Attitude adjustment

Over the past month and a half, my attitude towards this job, and therefore, by association, this country, has been rapidly declining.

About two weeks ago I was standing outside my school on the stairs, watching a huge crow fly away with a clothes hanger in its mouth, when it hit me... I just don't love it here. When I was in Paris, I loved it. Really. I felt like I was home. Maybe that's because I was young and a little impressionable. But the fact remains that I don't love Tokyo. This is just the place that I happen to be living now. This is where a small amount of my stuff is...

I'm not sure exactly why I don't love it here... I don't think there is an EXACT reason. But I do know why my attitude has changed.

Before the New Year's holiday I had a 16 year old high school kid jack off in one of my classes. He didn't whip it out or anything, but he was definitely doing something other than scratching his balls. Towards the end of the class, he was hard and there was a small wet spot on his pants that hadn't been there before. I was alone with him in the classroom.

The powers that be at my school said they wouldn't renew his contract, said that they would get him out of my class, said that they would talk to his mother, blah blah blah. I believed them and was relieved. My last day of teaching him was supposed to February 11th. That was the best they could do. They promised me that I wouldn't have to teach him anymore. The following week, he was still in my class. They called his mother in, and ended up not only renewing his contract, but moving him into a higher class. [which would completely negate all the arrangements they had made to keep him out of my class] The gaijin trainer that I spoke to never got back to me, and in fact completely ignored me when I saw him last week. My manager now doesn't believe that it happened at all because, "Boys that age aren't thinking about that stuff." My head teacher can only shrug and say, "Yeah, well," when I bring up the fact that the manager doesn't believe me.

So my attitude took a turn for the worse on February 16th, when I found out that not only are these people, and in the grander scheme, this company, in no way concerned with me and my well being, but they also have nothing resembling integrity and will whore themselves out for money. I suppose, being an employee of said company, I qualify as one of their whores to be used as they see fit.

The worst of it is that they are now denying that it even happened.

So the way I see it, I can either keep my head down and do my job and deal with it until July, or I can tell them to go fuck themselves and go home. If I go home, I won't need an attitude adjustment. But if I stay... I'm not sure if I'll make it to July feeling the way I do now.

Random, bizarre and twisted emails to the wrong person

While this title might refer to the whereabouts of a certain email I thought I was sending to my parents regarding the rental situation of my house, but most likely got sent to the renters through a fault that can only be my own, [clearly I can no longer listen to music, think about the damn US taxes and compose emails at once anymore, which means I am quickly approaching middle age...] it actually refers to a random, bizarre and twisted email I received from a complete stranger. The email is as follows, and is titled, "my last rant," [in lower case]:

jennifer...i'm crazy about you. thats the truth. just
have this gut feeling that it will always be one
sided.
the last thing i want to do is have you think of me
as some pushy, needy dork.
just kinda feel like i'm making a fool of myself.
none of this is normal for me. i'm normally the kind
of guy who would just play around and make you laugh.
but not have romantic feelings.
the more i type; the more i can't believe what i'm
saying. but it's all true. i know it in my heart. i
like you sooo much that i think i better just leave
you alone so you can meet a guy that you're more
accustom to...i know i'm probably not your type. i'm a
new york city guy...not a good ol boy. i am sure you
like guys who hunt and fish and go muddin in their
pickup...i'll never be that guy..not even close. i'm
into art,music,cooking ect.
you are so beautiful. great personality. nice
body...nice everything. and i can listen to your voice
forever. you'll have no problem finding someone better
than me. just keep your eyes open and don't be afraid
to open up a bit and say how you feel.
i hope that you find somone great. and that you and
adria are always happy. you deserve it!
thanks for three great days!
much love,
-pete

It would seem that I am not the only one out there in the email universe that is having trouble sending emails to the correct person. I don't know anyone named Pete, and I'm actually having trouble remembering a time when I did know someone by that name... Have I ever? I seem to remember someone from elementary school, but maybe he wasn't a Pete after all... Maybe he was a Chris...

