back to our table in hopes of eating some fruit and drinking some beer. We were paying for the food and drinks anyway so we might as well enjoy it.

But is was not meant to be. Chaplin again was at our table and this time took us both by the hands, leading us to a secluded table off the main floor where a bunch of guys who were at least 3 years younger than us sat around a table with 2 other girls. Before we even exchanged greetings, the guy next to Grace started holding her hand and rubbing her legs at which point, we began to talk to the boys in rapid English, hoping they weren’t like the ones we first met who spoke like Americans. Luckily, these guys knew no English and quickly lost interest when it became clear we were foreigners. It made for the perfect escape back to our table.

We made visits such as these a few more times but then we got separated. We were back at our table discussing our strategy as to how do deal with this and I was just about to take my first sip of beer (which at this point was seriously  delayed) when someone who was not our waiter, took my hand and started kissing it, then playfully grabbed me and forced me from the table. I’m looking at Grace, pleading with her to follow me when I see Chaplin approach her yet again, taking her in the opposite direction.

And this is how the night went. We spent about 2 hours apart from one another as I was being taken to various rooms throughout the club.

Among the most memorable meetings (and memorable for all the wrong reasons):

Meet “Brian.” A 20-something manager at Samsung, in charge of overseas sales. His clothes were hilarious: a nice pin-striped suit with -- get this -- a bandanna wrapped around his head, L.A. gangster style. He’s a Mok-dong boy (definitely upper-class) and was there with his co-workers. He was so excited about meeting a Korean American and was not ashamed to ask for my number so he could “practice” his English, he said.

Meet Mr. ? and his sidekick “Translator” (just call me “Translator.”) Mr. ? and I had a lot in common (we are both editors and both work in Finance and Economics), but other than that, he was pretty boring and worse yet, he couldn’t understand my Korean (which I admit is bad), thus we had to rely on his buddy “Translator.” “Translator” was hilarious, not to mention absolutely wasted when I came to their room. Both guys were probably in their early to mid 30s. Mr. ? seemed like a decent man, a little introverted with a face which would make it easy for him to become anonymous in a large crowd. But “Translator” was pretty funny. His English really wasn’t that good but he seemed to think he was hot shit.

He started complaining to me about how he had applied for a job on Yongsan Army base in Seoul but got turned down because his English was crap. “But my pronunciation is good, don’t you think?” he asks me in a slurred voice. “Who cares about grammar? As long as they can understand me, it’s OK. Communication is all that is important.”

Meet “Jason”, the kid with rich parents and no shame.

Sometime during the night, I got lead into this room full of 20 something year old Korean guys. By this time I had the routine down pat: I enter the room holding the waiter’s hand and they all just look at me, evaluating me from head to foot and then when it’s clear I pass their test, they finally say “hello”.

So at the waiter’s insistence, I’m sitting next to a good looking guy who couldn’t be much younger than me. But apparently that didn’t mean he lacked confidence. I don’t know if he “ordered” me or not. But as soon as I was seated, he immediately said to his friends, "You guys go on and have your own conversations. The two of us will talk together without you."

He was cute and a good dresser, a Won Bin look alike. He had one of those beach shirts that was buttoned down just enough for you to see a tiny part of his bare chest and had that kind of Won Bin hairstyle that looks like he just woke up. He had a very Californian look. Turned out he was a graduate from Pepperdine in Malibu, 3 years my junior at age 23.

The nice thing about talking to him was that I didn't have to say a word. I just sat there and let him ramble on. I was a little drunk at this point so it was good that I didn't have to say anything but when he asked me if I remembered his name, he caught me there.

Anyway, it was just amazing--and appalling--to hear a 23 year old talk about money as if it weren’t an issue. Apparently he came from a very good family. He was bragging about his military service and how he had a good job working in an air conditioned office at a government building instead of being out in the wilderness doing physically difficult work as many soldiers do. He said this was because his parents have connections and they were able to secure a fairly comfortable military service deal for him. (I was shocked that he had no shame about this).

He then asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no and asked him if he had a girlfriend he said also said no, they broke up a while ago. Then he asked if I liked white guys or Asian guys. He proceeded to tell me that he is not interested in white girls but at Pepperdine, there were hardly any Asian girls on campus so he had some long distance relationship with some Korean girl in Canada.

And get this: he said he FLEW THERE EVERY WEEKEND to visit her. I asked him if that didn't get a little expensive for him. (It was the low-class girl in me coming out. I temporarily forgot that I was in Apkujong and that everyone probably assumed I was just as stinking rich as they were.) Anyway, he brushed the question off as if it were not an issue and continued to babble on about random stuff. Good looking guy, but 3 years my junior (which can mean a lot maturity-wise) and an attitude about money that made me very uncomfortable.

Meet the Mute Man.

It was like pulling teeth out of a crocodile. The guy wouldn’t talk. He was 33 he said and had been to my home state of Minnesota once--but only in the airport. And that was all he said my whole 4 minutes there. He spent most of the time sitting there, looking at me (not unkindly), trying to think of things to say. He was speechless, even to my questions. So I got up and left.

