Wax on, trash out

I woke up this morning to the sweet melody of my blaring alarm clock, which i promptly smacked until it shut up.  Every morning I have the same internal debate--do I get up early and take the trash out or is there still little enough to warrant waiting a little bit and taking it out in a couple days' time?  Today the extra 15 minutes of sleep won over my need to remove waste from my house.   

The reason I wait until morning to chuck the rubbish out is that my neighbourhood garbage disposal association (also known as 110-year-old women whose only purpose in life, besides refusing to obey the laws of one's own lifespan, is continued oversight of said association) has decreed that rubbish can only be disposed of in the communal trash-truck pickup area between 7 and 7:30 am because 'animals will get at it' otherwise.  I highly doubt this, however.  If ladies old enough to remember when Mt. Fuji was just a hill are able to catch me with a plastic bottle cap in my burnable garbage at 20 meters, then something tells me cats and birds aren't gonna have much chance getting a cheap breakfast.  

Trash collection in my neighbourhood, and many throughout Japan, is draconian.  It probably took me about a full month to figure out what day to throw out what garbage and then once I'd wrapped my head around that, it took me at least that long to actually work out what constitutes "plastic" or "burnable garbage"among other types--a mighty, quest-like task.  To some it may appear intuitive at first glance, but according to a lady who might have been in high school during the Meiji Restoration and who thoughtfully brought my trash back to my house from down the street when my infraction proved too great to bear, plastic that says 'plastic' on it may not necessarily go in the plastic pile, subject to, of course, a complex set of variables.  

In addition to these women who were probably already grandmothers during the invasion of Machuria, another important trash disposal regulator is a huge poster 'explaining' how the whole system works, down to what type of battery goes out on what day and in what container.  All I know is, there's a small pile of items sitting in my apartment that, after poring over this poster, I am still unable to classify, and will thus probably remain there long after I've left.  Even the stuff I'm pretty sure about, I throw in a plastic bag (it's gotta be the right colour bag, though) and then sneak around the corner, check to see if anyone's there, and if there isn't, I can breathe a small sigh of relief because if there is someone there, you can safely bet your youngest daughter that they'll be going through my trash to verify its contents the second I go back around that corner.  

So anywaaaaaaay....today I avoided the ordeal and woke up with a smile on my face, showered, wolfed my cereal, and stepped out into the beautiful sunshine.  It was a bit chilly, but nothing beats sunshine in a place where it's just so depressingly rare to have a day without rain.  I arrived at work five minutes early (a.k.a. 15 minutes late, because this is Japan, where you come to the office early and leave never) and it was like there was a fire drill or something.  Everyone was frantically moving furniture out of the office into the hallway and around the stairs.  That's odd, I thought to myself.  No matter, I'll just join in, and I did just that.  After about 10 minutes of dragging chairs and file cabinets out into the corridor, I asked a co-worker why we were doing it and she told me that the office was going to be professionally cleaned and the floor waxed.  It would take about two hours, she explained, so I could pretty much do what I wanted.  Sweet, I thought.  I figured I might try and meet up with Daniel at Jiri cafe and catch up a bit, but he was stuck at work, so instead I went home and did some errands, went and saw my landlord and picked up dry-cleaning.  Then I returned home with about an hour to spare and switched on the ps2.  It was about 10:30 am when it struck me that this was the first and probably last time I would play Grand Theft Auto 3 in a suit and tie during working hours.  Ah, Monday.

After work I went and dropped off Shima's giant electric pan that we used for okonomiyaki during the weekend.  As I was leaving her place with an extra spatula in hand, I almost bumped into a guy walking home from work.  He struck me as familiar, so I took a second glance and saw the same inquisitive look on his face as he tried to place me.  It was the mayor!  I'd met him once at a cultural event.  So I stammered "Mr. Mayor!"--no hello, or how are you, just a shocked "shit, it's the mayor!"--to which he responded with an equally shaky "konnichiwa...?...".  Then there was the whole awkward do-i-stop-and-talk-to-him-uhoh-it's-too-late-he's-already-too-far-gone-ok-quick-break-eye-contact moment and I went home.  

Business Trip

Big news! Not new news, but good news nonetheless. My Board of Education is in the planning stages of building a new combined elementary / junior high school in Kaga, and they're thinking of modeling it after a private school in Massachusetts that the Mayor of Kaga went and visited once back in 1995.

