Subway Salesmen

I’m sitting on the subway in Seoul and glancing mindlessly at one of the many colourful ads for plastic surgery that I can’t read at all, when a guy in an immaculate grey suit pushes past me and places a huge suitcase on the floor of the train. He adjusts his cuff links, clears his throat, and claps his hands three times. Instantly, the carriage goes silent. The man begins to pace up and down the train, waving his finger at people and stopping to ask them questions. An younger woman asks him something untoward and he shuts her up with a look of contempt and a wave of his hand. He’s smooth, oh so smooth, and he’s got everyones undivided attention. He bends down, flings open his bag and pulls out a tube of something.

As my Korean is limited to “Hello!” “Thank you” and “Kindly bring more beer to this table,” I couldn’t tell you what he is selling, but he sweeps up and down the carriage extolling the virtues of this particular tube of happiness and suddenly people along the length of the carriage are waving notes in the air and clamouring for his attention so he could sell them their very own tube. Everyone wants some happiness. Then the buzzer buzzes, the doors ding and our friend collects the last of his orders, dispenses tubes, bows briefly and jumps off the train and onto one heading in the opposite direction.

It seems, in Korea, the salesmen ply their trade to the captive audience in train carriages. And it seems to work.

Posted in Travel on Sunday May 7, 2006.