It Would Save Me Pain Later...

After a week of elementary school, I started doing a little research. I found out that, a) my health insurance will not pay for a vasectomy and b) the Japanese word for vasectomy is パイプカット. When written in roman characters, it reads "paipu cuto." Now say it loud. Yeah...

Elementary School

So I have now begun my first trip to elementary school. Whatever amusement you may have imaged would result in me teaching Japanese elementary school kids English falls fall short of the reality. If you also laugh at my pain, then there’s more than enough to keep you laughing for years.

As one might expect, the students were completely fascinated with me. What I didn’t expect was their complete lack of any fear. Junior high kids fear me more than these little ones. I’m like a giant toy that has suddenly come into their midst. From the moment I walked into school, I was surrounded by a sea of children, all trying to grab my arms, or legs, or beard, or ride on my back, or grab my nipples, or shove their fingers into my ass. It was nonstop, and I think I came close to causing a riot simply by my presence.

At this school, not a single person speaks English. There are no English classes, and instead I just go into the students’ homeroom and work with the homeroom teacher and make some poor attempt to get them to understand simple words and phrases. Of course, since no one speaks any English, I get no help. For the first half hour I was at school, I sat in the principal’s office where the vice principal just get jabbering away at me in Japanese. Now, he knew I didn’t understand a word (mainly because I kept telling him) but he would not stop. When I speak to non-English speakers, I try to either throw in as many Japanese words as I know and use gestures, or eventually abandon the pursuit. He was determined, though, to learn me some Japanese. Or something. I don’t know, but he wouldn’t shut up.

Every class I’ve taught so far was, well, a failure. Students of any age couldn’t even retain “Good Afternoon,” so how the heck am I supposed to teach, “Hello, how are you? I’m fine thank you, and you?” It’s just absolutely insane what they expect me to do here. Really, all I did was provide something to poke and prod. Unfortunately, this ended up resulting in pain for me. See, me right hand is currently bandaged up from being hit by a car (long story to be told another day). When seeing the bandage, you’d think the kids would stay away from that hand, right? I mean, it doesn’t matter how old you are, you see a bandage you don’t pull on it, right? Not these kids.

It seems like the bandage was, to them, a giant neon sign that said “Hit me here!” and the kids were just way too happy to comply. One little fucker even had the brilliant idea to swing from that hand and then try to hang from it. Of course, teachers were no help, and I tried to say to the kids “stop, that fuckin’ hurts” but they didn’t understand. Sigh… raising my voice only seems to make them laugh.

However, the pain did lead me to make a new acquaintance. I went to the nurse’s office for some Tylenol or something. The nurse seems to be a nice lady (I have no idea, since her personality is entirely my own invention) and she’s marginally attractive. When she realized what I was asking for, she gave me two pills of questionable origin and pulled out her English phrase book. This phrase book, though, is for doctors, so it didn’t really help conversation much when she would randomly read from it to me.

Now, she keeps staring at me in the office. Every so often, she’ll get up, put her hands behind her back, and do this weird but cute swaying walk thing that she only does when she comes to talk to me. Then, she pulls out the phrase book and starts saying things. At first it was just “Are you in pain?” or “Do you need any help?” or “Would you like something to drink?” but then today she comes over, gives me this sheepish little smile, and says, “Maybe you need to lie down now.”

Yes, maybe I do. This is all just way too weird for me.

Furniture of Fear

There is something strangely fun about carrying furniture in Japan. Twice in the past week I have had to do so, and it has amused me both times.

This past weekend a furniture store a few blocks from my apartment was having a gigantic sale. Some stuff was so cheap，I really have no idea why they were bothering to sell it. Since I went into the “damaged goods” section of the store, well, I just got some really good deals on really ugly furniture.

Anyway, as we all know, I don’t speak Japanese. I didn’t really have an idea how to buy the furniture here. I couldn’t walk up to an employee and just say “hey, I want that” because, well, I don’t have the language ability. Since it was a giant sale, there were employees everywhere, but for some reason, none of them would even look at me, instead opting to help the young Japanese couples pick out the furniture for their new homes. I realized that if I wanted to make a purchase, I had to take the initiative.