So a couple of months ago, they asked me to do some research into the school and translate the English information pamphlets they received, plus get in contact with the school on the BOE's behalf. A couple of weeks later they decided they would make a trip there to visit, and half jokingly asked me if I could go to help them out. The following week, the section chief asked me seriously if I would accompany the Superintendent of Schools and himself on what I like to call a 'fact-finding mission' to visit the school in the second week of April. I accepted, so it looks like I'm going on a business trip to Boston as an interpreter!

And who says elementary school teachers can't move up in the world...

My main job will be facilitating basic travel stuff in English for my higher-ups, who speak and understand little to no English. So I’ll handle hotel check-ins, restaurant reservations, transport, all tourist stuff, and the obvious—translating during a tour I organized of the school. We’ll spend a day and a half in Boston and then another day or so in New York City, sightseeing. So a five day trip in total—3 days on the East Coast and 2 days on the plane…which is pretty short considering how far we’re going, but these guys have a tighter schedule than I do.

The best part is that I will get to see my family (minus Lukas) for a few hours of ‘free time’ in NYC! So as long as I pack my bosses onto a Japanese bus tour (at their request, amusingly), it’ll be smooth sailing.

The Commode

Our office building recently did some renovations, one aspect of which included a brand spanking new restroom. Let it hereby be known: there is nothing quite like dropping your drawers and planting your behind on a throne that has never before been used. There’s a serenity to it, a perfect calm. You take comfort in the undisputable fact that no one else’s hairy tush has ever before soiled the seat of what is truly a splendid piece of defecatory engineering.

As I stepped into the recently completed bathroom (and hopefully future refuge) for the first time, I was struck by the pristine completeness. Having never before used facilities that were not hygienically dubious at best, I was left in awe at the vacuum of quiet, as though all previous restrooms had screamed their filth, while this one resonated only cleanliness. Entering the monastery-like solitude of the cubicle, the glistening, cream-tinted toilet cover beckoned me towards it. The floor was spotless. The toilet paper, never before used, hung in convenient reach, embracing its roll with a tenderness not generally associated with bathrooms of any sort.

But what impressed me most, and has continued to impress me time and time again in this strange and wonderful country, was the automatic heated seat, which on this snowy March morning was icing on the cake of what was already a truly pleasurable sojourn into pooping wonderland. Despite the abundance of such toilets—ones that don’t leave you cringing in the last moments before butt meets seat—it still remains a pleasant surprise every time.

Even while using the marvelous piece of equipment, I was aware that each consecutive use would prove gradually less extraordinary and bring it closer and closer to the filthy pestilence-ridden gas station toilet holes we all know and despise, but the knowledge that this throne of glory would unavoidably decline in grandeur, like a flower wilting in the autumn sun, simply made the experience all the more enriching.

End of the Semester

Within days of finishing classes for the semester, I was standing at Amagozen bus stop with a return bus ticket to Nagoya in one hand and a plane ticket to Seoul in the other.

But first—just to rewind a moment—let’s go back to the final two weeks of school. With 6th grade graduation ceremonies looming, English lessons were winding down for the year. By this point, we had covered virtually everything in the informal syllabus that dictates the elementary school English education system in Kaga City. Little Kenji now knew the difference between a ‘giraffe’ and a ‘zebra’ and Kumiko could confidently count from 1 to 60 (excluding 11 and 12, which as we know are impossible to remember).

But because I go to so many schools, I had my ‘last day of class’ for maybe two consecutive weeks. What I didn’t expect, though, was the overwhelming gratitude I got from students and teachers. A lot of students had organized thank-you-notes which they presented to me and some even did musical performances (which were meant for 6th grade graduation ceremonies, but never hurts to practice on the foreigner). Some students made me presents, but most wrote me animated little letters that went along the lines of, “Mike-sensei, thank you for teaching me English. Even though I don’t really like it, thanks to you, I can name colours and fruits.” The best part is that, more than my actual bosses and team teachers, these kids are too young to mince words, so I got a fairly comprehensive job appraisal out of it. It was sweet of them to write me letters, and now I have pictures and stacks of notes all around my desk space. One school even gave me a bouquet of flowers as though I were departing the school forever and thanked me publicly in the teachers office.

My review classes generally involved me carting in all of the flashcards, posters, props, and other materials covered during the term and doing a rapid-fire review of everything. After that we would get on to the fun stuff, which was usually comprehension quiz game show-type activity or some other review game. Vocabulary and grammar differed depending on grade level. Results were mixed. Some exceptional classes were able to rattle off everything they’d studied as if they’d learned it yesterday, while others acted like it was the first time they’d ever heard of it. I think most of the students learned something, though, whether they know it or not.