Sept. 21

I figured it’d be a better idea to wait until AFTER the drunken hilarity had come and gone to write this journal entry. But first…a bit of backstory.

The PTA in Japan is like the mafia. They control the schools, the principals. They give bribes, oust teachers. They will have your kid frickin’ deported if he or she dares to mess with one of their own offspring. Yes, the PTA is all powerful, and they know it.

So, it should come as no surprise that when it turned out that there was to be a PTA meeting on the night of my welcoming party, the entire staff at my junior high school freaked…out. Immediately, the party was moved to Thursday night…last night. Which meant that I was gonna have to teach the next morning. …In fact, I’m sitting here right now at one of my elementary schools, writing this to make sure I stay awake. But all was well, don’t worry.

The day started off normally, though…with me expecting something to go horribly wrong, and slowly becoming more and more relieved as the day moves on. I was…pretty much relieved of all duties today, when Mr. Unreadable said, “David…please skip my class. Students right story today, so…you are free.” But he was smilin’ in a way that almost said, “Stay out mah classroom, dirty gaijin!” I hate trying to read that guy.

So, all I could do was putz around for hours on end. What’s worse, Mrs. Nice Teacher was gone because he son broke his ankle and she had to run him to the hospital. And Caffeine Dealer was strangely busy today. Sat back, studied some Kanji, helped Mrs. Sick Teacher make some colorful flyers, and…goofed off with Caffeine Dealer whenever he had a moment.

Then, finally, I had a class. But this was no normal class. This was the class of the mentally challenged kids. Now…when I think mentally challenged kids, I think…children that I don’t have the qualifications or qualities to teach…or even supervise. But the mentally challenged kids here…they just seemed like kids who were just a little bit slower than your average kid. They were kind, funny, and completely endearing. There are only three of them at my junior high school, though.

I remembered Matt telling me that if you were handicapped in this country, you were pretty much screwed. The city planners and what not don’t exactly go out of their way to make sure things are totally accessible to all beings. …Except for the blind. This country must have a LOT of blind people with the precautions they take. But I wondered if this was because they’ve never really experienced handicapped people. I mean…I…never hear of other countries having too many retarded people, though…I guess even America manages to keep theirs rather well hidden…

Teaching these kids was great, though. Particularly when we started saying our ages in English, and we got to Mrs. Sick Teacher, and she pulled the whole “secret” deal. I laughed…then she told me to guess. I absolutely refused, but one of the kids said “46!” in English. …Mrs. Sick Teacher, being the nice woman she is, allowed him to say it in Japanese, for confirmation of his…blunder. And…”Yonjuu roku sai!” Yep…that’s 46, alright.

I’ve always found “fight preparation” to be hilarious. In America, we have several different methods of preparing to punch someone. Some people crack their knuckles, other people kiss them. Some people push up their glasses, others wind up for a pitch. Apparently, in Japan, you breathe on your fist as if you’re about to shine it. …In fact, you DO shine it with the other hand. And seeing my teacher do this made me laugh even harder. She never punched the kid, don’t worry. She just mussed his hair, but I know that woman’s got some force behind her. I’ve seen her explode on classes. Angry Japanese women = scariest thing in the world, even over angry black women. Angry Japanese women remind you of the years of repression they’ve experienced, and no one, and I mean no one can predict the results of that stuff. Besides, when she told me to say “Mrs. Sick Teacher is twenty five years old,” as a practice sentence, and I laughed again, she punched me…jokingly. But there was some power there. Yep…not messin’ with her.

From there, it was preparations for the great welcoming party. I went home right after work instead of hanging with the kids, and made sure to eat a bunch of bread, water, and a few extra things before the party. I did NOT need to get super drunk, not when I had an elementary school to teach the next day.

My carriage arrived promptly, and here, they really do ask you to sit in the back seat when they drive you places. I can only call my driver “The Lisp”, because he has a slight one, though I think it’s the dialect. Besides, lisps in Japanese seem to work entirely differently. Nevertheless, he tried speaking to me in broken English, which…always impresses me. These people really do seem to like talking to me. Must…resist…cynical natures…

We got to the restaurant, and when I walked into the place, who did I see? But the principal of the elementary where I had to teach the next day! Ha! Now, most of y’all woulda been scared to find that. Me? I was thrilled. That meant this dude knew EXACTLY why I was gonna be a little out of it the next day, AND he’d know it was my other principal who made it happen. Even better, he was chillin’, drinkin’ sake with that very principal!

‘Oh, I totally win,’ I thought as I took off my shoes and stepped up into the eating area.

There were a lot more seats than I was expecting. I didn’t realize I worked with 19 other people. But…after a time, everyone showed up. Beforehand, though…Booze Master, The Principal and I were sampling ales.

“Kampai practice!” they called it, and we all laughed.

Then…the food came out. Fish, chicken, pork, octopus, shrimp…man, I think we covered all the major meat groups, and a few minor ones. Because of all the horror stories I’ve heard, I had to ask if they wanted me to eat a shrimp whole, or would they let me take off the head and tail. And, though that was an excellent opportunity for them to say, “Sure, eat it all…heh,” they instead exclaimed, “NO! That would be disgusting.” …So, I think Japanese people just like messing with my friends.

It was a good time, though. I sipped sake in proper form with Mr. Unreadable, who seemed forever concerned that I might be sick. But lemme tell ya, sake’s for punks. Scotch is rough to me. This was like Scotch without that painful kick at the end. If I wasn’t teaching the next day, Mr. Unreadable would have challenging me to a sake-off.

They kept sending me mixed signals regarding drinking, though. “David, remember. Tomorrow’s not a holiday, so be careful how much you drink. Oh, by the way, here’s another truck full of sake! Drink up!” I was absolutely fine, though. Sake tipsy is like…really really chill. Not spewingly stupid like Scotch-drunk is.

That night, I spoke with Matt regarding culture shock. He tells me I’m exactly where he was, but eventually, I’ll hit that freakout point. Since I’ve been here, I’ve felt like this peace can only be temporary. But that could be because of my own cynicism. And the things that eventually made Matt freak out aren’t anywhere on my list of…”what’s wrong with Japan”. Maybe I’ll freak out, maybe I won’t. But if I do, I’m quite positive of what the cause will be. Let’s hope I can stop that problem before it happens again…

D