I found out later that, when buying furniture in this store, you’re supposed to pick what you want, they’ll write your name on a tag and place the tag on the piece, you go downstairs and pay for the furniture, and then they have some guy bring it down to you in an hour or so. Not sure why it takes that long, but it does. That’s what I found out now.

Lacking any other way to make my intentions known, I found a filing cabinet I wanted on the 5^th floor, picked it up, and just carried it downstairs to pay for it. Or run off with it, I wasn’t sure. The store was packed with customers and employees, and every one of them had the same look on their face when I would come barreling towards them with a filing cabinet: complete terror. Conversations would just completely stop as they would stare at me in awe and fear. Once I almost ran a guy over, as he was caught in my path like a deer in headlights.

After paying for my filing cabinet, I carried it home, and then returned for me. The woman at the front door saw me returning, and from the expression on her face I could read her mind: “Oh shit, he comes back, and now he’s going to kill us all.” I purchased another piece of furniture, this time an uber comfy chair, and the process repeated itself. In face, the process repeated several times throughout the day. I think maybe I should try to blend in more and not scare people, but this is just too much fun.

I had more fun with furniture and freaking people out last night. A JET in a nearby city had just moved, and for some reason, after moving, she had an extra couch she was giving away. Ray decided he needed a couch, and so the deal was made that if he comes get it, he can have it for free. Last night we went to get the couch.

Now, first let me say that this is a Japanese couch. It does not resemble, in any way, the sofa you have sitting in your family room right now. It’s small and rather uncomfortable, but it’s what you can get here.

The trip from the girl’s house back to Ray’s involves this process: a ten minute walk from her apartment to the bus station, a 15 minute bus ride, a 15 minute train ride, and then another 5 minute walk to Ray’s apartment. Now none of this is overly difficult, as the couch is exceedingly light and easily transportable. The problem was taking the couch on public transportation. After some debate, we decided that the best way to go about getting the couch to Joyo was for me to walk with it in the lead, and I just gaijin smash my way through any problems. It worked remarkably well.

Walking to the bus station was no real problem. We just looked like we stole a couch and were trying to get away, none too quickly though. We received a plethora of stares, but overall nothing all that interesting. We got off the bus at the train station, which is a really busy station so there was no end of people who became uncomfortable by the mere presence of a gaijin carrying a couch through the crowds. Much of the rest of the trip was uneventful. We received uncomfortable stares on the train, and once when I smiled back at the stare, a guy got up and jogged out of the car, looking a little worried. Coming down the stairs at our stop, two young women were talking at the bottom. Once they noticed us, the one girl stopped in mid-sentence to give us a look of complete confusion. I winked at them, which prompted much giggling and then the camera phones were out, taking pictures of what I can only assume is a unique sight in Japan.

The Futility of English

I love English in Japan. Being a native English speaker here, you will encounter enough bizarre phrases to just blow your mind, especially on T-shirts.

Once a week, I take Japanese lessons from this really nice, 25 year old convenience store worker. The lessons were set up by the local international exchange association. They find out who’s interested in learning a language (in my case Japanese) and then search for volunteers to make a match between teacher and student. They’re kind of like a dating service, but substitute possible relationships with failed attempts at learning a language.

My teacher does not really know how to teach Japanese. She looks in a textbook she picked up and arbitrarily picks out a lesson to focus on. She does have some idea how to teach a language, as she studied in college to be an English teacher. I’d normally assume that the main reason she doesn’t have a job as an English teacher is because she doesn’t speak any English, but this is Japan where almost no English teachers speak English, so I’m guessing that’s not it. She admitted that she speaks better Korean than she does English, despite only taking a 6 week, once a week course in Korean yet studying English most of her life. It’s good to see I have any chance of successfully teaching my students.

Our lessons usually consist of her writing Japanese on the board, explaining the grammar points in Japanese, while I nod my head and copy the Japanese down, not having any idea of what is happening. I shouldn’t complain, though, since the lessons are free and she’s quite attractive.