After my initial, "Who the fuck is this?!" reaction, I read it again. On the second read, I started wondering about the intelligence [and age] of my doppelganger. I began to wonder if any girl in her right mind would choose a "good ol boy" as her type. And what self respecting woman over the age of 15 would fall for this kind of transparent bullshit? It's the old, "I'm going to make a gross stereotype of your 'type' and then follow it up with a nice, perky characterization of myself and wait for you to come running to me," routine. I suppose this sort of thing is understandable, maybe even forgivable, for those still in high school, but come on, Pete! Check your email address before sending this kind of hooey! [And regarding the above mentioned mix up with my own emails, I'll start taking my own advice, too.]

As far as a reply goes, I think ol' Pete should sweat it out... Hopefully he'll come to the conclusion that "jennifer" was so moved by his, "last rant," that she went out and bought her own gun, her own fishing pole and her own truck and decided to give a fuck off to all the men she knows! Hurrah!

Brief Encounters in the Laundromat

Because I wanted some kind of normality during this Experiment, I brought my beloved T-Shirt sheets along. I figured that as long as I was sleeping on my sheets, once I closed my eyes I might be able to forget the fact that I'm living in an area that would've fit in the bedroom of my last apartment with room to spare.

The only problem with the sheets is that I have to go to a laundromat to wash them for, realistically, a few reasons:
1. I've already broken one washing machine here and, I daresay, the employers would not be pleased if I killed the new one, too. [And yes, putting heavy loads in a washing machine will kill it. This is good to know if you're living in an apartment with a shit washing machine.]
2. Allowing the sheets to dry on their own by hanging them outside requires way too much forethought on my part. I would have to get up early, strip the futon, wash the damn things and then hang them outside while I go to work. I just don't get up that early, and usually my thoughts aren't that clear in the morning.
3. I'm not entirely sure that the sheets would dry in time if I just hung them outside. And it's dirty out there, which kind of negates the reason I went through the trouble in the first place.
4. It's just worth the time and money to me to walk to the damn laundromat and have the whole business taken care of in an hour and a half.

I get off work at 9ish, and usually get home about 9:30. The laundromat closes at 10. Of course, "closing" means they shut off the lights, but the door remains open. I can usually get the sheets in the washer before the lights go out, but it's always dark in there when I put them in the dryer.

Last night was like all the other times. On this particular occasion I was taking up two washers--and later, two dryers--because I had to wash my blankets, too. [I'm not sure how the Japanese feel about this behavior, so I try to do the switch when no one's there...] When I went back to get them out of the dryer, for some reason the blankets were dry but the sheets were not. I went to the Coke machine to break a ¥500 and was checking the sheets again [maybe they really were dry and my hands were just cold...] when the door that leads into the house/office opened. A woman came out and started talking. I pulled one of my earphones out and said, "Eh?" She asked me if I spoke Japanese, which I'm sure I responded to in English. [Japanese only really comes out of me at the video store.] She then asked me in English if I spoke Japanese, to which I replied, "Not enough to count." [Although I was thinking, "Only the dirty stuff!"]

Turns out this woman spoke English really well. She allowed me to dry my sheets for another 10 minutes, and for 10 minutes I stood there in the dark and talked to her. She told me about her friend, Rita, who goes to school in Florida. She told me about the resort she goes to outside Tokyo. She told me why she didn't like the snow. She asked me what I did in Japan, what I thought of Japan, where I lived in Japan, how often I got to see my friends here, what I studied in school, what I used to do in America, why I changed my mind about becoming an attorney... I told her that most of the attorneys I had known were very unhappy, and that I was afraid that would happen to me, too. I told her that I was being paid to lie to people that were lying to me, and that I was getting really good at it. I told her that I didn't want a career where the ability to lie was so important. She said that maybe I was too honest. I assume she meant for a career in law...

