Posts Galore

Wow, three posts in two days! What is going on here!

Despite the ferocity of anger in the previous post (and I doubt I was able to convey just how truly pissed off I am at the current situation) something did successfully calm me down from my fury. In case you don’t remember from the last time I was at this school (way back in November), here they have the “Top Top Top Top Secret” room.

The smoking room of immeasurable happiness.

Today I felt like having a smoke, so I asked the Vice Principal for the key to the room. He couldn’t find the normal key hanging on the wall, so instead he let me borrow his personal key. I walked into the room in complete bliss, relaxing in a lounge chair and praising the ability to smoke in a school.

Nothing has changed about the room. The table was sill covered with about 5 ashtrays, 7 packs of cigarettes, and no less than 30 lighters. I’m not even kidding about that. There are only five smokers at this school, including me, yet this is their supply. I respect their dedication. It also is now equipped with a rotating space heater to help combat the lack of normal heating in the room. So incredibly wonderful.

When I returned from my relaxation, I gave the VP his key back. He then presented me with something that, well, fuck, words can’t express the amount of joy it gave me.

He gave me my own personal key to the room for use while I’m at the school. Now, anytime I want, I can enter the room and enjoy the wonderful smell of stale tobacco and comfort of lounge chairs and an endless supply of cigarettes. All in school.

Some things in Japan sure are great.

While I’m talking about the few good things in this school right now (fuck the goddamn stupid ass schedule) I might as well mention the return of my own personal “favorite” student, CPG. Yes, he’s still crazy, and yes, he still wants to grab my penis.

While sitting at my desk doing nothing, he came into the teacher’s room because he said he wasn’t feeling well. Usually, the nurse at junior high schools here only shows up about twice a week or so. Thus, it is the teachers’ duty to take care of sick kids, and really, they don’t seem overly concerned with it. CPG was placed into a seat two desks down from me, given a thermometer, and promptly left alone. All the teachers at this moment decided to vacate the room.

So, CPG and I attempted to strike up conversation in the small amount of English/Japanese combination we are capable of. There were the standard bits of “Long time no see” and “how are you.” Then, in a brief break in talking, I decided to irritate him, which would turn out to be a mistake.

CPG’s real name sounds almost exactly like “reishuu” which is the Japanese word for “next week.” For whatever reason, I thus call him “next week,” and it seems to drive him absolutely crazy. I stood up to get another cup of coffee and said “I hope you are feeling better, Reishuu!” I should have said this while I was still sitting down, as I soon realized he was, in all likelihood, faking his apparent sickness.

He moved with blinding ridiculous speed as he took a stab at my dick. This was no grab attempt, nor was it even a jab. This was a full on attack to injure my most valuable areas. Relying on pure instincts, I moved to defend myself, and let me tell you, the fat man, when trying to protect his crotch, can move quickly. Instead of taking a shot to the groin, I was treated to a rather vicious Charlie horse.

Thankfully, that brief burst of speed was the extent of his capabilities at the moment as he sat back down laughing.

Kid, you are so lucky this is the last time we’ll see each other, because believe me, if I had more time here, war would begin, and it’s not one you can win.

I’m really going to miss these third years, penis grabbing not withstanding.

Why Am I Here?

I apologize in advance, but I need to write an angry post. I’m talking pissed off, want to beat the shit out of things post. This has to do with my job.

Now, my job description is, essentially, to assist students in learning English and to enhance international awareness. Or something like that, I’m not so sure. Regardless, to be able to do either of those things, I have to actually interact with the students. That seems fairly easy, right? I mean, I’m in a school, I’m on the job, you’d think I’d be working with the students.

Oh, no, that’s not how it works here.

I am currently back at the very first school I went to this year (the one up the giant hill). This is the third and last time I’ll be here for this year (their school year ends in March). This school has, by far, my favorite students, who just happen to be third years. Third years means they graduate in March. Which means I’ll never see them again after this visit. When I got to school, you should have seen the excitement of the students, especially the third years. They were so happy to see me again because, I must admit, I am dynamic in the classroom and the students enjoy my teaching, for the most part.

I don’t have a single third year class. Not one. I will not see these kids in class. Why? I’ll be goddamned if I know.

Over the next two weeks that I’m at this school, I have a total of… 12 classes. Discounting the first day because that’s usually reserved for planning, I have a total of 48 possible class periods in which I can teach. I have 12. That’s 25% of the time I’m here.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking: “wow, Steve, you have the easiest job in the world! 75% of the time you don’t have to work! How can things get much better?”

This is true, my job is easy, and I should be happy. However, I did not travel to the other side of the fuckin’ world so I can sit at a desk and stare at a computer screen doing nothing. I did not become a teacher because it was easy. For the first time in my life, I love my job, but no matter how much I want to work, I can’t work! How often does that fucking happen?

I don’t know the exact reasons for this. I don’t know if it’s because the teachers just can’t speak enough English and therefore don’t want to make an attempt to try and cooperate with me. I don’t know if it’s because they’re too busy to try and incorporate me. I don’t know if it’s just because they think I’m too inept to help out. I don’t know if it’s because they feel having an AET in class must be some sort of fun time “event” and so my presence in class is taking away learning time. I just don’t know, and I don’t care.