This past lesson, though, I had more difficulty concentrating on not understanding than usual, as I spent the entire our trying to decode her shirt. On the shirt was a cartoon picture of a guy smoking a cigar riding in what looked like a cross between a hot rod and a tractor. Written in large bold letters above the picture were the words “Regnant Loiter!” At first I figured this might be some company name, but looking at the rest of the shirt, I had to conclude that it was just two random words thrown together.

Down the left side of the shirt was written “It is desirable to do an order well to learn things.” Both the bottom and the back contained “Think what as well to be deep on every.” Then, finally, splashed across the front in bold letters was “INSULATE!”

Seriously, here… just what the fuck was that… this goes to show a perfect example of the English ability of the people I teach with… and she’s teaching me…

I realized today that my job has no purpose whatsoever. I’m currently at one of my favorite schools I’ve gone to, where the kids are fun, energetic, and actually motivated to learn English (HOLY SHIT!).

On a random tangent, of the four English teachers, three are batshit insane. The lone male of those three is consistently described by current and former AETs, students, and fellow English teachers as “creepy.” I can do nothing to refute the observation, especially when he randomly touches students. Not sexually mind you, just… touches them. It’s way too weird to even describe. The fourth teacher, though, is one of the best teachers I’ve ever seen, and she more than makes up for the other three (she’s the one I went out with last month. Great girl).

Anyway, so I’m at this school, and it’s the last time I’ll be here until the next school year (the Japanese school year ends in late March and resumes in April). So, you would think that the teachers would make the most of my presence and incorporate me into classes, right? I mean, this is their last opportunity to relieve the tedium in their classroom with an exciting and fun Walrus. Think of what the kids can learn!

Ha Ha! Yeah right. Of the 30 possible class periods I’m at the school, I teach… 8. 8 classes. Plus, I have no ninensei or sannensei, just the ichinensei. So, what do I do during the other 22 class periods? Well, at the moment I’m typing this journal post. I also search the internet and study my Japanese, but mostly just search the internet. So, I sit in the teacher’s room, surrounding by people busy doing work, and I just stare at a computer screen.

And for this they pay me an American equivalent of $34 grand. This is the intelligence and logic found in the educational system of the culture I so diligently studied. I wonder if I wasted my time.

Possibilities for discomfortable atmosphere

Let me tell you, there is something very uncomfortable about sitting in a movie theatre, watching an American film about WWII in the Pacific, with the theatre being full of Japanese folk. Bonus awkwardness if you went there on a date with a Japanese woman. At least I can say that she chose the movie.

However, a small Japanese girl wearing a coat made for a Walrus? Hysterical. It reached her knees, and it was even the nonthreatening not-a-trenchcoat coat.

The Final Battle... for four months, at least

No peace exists for English teachers. Today, I had only two classes and then, because I had to work on my holiday on Monday, I got the rest of the day off. My last class at Higashi until February, though, could have gone a lot better. During class, we were playing a rousing game of Pictionary using English words. Unfortunately for my self esteem, I occasionally give words like Steven or English Teacher or anything such thing in which they’d have to draw me. This is a mistake, as in the eyes of the students, apparently, I am the size Godzilla. In fact, for most of them, I probably am Godzilla. While most pictures they draw take up a corner of the page, I take up the whole damn page. There go any positive perceptions of self…

When playing Pictionary, I’ll take the students out in the hallway to give them the words. Today, while in the hallway, we were standing next to another English class, this one being taught by Small One, a very, very tiny woman. The only things smaller then her are her English ability and her outgoing personality. I mean, she seems nice, but what the hell is she doing teaching? Regardless, in Small One’s class, for god only knows what reason, she was playing N’Sync as loud as humanly possible. I mean, N’Sync was just filling the hallways.

Now, there are two things wrong with this: first, what in the name of god could students learn by listening to N’Sync, except that there is no god in America? Second, why the hell did she have to play it so loud? I went back into my classroom, closed the door, and while trying to conduct class was still bombarded with “I want it that way” over and over again. She had the one song on repeat… and it was horrible.

