Writing Motivation

I have not been writing as much as I was before, and what I have written I haven't liked much. Hence the hiatus last month. I am working on a piece about my recent trip to Thailand, however, it doesn't look promising. I'll keep you posted if it makes it to the blog.

Below is a piece I wrote several months ago, which I also didn't like enough at the time, but I'm going to throw out there in case anyone is still checking the blog and would like to read another story. The story is called "Moshiwake Gozaimasen", which is a very humble way of apologizing in Japanese. It gives a little perspective of what teaching for a coorporation looks like. Perhaps you'll enjoy it.

All the best.

Josh

Moshiwake Gozaimasen

While in the teacher’s room at the junior high school, my phone illuminates, vibrates and displays the word “Interac” on the screen. It’s my company calling.

I step out of the room and try to answer the phone discreetly.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello, Joshua?” a lifeless voice, as if poorly reading a script, says on the other end.

“Yeah.”

“Hey Joshua, this is Phil from Interac. How’s it going?”

“I’m pretty good Phil. How about you?”

“Yeah. Pretty good.”

Phil, an American from California, was recently announced as the new boss for my division of the Assistant English Teacher (ALT) recruiting company that I work for. In Japan, native English speaking teachers usually have to be contracted through a recruiting company. Though it is the easiest way to break into permanent residency in Japan, it’s a bittersweet deal; I’m able to live and teach here, but I have to work for a big corporation. For the first eight months or so it was tolerable. But recently the experience of working for Interac has been less than satisfying.

Phil continues.

“I’m just calling to check up on how things are going at the schools.”

I pause before answering, reminded of my parents’ advice to not complain so much, my teachers’ advice to stop challenging authority.

For the last month I have not been teaching as many classes at the junior high school that I hoped I would. The Japanese English teachers have been avoiding me, not asking me to come to their classes. When a few weeks of this behavior had passed I called Interac to see if they could help me find a solution. They assured me that they would talk to the teacher and solve the problem. As of writing this no change has occurred.

There are other problems too. A week earlier the company called me on my day off and told me that I was late for work at the elementary school. I looked at my schedule from the company. It read, “Day Off”.  I tried to convey this to the voice on the other end of the line, but she insisted that I was supposed to be at work.

“But I haven’t planned anything,” I explained.

“What do you mean?” she asked in a heavy accent.

“I mean I have no lesson plan for today.”.

“Well, why not?” she asked.

“Because it’s my day off.”

The conversation repeated that pattern enough times that I felt like it was going nowhere. Her solution was to just wing it from the textbook. This is something I can do, but hate doing; It’s bad teaching. But the lady on the other end of the phone gave me no alternative.

I went to work, making up a lesson from the textbook.

 

When Phil asks, “How are things going at the schools?” I pause, thinking of the past events and of my antagonistic pattern with authority figures.

“Yeah, it’s going fine,” I reply.

“Great,” Phil says, in a voice that does not convey ‘great’ so much as ‘good, I don’t have to ask follow up questions’. He continues, “I see here that we haven’t asked you the Happy Questions yet.”

I ask, “Happy Questions?”

“Yeah. For the company survey,” he responds.

I hesitate, considering whether he is joking or not. I conclude that he isn’t. “No, you haven’t asked me the Happy Questions yet.”

“Well, I’ll ask you now.”

The other teachers in the teacher’s room are now looking out at me, wondering why I am on the phone.

“Okay,” Phil says, “First question: Do you feel confused, anxious, or unsure of anything?”

This question doesn’t sound happy. I ask for clarification. “You mean at school, or in my daily life?”

“Uh, let’s say your daily life,” Phil responds.

Without a thought I say, “Of course. I’m living in Japan. I don’t speak Japanese.”

Phil shows a glimpse of personality, “Ha. I guess that’s right.” Then he quickly returns to the call script, “Is there something in particular that confuses you.”

“Yeah. Grammar, vocabulary, expressions. Language. Culture. Just about all of it.”

Phil appears to consider what I’m saying. “Well how are you coping with it?”

“It’s great. I love it. That’s why I came here.”

“Oh. Well, good. So there is no problem?” he asks.

“Not really,” I say, wondering if I’m being honest.

Phil continues with two more Happy Questions, both in the same vein as the first. I answer with a voice that hopefully quells my sarcasm.

When the conversation finishes Phil reminds me, “See you at the meeting on Saturday.”

Oh, yeah. Weekend meeting.

 

 

The meeting is in Sendai, a one hundred dollar, and one hour bullet train ride from where I live. The company will reimburse me for the expense in two months.

