Where were you when President Kennedy was shot?

So many Americans who were alive on November 22, 1963 can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing on that fateful day. September 11, 2001 is the new JFK assassination in that respect. If you peruse the blogosphere today you will find innumerable posts regarding this day five years ago. I debated whether or not to write something about 9/11, thinking that perhaps it might be too trite; however, given that I am yet again back in Daegu, South Korea - as I was five years ago today - I decided that perhaps a decent post on my version of September 11, 2001 was in order.

Unlike most Americans, the bulk of September 11, 2001 was for me a normal day. Granted, I was employed at the workplace from hell at the time, and I had come down with yet another virulent Korean cold. My fever wasn't very high (not that my boss at the time would have allowed me to stay home if it had been, as I learned later) but it was just high enough to leave me feeling drained and thoroughly miserable by the end of the workday. My coworkers and I had been pulling overtime for nearly two full weeks at that point, as two teachers had left the school at the end of August and their replacement - a fellow named Joe from New York City - wasn't due to arrive until that very evening. I had been looking forward to his arrival (and the less-stressful work schedule it would bring with it) and had planned to accompany my boss to the airport when she went to pick him up. But, given the state of my health, I figured he's be better off in the long run without immediate exposure to me and my germs. He'd be getting more germ exposure than he needed at the hogwan soon enough. So, instead of going to the airport, I went straight from work to my bed, and was sound asleep when Melissa woke me.

"Jane, you might want to get up. Joe's coming here."

"Here? Why?" All I wanted to do was pull the covers back over my head and return to the blissful comfort of sleep.

"Apparently there was a plane crash in New York City and he wants to use our internet to contact his family."

It was a few minutes before 10pm. I dragged myself out of bed, threw on some clothes in an effort to look presentable, then padded into the living room and sat down in front of the temevision. Melissa had turned on AFN, the American Forces Network. We were watching live coverage of "this terrible accident" when the second plane crashed into the World Trade Center, and we - along with the rest of the world - knew that it wasn't an accident at all.

Soon Joe arrived at our door. He wasn't sure what had happened, as thus far he'd only heard a poorly translated account of events from our boss. We filled him in, and he was immediately overwhelmed with worry. Like I said, Joe was from New York City. All of his friends and family lived there. One of his best friends worked in the World Trade Center. He got online and looked up phone numbers, then split for his apartment and his telephone.

Melissa, our roommate Stacey and I stayed glued to the television. We watched a plane hit the Pentagon. We saw the towers collapse. We heard rumors that not all planes were accounted for... more attacks could be coming. We saw panic and confusion in NYC. Around midnight, we decided to go check on Joe.

Joe was understandably distraught - exhausted, jetlagged, in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers, and his hometown was under attack. We bought him booze and cigarettes and kept him company until the wee hours of the morning, as he frantically tried again and again to get through to someone, anyone, back home. Eventually the three of us returned to our apartment, after telling Joe not to worry about coming to work the next day - we'd cover his shift one more time. I was still sick, we were all exhausted, but that didn't matter - of course we'd cover his shift.

Sadly, our psychobitch-from-hell boss didn't understand why he felt he could sleep in, and sent someone to go and pick him up. But that's part of another story entirely.