In my class, as luck would have it, was Ninja Wannabe. He wasted no time in going for both my handkerchief and my monkey, and indeed spent the entire class completely focused on grabbing either item, or just my ass. I don’t think he cared which one he got, but by god, he was going to get one of them.

After class, the horrors truly began. The teacher had carelessly mentioned that this was my last day at Higashi. Thus, the need to steal my personal belongings or violate my personal space increased with a sense of urgency. I would estimate about ten ichinensei boys attacked me with a fury held for the insane. In an attempt to open my bag, now held in front of my covering my crotch, one student jumped on my back and literally tried to climb over my head to get to the bag. Several other students were grabbing at my stuff from all directions. I decided I had to get out of here, so, I just started to move forward. The ichinensei decided to stop me. I had the one kid on my back, one literally hanging off each arm, and a fourth wrapped around my leg. To make matters worse, several others kept getting in front of me and trying to push me back by the midsection. All this while trying to grab my handkerchief or bag.

Thank god I am significantly stronger than all of them combined. While I can’t say I moved forward effortless, they were unable to stop me, and I made forward progress with each step. By the time I got to the door to the teacher’s room, most had given up. Most. Ninja Wannabe was not going to stop his desperate attempts. As I opened the door to the teacher’s room, he wrapped his arms around my waste and tried to pull my back. The three other remaining students in turn grabbed him, and thus there was a chain of kids trying to keep me from entering the room. Promptly, all the teachers looked up and started to laugh… the bastards.

One English teacher walked by, laughing, and I pleaded in both English and Japanese “help me.” Her response was to keep walking forward… so, it seems I’m on my own. By this time most of the teachers returned to their work, shaking their heads and laughing. So, I kept walking forward until I got to my desk, by which time Ninja Wannabe gave up his desperate quest and disappeared from the room.

I’m just glad to know I have support.

Just What the Hell...

The attack on my personal belongings continues. I was returning to the teacher’s room after a class with one of my teachers today, and when I left the classroom my handkerchief was in my back pocket. When I arrived at the teacher’s room, it was not. I did not feel or notice a thing, so ninja-like are these students. Since I walked down the ichinensei hallway, I knew exactly where to look and who to find.

Now, since the last assault, I’ve taken to folding up my handkerchief as small as possible and stuffing it into my back pocket, figuring no student cold get their hands in there without me feeling it. I was wrong. These kids are damn crafty, and damn desperate to steal my shit.

I rounded the corner to the ichinensei hallway, and saw the thief from yesterday. Upon noticing me, the boy let out this little yelp and ran into the classroom… sigh… I’d dub the kid “Ninja Master” for his stealthy approach towards thievery, but his panic under pressure of being caught was just too obvious, and so instead, his name is just Ninja Wannabe.

I started walking towards him when I suddenly felt a small tug on my backpack. I turned to see several ichinensei boys hauling ass down the hallway. I looked in my bag and found my monkey gone. Not only did these kids steal my monkey, but to do so they had to open my bag, find the monkey, take it out, and then run. Throughout the process I was nearly oblivious. I now must respect the skills of my enemy.

I decided that stealing the monkey was somewhat understandable, and so I would get that second. First, I had to curtail further attempts of digging through my back pocket. I caught up with Ninja Wannabe and put him in a headlock, figuring I could hold him until he coughed up my belongings. I did not expect how defenseless this would leave me to the other students. No sooner did I grab the one kid then three others have their hands in my pockets. Ok… this is just a bit violating. The most unbelievable part, though, is that while I had the one in a headlock, he was still determined to rob me of everything I own, and had one of his hands in my fourth pocket.

You know you’ve gone wrong somewhere in life when you have 12 and 13 year old boys with their hands in your pockets. This country is fucked up.

Through quick movements and using Ninja Wannabe as a shield, I beat away the three boys and managed to somehow get my handkerchief back. Stepping out into the hallway, three girls from a different class presented me with my monkey. I guess they took pity on the poor English teacher and got my monkey off the other boys. At least there’s some decency somewhere.

Walking back to the teacher’s room, I randomly turned around to see Ninja Wannabe, crouched low against the wall, approaching me. His cover blown, he ran like the wind. I have a feeling this is going to be a long struggle. What’s worse is that after turning around, CPG appeared out of NO WHERE and goosed me. What the hell is up with these students?