At the meeting, nearly a hundred other teachers are crammed into a meeting room with tiled floors, flat, square fluorescent lights overhead, and the first slide of a PowerPoint presentation projected at the front. The slide says “Training Meeting”. Everyone is dressed in business casual. Their facial expressions are the same dress code.

The room is an awkward size where using a microphone is too loud, but normal talking isn’t loud enough. The bosses choose to use the microphone. One particularly zealous young man, the Head High School Teacher, with hair just as jumpy and awkward as his personality, encourages us to move to the front.

“Hey guys! Plenty of space up here. Please move to the front. Don’t be scared.”

No one budges.

The young man laughs uncomfortably.

He tries again, “All right now guys, we need people to come sit up front. Someone has to sit up front.”

No one moves. It’s him against us, and he’s losing. What happens when a boss loses?

“Nobody wants to come to the front?” he asks rhetorically. He pauses, thinks, and says, “C’mon guys! I don’t smell that bad!”

Still, no one laughs.

A few late arrivals are herded into the front seats. The head high school teacher looks pleased. He is victorious by default. There is an illusion that someone has listened to him, that he is in control.

Phil stands at the head of the room, welcoming people to the meeting. He asks the late arrivals to stand up and come to the front.  The late arrivals are hesitant, but do as they’re told.

Phil asks, “Do you guys know what happens at a Japanese company when you’re late?”

Some of the seated teachers, ones who weren’t late, laugh. Whether they laugh because they think it is funny or because they want to show everyone else that they know the Japanese punishment, I am not sure.

Phil continues, “At a Japanese company, late employees stand in front of the others and say, ‘Moshiwake gozaimasen’ while bowing. So now, we are going to ask those who were late to do the same.”

I consider the cultural lesson. Interac is hardly a Japanese company. They come from Utah, allegedly as an undercover Mormon conversion mission in the 70s. All of the bosses and the CEO are foreigners. In fact, much of the training that follows will encourage us to not act Japanese, for reasons that are blatantly racist.

“Japanese teachers don’t have fun in their classrooms,” they’ll tell us.

“Japanese teachers don’t know how to create student centered activities.”

The list goes on.

But now Phil is telling the late arrivals to apologize in front of everyone. It’s a cultural lesson.

One by one they are handed the microphone, and one by one each says, “Moshiwake gozaimasen” while bowing. Some members of the crowd clap and cheer for the especially good bows and pronunciation. There are eight people that have to perform the punishment. The process takes about a minute. When the last one finishes, the crowd claps, happy for the demonstration but ready to move on to the meeting. That is, after all, why we came here on a Saturday.

The late arrivals start to move to their seats. Phil stops them.

“That wasn’t really good enough guys. You really need to bow. Hands on both sides of your body, look down, and enunciate clearly. You’re going to have to do it again.”

The late arrivals aren’t sure what to make of the idea. Some scoff. Others look blankly at him, trying to read his intent. The microphone is passed back to the front of the line. The first late arrival repeats his first way of bowing to a tee—an intended act of rebellion. The second and third late arrivals do a similar prostration. As the microphone goes down the line, the effort improves. Finally the last late arrival bows, says, “Moshiwake gozaimasen” and hands the microphone back to Phil. This time the late arrivals do not assume their right to return to their seat.

Phil remarks, “Much better. Much better. But you first three, you really need to bow.”

Two of the three late arrivals are clenching their jaws tightly. You can see them processing whether to bow, or storm out of the room, or leap at Phil.

One of the late arrivals asks, “Seriously?”

Phil nods his head. Yes, seriously.

Now the three do their best bows and say in their clearest pronunciation “Moshiwake gozaimasen.” They wait for Phil to accept it.

I imagine myself in the place of one of the late arrivals. The third bow would be it for me. But it’s not my fight. Or is it? Should it be? No. Not this one. If this keeps up, my fight will come. But this one, now, is not mine. I wish one of them would stand up to Phil. I’m also glad that I wasn’t late. This time it would not have to be me. My blood goes copper and molten.

Phil gives his decree, “Okay, go sit down.”

One of the three says something loud and angry that I can’t pick up, but is a threat to Phil. Phil seems to have not understood the words, but sees the rancor with which they were spoken. He makes a kind of surprised face, then regains his composure and starts the meeting. The late arrival sits in front of me and starts venting to those seated next to him.

“Fuck this! I’m not going to work for a company like this. That was ridiculous.”

The PowerPoint presentation starts and my brain quickly numbs to slides that tell us not to drink and drive, and to play games with students, and to make sure that the students enjoy their English classes.