Then she asked what I wanted to do when I went home, and why I was going home for Golden Week since I would be done here shortly thereafter. When I was telling her my reasons for going home, I started getting really depressed. I told her how hard it is to be here, how hard it is to be deaf, dumb and illiterate. I told her that I missed being able to understand people. I told her that I missed being able to ask people questions, stupid as they may be. I told her that I wanted to go to a busy place and just listen to people. I told her that I missed my friends and family. I told her about W. The more I told, the more depressed I felt and the more I wished that I could just shut the fuck up...

The dryer stopped. I thanked her for giving me the extra ten minutes and for talking to me. I told her that it was really nice to talk to someone [that I don't know, although I didn't say that] in English. I told her that I hoped to see her again. And then I walked home. I didn't even get her name.

It was dark in there. I hope I'll recognize her if I see her again.

My burgeoning germ phobia...

While one might have been able to describe me as a tad bit neurotic [in a Woody Allen sort of way, I like to think...] before entering into this Japan Experiment, one could not include any sort of germ phobia as part of that neuroses.

Tonight, on the train home, it struck me [quite possibly literally] that Japan might be changing that.

People are constantly sneezing, coughing, hacking and making all kinds of noises associated with sickness on the trains. This would be acceptable if these people would cover their mouths, and/or not be practically face to face with you on the insanely crowded trains while doing it. Everyday someone on the train [who is standing closer to me than I stand to my friends] coughs, sneezes, etc., in my general direction. Everyday I close my eyes and hold my breath when this happens. Everyday I think to myself, Please let the immune system be working right now!

Tonight on the train, there was a man standing uncomfortably close to me--uncomfortable because the train wasn't crowded enough to warrant such closeness. He was a nervous looking businessman. When I looked a little closer at him, I noticed that his skin was discolored and he seemed to be shedding some of it in small flakes. It was at this point that he started scratching his face. I thought about something I had read in some high school era science class:

"Every breath you take is made up of approximately 80% dead skin cells."

This man was scratching his skin off and it was going directly into my nose. I shut my eyes and tried to hold my breath. I cursed the man, who, when I peeked, was still scratching. And then I started thinking about germs. I couldn't help myself... I don't know what was wrong with this man's skin. Maybe he had just gotten a sunburn and was peeling... Or maybe he was in the beginning stages of leprosy.

I think this is how these things usually start. A stranger scratching his skin into your nose on the train one day leads to a lifetime of repetitive hand washing the next. God help me.

NYC is being populated by Tampa people...

Looks like I'm going to have to move to NYC upon returning home... Sadly, damn near all of my good friends have or are moving there. It's a shame I just don't like the place all that much.

How about Boston? What would it take to get everyone to move to Boston? So how about it, J., S., S. and M.? Boston?? Come on... The town has its own Leather District! That, I think, really says something...

Last train woes... Part 2.

Trains in Japan are never late--unless someone has thrown themselves onto the tracks. Thankfully, I live on a rather nice [private!] line and therefore people don't [or haven't yet] decided to end it all on it. [Rumor is that if you kill yourself by train, your family gets charged for the repairs and clean-up needed. This is why people kill themselves on the Chuo line, because it's old and doesn't cost as much to repair. At least that's the rumor. It is true, though, that if the Chuo is running behind there's a pretty damn good chance that someone committed suicide.] When you see movies, such as the Bourne Supremacy, where characters jump in front of trains to escape the bad guys because they've looked at the train schedule and know exactly when the next one will come, keep in mind that that scenario would only be possible in Japan. Let's just say, I would only feel safe [reasonably safe, that is] jumping on the tracks to get away from the bad guys in Japan. [Although maybe not on the Chuo.]

Movie night this week was held at F.'s house in Soshigaya-Okura. After some popcorn, a grapefruit Chu-Hi and some conversation following The Conversation, I had to walk rather quickly to the station to catch the last train. [Which, incidentally, is at 12:50 AM.] F. had given me a mission for my way home: Drop her videos at the video store.