Beyond the continued molestations, I’ve discovered the greatest thing ever to exist anywhere. I found the teacher’s smoking room at Higashi. Now, smoking is expressly forbidden in Japanese schools, but that law as only passed two years ago, so some teachers are unwilling to give up their habit in school. So, the teachers at Higashi rebelled, and use one room as their smoking room. I stumbled upon it, and it truly looks like heaven.

It’s a small room, with a long, low table in the middle. Surrounding the table are six ultra comfortable lounge chairs. Scattered across the table were about eight cigarette packs, two dozen lighters, and three ash trashes. Like I said, heaven. I took a seat, lit up, and basked in the crowning jewel of what just became the greatest country on earth. Eventually one of the teachers came into the room and saw me sitting back, with a huge grin on my face. He promptly began laughing, sat down, and laughed some more. When I told him this is now the happiest day of my life, he starting laughing so hard that he couldn’t even light his cigarette. The vice principal, a really funny guy that, while he speaks almost no English, at least makes the effort, also came in. He then explained the rules of the room in Japanese, and realizing I didn’t understand, instead just said “Top top top top secret.” From what I could gather, no one outside of the school is aware this place exists. Should anyone else find out, their luxury might be shut down, and so there was some fear of me also discovering it. I think I removed their fears though with the assurances of me being silent.

Truly heaven.

Bird Chase

The sannensei at Higashi are quite possibly my favorite students up to this point. They have such an interesting mix of students, and are always both fun and attentive in class. For the most part, however, no students ever introduce themselves to me, so to keep them straight I have taken to giving them nicknames in my own mind, from the Crazy Penis Grabber, to Rat’s Nest and his pal 50 Cent, to Steven Junior… though he gave himself that one, and has embraced it thoroughly.

One sannensei class today went particularly well for the most part. The students were excited over the English games and participated willingly and laughed at my jokes. It went well for the most part… at one point I was walking around the classroom, asking the daily questions: what day is it today, what time is it, when is your birthday, that kind of thing. Suddenly, I felt a strange… tingling… on my ass cheek. I quickly reached back just in time to grab a student’s wrist while he was in the process of grabbing my ass. My guess is that the tingling was due to his slow and steady movement, ensuring he got a full handful of walrus butt cheek. Since I did not move quickly enough and only caught his wrist, what this did was make sure his hand was fully in the process of ass grabbing and remained for a full second… I came dangerously close to hitting the boy out of pure instinct. Why must they constantly violate me?

For one of the games, I give a prize to the first two students to win. These are the same $1 stuffed animals that CPG desperately wanted. I had a bag full of them, and after class, naturally, students gathered around wanting more. This class, though, was slightly more aggressive. They opened my bag and several students just grabbed an animal and ran like crazy. One student, however, grabbed the camera that happened to be in my bag, and began taking pictures of me chasing down the students to reclaim my prizes. Naturally, during these events I received no help from the teachers. Once the stealing began, I looked around for help and the teacher I was with had strangely disappeared… sigh…

After some running and more than a few threats of violence, I got my stuff back and headed off to the teacher’s room. While in the hallway, a bird just happened to fly by. I thought of this as natural, given that the hallways are open air with no windows… what do you expect might happen? The students, however, reacted different. Girls began screaming their heads of and started to dive to the floor. Bodies were flying everywhere when three enterprising students, dubbed the Ghetto Boys, decided to take the situation in hand.

The Ghetto Boys are a group of three sannensei boys, Rat’s Nest (due to the raggedy rat’s nest growing out of his chin), 50 Cent (simply because every day he asks me if I have heard of a new 50 Cent song. One might say he is obsessed), and Random Kid. Random Kid has no personality. He just tags along with the other two and never says anything, just occasionally laughing. I have never heard a word escape this kid’s lips, which is odd considering how extremely outgoing the other two are. Regardless, the three have an extreme love for American rap music. Due to the music, they’re very good at understanding English, despite not being the best students. However, their speaking ability leaves something to be desired, and when talking to me they use almost all Japanese, occasionally throwing in such terms as “Bitch,” “motherfucker,” and once today “fuck the police.”

