The next day, Umeno handed me a card made of folded paper.
9:00AM―Following Matsusan
12:00PM―Lunch
13:00PM―Work experience
“This is to-do list. I hope you understand,”Umeno said calmly, in no way did she humiliate me. Rather she had wrote out of her kindness. I felt it was disrespectful to treat me as a child who could not follow grown-ups who was obedient the boss. I believed I have a free will and can take charge of my own destiny, but I was a bum here, to a certain degree she writes this stupid crap. “When you leave, please inform me of what your day today was all about.”
In Japan, there is the conventional foolish thing. Ho-ren-so, which means “spinach” in English. In short, “reporting.” Japanese companies spend too much time “reporting.”: morning assemblies, end-of-the-day assemblies and many other useless meeting are where you have to say your schedules, progresses and results. Moreover, you have to make reports about what you have done, even such trivial things that you think would never need sharing, that you fall into your boss’s hand.
Basically I was not permitted to act my own discretion and whenever I left my position, I had to tell someone like the staff that where I would go and what the reason was. Then as soon as I finished the task, I must come back to him and say“ I’m done” bowing. If you failed to do that, even once, you would make your boss uncomfortable.
However, the possibility had already occurred to me that I would succeed this practice unless I drop out, so I had decided not to withdraw from here. Like I had to get this qualification, no matter what. I thought in those days―withdrawal mean becoming a loser, as so many Japanese think, which drove me toward some kind of unspeakable perfection.
After Miya visited me, my assignment were reduced, and although I could save a little room in my heart, a new daunting task required of me. It is your duty to phone your homeroom teacher Tanaka, every single day. Give a report to your day. the division reader of my school, Mori—, ordered. “10:00 p.m.” Tanaka, who had worked hard all day, ordered, so I had got pretty nervous as the time approached.
Even if there was nothing unusual, I had to call him and I kind of made up the story, only to waste each other’s time. He was a workaholic with specialized knowledge, but I was not allowed to ask technical questions. It meant I should learn to be loyal, by doing as I was told―providing the reports.
In the morning, my DragStar engine stalled and the rain had started. The apprehensions grew darker; Japanese are obsessed with punctuality. If you are even one minute late, they think you do not have intimate awareness as a working adult. Maybe you know Japanese trains are always on time. Whatever the reason about being late, you have no excuse. Sucks. It was so easy for Matsu to put the blame on me.
The rain continued to fall steadily as I tried to start the ignition desperately. The devil would not want me to go to the practice. Deciding I should give up on the matter, I ran to the main road and looked for the taxis, which drove past me, but no vacant. Anyway I had been running toward the workplace, which was a couple of miles away from here. I was getting drenched when I realized it was too late to do anything and I slipped beneath the nearest eaves of a building. I phoned to my department to tell my situation in no time.
I charged at the locker room, dripping with rain. It was June and I was soaked with sweat, feeling restless. I pulled my T-shirt up over my head, wiping my wet hair and face. The skin on my neck felt itchy and I rubbed it with my couple of fingers. I was still rubbing when I opened my locker door, and I peeked in its small attached mirror―big, red pimples around my neck, my bangs getting thinner. These were most distressing.
Just as I entered the staff room, I saw head of the department Umeno sitting there. I apologized for having being late. “Your behavior exemplifies the attitude of the good student. You did inform us here you would be late. Besides, you have been reporting each day as I told you. It struck me as a great improvement on you. Good, good, please keep up the good work,”she reassured me.“Thank you very much,”I bowed. “I’ll do my best.”
My effort have borne some fruit, though I was not as satisfied as I would have liked. I just learned that disagreement is clear path to breaking harmony of those involved in the discussion, where pressure to conform squash even the slightest deviation from my perspective, ever since I had been here for my practice; I realized how miserable I had been enduring harassment like Japanese-style bulling. Nevertheless, apologizing and apologizing and apologizing.
Hair wet, I made an apology to Matsu. Oddly, although she gazed at me emptily for a few second, she did not curse me, maybe because arriving late let me be honest―it was my fault and I had accepted it. Of course, she never said anything nice.