Spitting Lessons

I spit in the street today.
I'm so ashamed of myself.
Spitting is apparently culturally acceptable. There is nothing wrong with discussing the day with your friend and hocking a loogie in the middle of your sentence. ("And, so I told MinJi that if she didn't call me the next day - Snooort! Pitew! - I would be very upset. By the way, seaweed is on sale today.") I've seen people spit here more than anywhere else in my life. I've stepped in more spit here than anywhere else in my life. So, for that reason, I promised myself that I would never - ever, ever, ever - spit in the street.
And then I broke that promise.
It was 7:00 am on a Sunday. I stepped outside, coughing up a lung as I walked to the bus station. I hacked and hacked until - oh, the horror! - I felt a big ball of mucus fill my mouth. I froze with one foot in the air and looked around to assess the situation.
Here are the facts: 1) It is early morning so no one should be out and about. 2) I am on a little-used side street. 3) I am surrounded by churches and bath houses. Conclusion: If I spit, no one should see me.
I stepped to the side of the road and leaned over some tall weeds. And I spit.
I'm not a spitter. I've never learned how to spit properly. The ball of mucus landed with an audible splat and a long string of spit connecting it to my mouth. I spit again. Now I had two strings of spit connecting me to the ground. I sucked in, coughed, and finally broke the string. Satisfied with myself, I wiped my mouth and straightened.
And saw an elderly Korean man standing on the steps of the bath house staring at me.
"Uh . . . anyeonghaseyo," I said, bowing and surreptitiously wiping my chin.
Palm down, the man beckoned me over to him. Cautiously, I approached.
"You spit like a little girl," he said in perfect English.
Well, I didn't know what to say to that.
"I'm sorry?" I apologized.
"Watch," he instructed and proceeded to snort a loogie.
He spat it onto the road while I looked on with ill-disguised disgust.
"Try," he commanded.
"I've gotta catch my bus," I said, backing away slowly.
He spat again. "Try, first," he said.
I half-heartedly spit into the bushes.
"Good," he said. "Practice and you will be okay. Maybe."
"Um, thank you," I said, backing away and bowing. "Kamsahamnida."
He nodded and waved me away.
So, now I have a new goal: I need to learn how to spit properly. Anyone up for giving lessons?