Meet “Bob” and his millionaire friend “Gump” as in “Forrest Gump”

Actually, at first I thought his name was “Bump” but I soon learned I was wrong. Anyway, Gump was quite the nerd pie for a man who had made millions analyzing stocks. He looked and acted like he belonged in an office, not a club. I wanted to suggest he go back to work and try to unwind there as it clearly was not working here at BOSS. (I met these 2 on the dance floor via Grace, whom I met up with later in the evening….see that story later…) Meanwhile "Bob" was trying to feel up Grace who looked like she was going to slap him if he tried one more move on her.

Meet the Korean Frat Boys

They were all in Seoul during their summer break from studying at the University of Pennsylvania. I don’t know what they were doing at a Booking Club. It was apparent they were more interested in singing karaoke than in meeting girls. One guy gave me a cigarette, expecting me to smoke it. When I didn’t, he poured me a shot which I happily consumed. In this room, I found myself being treated like one of the guys and not like one of the girls. It was kind of odd, but strangely hilarious in a way. I left after 2 shots, 10 minutes, and maybe 200 odd words or so. At least I got some free, expensive whiskey out of it and lots of compliments.

It was after the Korean Frat Boys that I went to the front desk, asked for Chaplin, and requested he take me to wherever Grace was. She was sitting at our table with both our cell phones in her hands, wondering where I had been the last 2 hours and wondering how we were ever going to hook back up.

We barely had enough time to talk when some waiter was grabbing my arm, pulling me out of my seat. I actually resisted this time and said to him, “Let me finish my beer and then I’ll go.” But he wouldn’t listen. He said something like, “You can drink beer with these guys who want to meet you. Come, they’re waiting.”

Grace then interrupted saying “Just 5 minutes, OK? Give us 5 minutes.” The guy actually started getting pissed and complained to one of the other waiters but it didn’t matter. I was not going anywhere without another drink in me and I was not about to let myself lose Grace yet another time.

Well, I guess I know why the waiter was so impatient. The guy who wanted to meet me was a famous professional basketball player here in Korea but the hell if I can remember his name. (I dragged Grace with me to the private room.)

We got there and the door opened to the usual scene of a bunch of young guys sitting around a table, drinking, smoking and eating. I was sandwiched between 2 guys and Grace was on the end of the table. Because I was wasting precious drinking time, I acted very un-lady-like (at least by Korean standards) and demanded a drink. I was immediately poured a shot of very expensive whiskey.

When it became apparent that neither Grace nor I recognized our company, one of the men took the initiative and said, “These two guys are professional basketball players here in Korea. This guy is like the Michael Jordan of Korea--he’s the #1 point guard in the country. And this other guy is the nation’s top center.”

Grace and I weren’t impressed but we pretended to mildly be. Of course, both of us are out of the loop when it comes to Korean sports and it seems to me that baseball, golf and soccer carry more fans than basketball so we were pretty immune to the “importance” of our company. After small-talking with the players (who were a little tipsy), I turned to the most sober guy in the room and found out that he was a Russian major in university. Now I know a little Russian from my Peace Corps days so we had a little conversation in the language which prompted him to then say to his compatriots (in Korean), “Hey, this girl can speak Russian!” In the great Russian tradition, we drank a “zontak” and then it was time for me and Grace to leave.

We had already had enough of the Apku crowd and the booking experience.

While I would like to say that my booking experience ended there, it did not. At 9:00 a.m. the following day, I was rudely awakened by my ringing cell, which didn’t help the nasty hangover I felt coming on. I looked at the caller ID on my phone and didn’t recognize the number. Thinking it could be my parents calling from the U.S. I answered it. But guess who it was…the Won Bin look-alike, with lots of money and no shame, calling to see if I was hung-over and saying how he was on his way to work, it was nice meeting me the other night. A pretty pointless phone call and not the best way for me to wake up.

Then just a few moments ago, as I sit here writing this, I get another call from another number I do not recognize. Guess who it was this time? It was “Brian” the Samsung manager who dressed like an LA gangster and a Wallstreet broker. He talked non-stop for 14 minutes. (14 minutes exactly--it's recorded on my phone.) I just let him gab. It was easier that way.

So what did I learn from this booking experience? Well, I learned that it is still a very male-dominated world out there in Korea, even when it comes to the dating scene. Women are viewed as pieces of meat and examined like cattle in a herd, then picked out and examined even more. (And apparently they like this role.) And I discovered that one’s university and occupation, apparently say more about who you are than one’s personality, at least with this kind of peer group. And I also learned that there are lots of young, rich men out there who are very handsome, and who apparently are still single. (Which sounds good until you meet them.) And the most sobering fact I learned was that these very people were out of touch with reality and had no concept about the value of money and what it is like to work for it. They took it all for granted. (The majority of them, that is.)

As the Won Bin look alike said in response to the fact that I was a former Peace Corps volunteer: “Why is it that women like working for NGOs? I don’t get it.” (I didin't even both trying to tell him that the Peace Corps is not an NGO.)

Anyway, I guess the booking scene and the Apku crowd are not for me. I like my Korean friends who come from places such as Cheonho and Suwon, Yongin and Bundang, Seolleung and Inchon. I’d rather hang out with the Itaewaners, the Gwanhwamuners and the Jamsilites. They seem more in touch with reality than these Mokdongers, Gangnamnites and Apkujongers. (All districts in Seoul or suburbs of Seoul.) But then that’s just me and I'm not saying everyone from these districts are stuck-up rich people.

But even if I ever did hook up with one of these guys, their families would shun me. I’m just a country girl from Minnesota. Take it or leave it, I ain’t gonna change.