And here’s something else. As I’m sitting here in the teacher’s room, I happen to notice one of the English teachers returning from a class he did not take me to. In his hand was a CD player. Which means, for class today, he was playing the shitty recorded come with the book English phrases. Why? Why in the name of all hell would you do that? You have a real live English speaking person who is more than willing to assist in class! Why use a fucking recorded voice that sounds like shit and is guaranteed to bore the students into not giving a fuck.

This is completely fucked up, and the bitch of it is that I can’t do a damn thing to help the situation. I have less power than the students when it comes to what happens in schools. I’m going to a meeting on Wednesday with some English teachers to try and persuade them to make changes… it won’t make a damn bit of difference.

I don’t want to generalize an entire culture, but I will make a generalization right now, based entirely on my brief stay so far in one section of Japan (which makes me a bit of an ignorant asshole, I know, but I’m angry enough to do it). If the Japanese have a major fuckin’ flaw it’s their complete unwillingness to accept change of any kind. They just want to keep things the same as it always has been rather than take the risk of accidentally upsetting one person by making a change. Even if a change is to be made, it has to go through about 15 levels of bureaucracy before anyone will even be willing to discuss it.

I recontracted for next year. I’ll be here another full year. I’m wondering if that’s now a mistake, simply because of the fact that I have the single most useless job in the world.

I don’t think that would be such a problem if I didn’t see the immense potential of my position, only to watch it get pissed away by incompetence and fear.

A Regular Sunday Night

On Sunday, I went up to Guy’s Bar for some sort of “event.” The event was a few DJs and a… dance off. We’ll get to that in due time.

On my way to Guy’s, I stopped to pick up a pack of cigarettes. After opening my wallet, I realized that after buying smokes, I would only have 1400 yen. The cover for the event was 1000 (which thankfully included one drink) and so I went in search of an ATM. However, despite being an entirely cashed based society, Japanese ATMs, I discovered, are not open on Sundays after 7:00pm. It was 8:00pm. Why do the ATMS close? I have no idea, it makes no sense, and it pisses me off, but such is the logic of the country I have come to.

Armed with very little money, I went to Guy’s anyway. Upon entering the bar, I was immediately greeted by about 10 dudes yelling “Steve! Steve! Steve!” Nine of them I do not remember ever meeting, but I guess that’s what happens when you get trashed in Japan. I was hoping I could use my celebrity to obtain free drinks, but that settles itself in a completely different fashion. After the initial greeting, I was left more or less alone in a corner of the bar, listening to bad 80’s techno music. It was just me, my drink, and a wife beater who has been shunned by his friends for exactly that reason. Needless to say, it was awkward at first.

Eventually, the wasted emcee came over to talk to me. As with all the people here, our conversation was incredibly limited, really just him talking Japanese and me nodding and smiling. It was good that I made friends with him though, because in short order he went behind the bar (what he was doing being the bar, I don’t know) and started making me a drink or two. Do I know what was in these drinks? Hell no. I saw him making them, and it reminded me of my days in college. He would just grab bottles at random and pour stuff into a glass. Without a doubt, the concoctions were some of the foulest things ever created, but I will say they got me fucked up quick. Once his generosity ran out, thankfully, my fellow AET was able to hook up with a few drinks and, every so often, I would just randomly get a drink from random person.

My increasing intoxication was necessary to maintain my sanity for what was to come. The “event” kicked off with a pretty young girl singing horribly while a guy dressed in very bad “I want to be ghetto” clothes ran around her rapping. At least I think that’s what he was doing. What was hysterical, though, is that he kept yelling, “Everybody say Ho!” and pausing for audience response. There was none. But, he did not stop trying.

After the singing came the dance off. Now this… well… I want to write about it but really, words just fail me here. I mean, I don’t think I ever laughed so hard in my life. There were three teams of girls, one had two girls, another had three, and the last had 10. I felt already there was an unfair advantage, but I didn’t know the rules of the competition. The music started, and they battled. One group would start dancing together, using elaborate coordinated sequences. I’m pretty sure that the two smaller groups got “served” because they kept forgetting their moves.

Just thinking about the dance fight makes me laugh… I mean, I never figured I would be in a Japanese bar, in the middle of a large crowd, watching a dance fight. Japan has taken me to new and interesting places.

After the battle the dance floor was open. In typical Japanese style, no one except a 40-year-old guy was dancing, and he was doing the robot. So, as I kept drinking more and more, I had a really bad idea. I would show these folks how to bust a move, and I did so in typical horrible, drunk walrus fashion. I joined in doing the robot. It was like a train wreck, and the good people at the bar couldn’t stop watching.

Eventually, I became plastered. I grabbed the skullcap off some random guy I’ve never met before, put it on, went up onto the “stage,” grabbed the microphone off the DJ, and started freestyle rapping. Now, most places in America, I would have only lasted about .01 seconds before I was forcibly removed from the premises. Not here.

I’m frightened because they seemed to love it.

After repeated failed attempts at picking up a girl (I would just walk up to someone and start talking to her in English. There would then be much giggling on her behalf before I would realize she didn’t understand a word I was saying and would move to the next person, usually the girl standing right next to her) I decided to head home.

I lead an interesting life.