It's important to note that in Japan, there's no slot in the door of the video store. There's no box to drop the videos. You have to actually go into the store, possibly wait in line, hand the videos to the clerk and then wait for them to scan the videos and thank you. I personally think this policy is rather inefficient, especially if you're in a rush.

At 12:43 I get to the video store. There are two clerks working and they're both helping what I can only assume to be lonely customers. One of the customers was, I assume, having some kind of problem with his card and the other one must have been asking stupid questions. I say this because he already had his videos in hand, money had already changed hands, yet he was still standing there talking to the clerk. At 12:43 in the morning, who stands there and talks to the damn clerk?!

When the lonely guy finally finished, it was 12:46 by the video store clock. I was still about 7-10 minutes from the station--which doesn't count the time to get the ticket and get up the stairs to the platform. I slammed the videos down on the counter and said, rather loudly, "Dencha! Dencha!"* The clerk gave me a perplexed look. Clearly no one had EVER slammed videos on the counter and yelled, "Dencha! Dencha!" After what was probably 10 seconds--but felt like 2 precious minutes--I screamed, "Hii!" and turned around and ran [RAN!] out the door. Running down the street, I passed the lonely guy, who seemed to be looking for someone else to talk to.

I ran, zig zagging around people and puddles of spit on the ground, until I couldn't run anymore. I walked for a little while and then started to run again. Finally the station was in sight--with a train passing. That can't be my train, I thought to myself. I ran past the man selling sweet potatoes and up to the ticket machines while people were pouring out of the station. I overpaid for a ticket [it's only 130 yen from Soshigaya to my station, but for some reason the machine didn't like my 10 yen coins and in the hurried confusion, I hit 150 by mistake...] and started the mad dash through the turn styles and up the escalator. Without fail, any time I try to run up an escalator in this country [which I've done a few times] I fall. Since this day is like all the others, I fall on the escalator. Luckily, the superhuman ability to bounce back up that I discovered on the ski slopes works just as well on escalators and I make it to the top without too much harm. When I get to the top, I'm out of breath and more aware of my left hand than I usually am--damn escalator!--and there's no train in sight. No headlights, no brake lights, no people, no fucking train. There's a station attendant walking towards me sweeping up trash. I make the international umpire gesture for, "Safe!" to this man, who mimics it back to me. [I don't have any idea why I made this gesture, but apparently he knew what I meant...] Cursing, I walk [WALK!] back down the escalator.

When I get to the turn styles, the damn thing beeps at me and starts saying something in Japanese when I try to go through. Of course, in Japan, you can easily just push through the laughable guards on the turn styles, which is what I do. I go to the station attendant booth and put down my ticket. In a very forceful voice, the old man says, "Where you go?!" I respond, "Kyodo." Of course, he's looking at me funny because I bought a ticket that would've taken me farther than Kyodo. The attendant from the platform shows up and explains to the old man that I missed the train. The old guy gives me my money back and I walk back past the sweet potato man to look for a taxi.

The cabs are parked around the corner. Because the travel gods are not smiling upon me, I pick the only cab with a lunatic driver who has the heat cranked to what must be 40 degrees while chain smoking with the windows up. I say, "Kyodo eki," and then wakarimasen my way through the rest. It cost 1220 yen to go two stations by cab.

The moral? When you're trying to catch the last train and your friend wants you to drop videos, a polite, "Fuck off," will suffice.

*"Train! Train!"

And the Oscar goes to...

Let me say that I am very disappointed that the Oscars are not being broadcast live on the internet. I could [and did] watch the presidential & vice-presidential debates online, which is as it should be. I think we should be able to watch damn near anything online. Of course, that doesn't seem to be the case regarding the Oscars. The only thing I can watch at the moment is live coverage of the press room, which is dead right now...

An elderly couple from the Old World just showed up in the press room, Oscar in a death grip. I have no idea what they won for, much less who they are. I guess this press room coverage is supposed to go along with watching the actual awards ceremony. Luckily I've got things to do today or I might be tempted to send an email complaining to the bigwigs at ABC.