Anyway, the Ghetto Boys' solution to the bird situation was to arm themselves with brooms and chase the poor thing. They swung their brooms in wide arcs, hitting no bird, but knocking into walls and the head of Steven Junior, who happened to be standing nearby. Chaos reigned supreme, with the girls on the ground, the boys laughing in the classrooms, and the Ghetto Boys running through the halls hitting everything but their target. As a teacher, I probably should have done something, but instead my reaction was to get my camera and document the insanity. Sadly, I was too slow and only caught a picture after the Ghetto Boys had chased the bird to the other end of the hallway and life was starting to return to normal (except for the red spot on Steven Junior’s head. I think he was actually hurting).

For your mental reference, though, I did get a picture of CPG, included below. This was shortly after he made a grab for my ass in the hallway, and was walking away satisfied with himself for coming close, calling me crazy for trying to stop him. Truly, who is the crazy one here?

One Kid's Mission

As I’ve previously mentioned, Higashi, my current school, is the realm of the original Penis Grabber, the kid to whom everything is “crazy.” Well, this kid is apparently a gold mine of stories to be posted here, some of which, unfortunately, have to do with my crotch.

Ray went to Higashi last week, and so we were able to discuss the students there. Naturally, Crazy Penis Grabber (CPG) figured into the conversation. When Ray first went to Higashi, CPG related his attack on my junk from his perspective. He seemed quite proud of his previous assault, telling Ray the story with much pride. He also mentioned, while telling this story, that he looked forward to my return. Since Ray told me that, I’ve taken to constantly being ready to protect the valuables. At any moment, I tell myself, there could be some sudden surprise attack, with my privates as the battlefield.

From CPG’s point of view, this was not an attempt to do any grabbing. Rather, it was a full on assault. According to Ray, CPG’s tale, which will not be repeated in full here as it went on much like an epic struggle in The Iliad, CPG did not originally want to grab me or cop a feel or anything like that. This was a relief, as it suggested there was no innate interest in my cock. Instead, CPG stated that rather than grab, he punched me, and this was, according to him, followed by me doubling over and crying in pain. I would like to stress here that none of these things happened. While it’s comforting that a young boy does not want to feel me up, it is mildly disturbing that he wants to punch me in the crotch… I have a bad feeling about the remainder of my time here.

The story of CPG does not end with perverse actions. I had him in class yesterday, and we were playing this warm up game. To describe the whole game is boring, but the kids enjoy it and the first two people to win get a prize. The prizes are nothing more than small stuffed animals I picked up at the hyaku yen store (kind of like a dollar store, but oh so much better). I put all the dolls in a bag, and each winner may then reach in and pick out two. After this particular class, I was immediately cornered by five students, including CPG, asking for the stuffed animals that remained

Naturally, I said no, but they were adamant. Eventually, I conceded to allow one of the five to pick one, and they’d janken* for who gets it.

Before the janken, they were all deciding which one they would pick if they won. There was a little stuffed dog in there, and CPG wanted that dog. Naturally, he lost janken, but he would not accept his loss. As the winning girl chose a stuffed bear, he tried to make off with the dog, and I stopped him and confiscated the dog. He pleaded for a while, with me firmly saying no. Realizing his loss, he responded with a hearty “fuck you!” I did a quick double take, asked “What?” and was greeted with yet another “fuck you!” He laughed and happily trotted off. I mentioned this to the teacher, and her response was a quizzical look and a “what does fuck mean?” I just couldn’t explain.

*Cultural side note. Janken is essentially Paper, Rock, Scissors. However, none of the gestures have any meaning in the Japanese version (it’s not rock beats scissors, it’s just this gesture beats that gesture) and it is used to decide everything. I mean everything. If the Japanese had their way, wars would be fought entirely with a game of janken. Disagreements settled by janken. I believe that political decisions are decided entirely by janken. I played in a volleyball tournament for all the government employees, and if there was a tied game, the result was decided by janken.