WORKING IN JAPAN: PT. 17

Loner at work/helping tourists/LinkedIn: a wacky corner of clown world

Even though I am only at the dispatch office for twenty minutes a day, that’s the time I dislike most. My sighs of relief when I walk out of that place, headed for seven hours of solitary labour, have made me realise just how much of a work loner I am. I love my friends and family, but can’t abide the webbing of forced interactions that constitutes the bulk of work culture.

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, how are you?’
Fuck off.

Not that a great deal happens at our morning pep talks. We gather in the dispatch building, acquire our keys and clothes, and listen to a three-minute rundown on broken locks, cigarette butts, and graffiti. Occasionally something more exciting has happened, such as a drink can exploding from internal gas pressure near one of the station vending machines (I think I heard that one correctly, but my Japanese isn’t perfect).

I was back at the station I like today, the one with a lot of tourists. I helped a couple find their train after they had received instructions from the Japanese concourse guide and were still barely the wiser.

‘You’ve been brilliant,’ the man told me, ‘Could you come with us on the rest of our holiday?’
I love shit like that: helping people. It’s the most satisfying thing you can do. There’s someone who was in trouble and now they aren’t in trouble any more, and it’s all thanks to you. I seldom felt like that in my ten-year corporate position, where it seemed like whatever effort I put in was sucked down some cosmic drain to oblivion.

As for the cleaning work itself, it’s highly relaxing and I love being outside but it’s hard to get motivated for such low pay. At my office job, I was unmotivated by the way they treated me and now it’s the hourly rate that leaves me less than eager to shine. You can’t win with me!!

I’ll do my best, though, to add to my savings because I found a house I want. It’s about 3,000,000 yen but appears to have subsided in at least one corner. I could fix it up or just tilt my head the whole time I live there. I’m planning to request a viewing in the next few weeks so I can check out just how diagonal this old dump is, and try and get a clue as to whether the pipes and wires work.

If the wires are knackered, I can get some generators, and I am sure I can do something about busted gas and water. The goals are to a) stop paying rent on an apartment, and b) get a cat. Until I have my own cat, I won’t be spiritually fit.

But can I save money? I’m not so sure. I haven’t received a full month’s pay yet, so I haven’t actually tried living on a cleaner’s wage. It might be tougher than I thought, in which case I would possibly need to return to deskwork in a wage cage.

I remind myself, sometimes, of how odd the culture of the business world can be, by hate browsing the cringe factory known as LinkedIn.

‘It’s been a fantastic year polishing my cross-disciplinary expertise in advanced digital and analogue technologies, utilising the best of bespoke and sustainable wheelhouses. There’s nothing more satisfying than recognition from professional peers when your skill matrix explodes. Coming into the second quarter, I’ll be sharpening the tools that allow me to blah blah fucking blahhhhhhhhh.’

That’s LinkedIn, that is. That’s the sort of thing people write on LinkedIn. Like an incredibly boring and pretentious parasite has seized control of their synapses, and is forcing them to generate interminable streams of cardboard boasting. For me, nothing quite captures the zeitgeist of late-stage capitalism in the social media age like the verbal diarrhea produced by this ilk of performative professionalism.

Having said all that, I have been checking job postings on my employer’s head office homepage. They appear to have an International Division, so maybe I could help them assist tourists, translate some of their PR, or advise them on how to improve the service they offer visitors to Japan. They might see me as an asset, having worked on the ground cleaning their infrastructure, while also possessing valuable language and cultural knowledge. Maybe they’d employ me at HQ, if I applied, and send me out on scintillating field trips around the country.

I can’t help but feel, in my optimistic moments, like this cleaning job could evolve into something else. I have two university degrees and Japanese Language Proficiency Test Level 1, in addition to a couple of decades residing here. I have a few other nice things on my CV, too, so I am not a total basket case.

The train system, surely, is recession-proof, and if I can become a full-time member of the corporate and planning part of one of its associated business entities, then I imagine the job security would be good. I might even rise to a position of genuine responsibility and consequence, helping to coordinate development of an optimally welcoming tourist-friendly travel experience.

See you on LinkedIn.

Read Part 18 here.

And here is Part 16.