My predecessor has finally responded with a great, steaming pile of information. And because details are the most important feature of good exposition, allow me to fill you in. I live in a semi-detached house, which actually means attached. I've got an apartment, or some other house, on one side. I guess it's semi because I'm not squeezed in between like a house sandwich. It's a two story, two bedroom house. I've got all the amenities one would expect, running water, electricity, walls, ceilings, floors, you name it, I've got it. No really, my house has the singular privilege of an indoor water heater. I hear that the traditional method of heating water for your morning shower is to drag your ass outside, light a fire, an honest-to-God wood to charcoal combustion reaction, under your water heater. Well, I asked for traditional Japan. The house is designed for maximum breathability, with no pesky insulation, central air, or heating to interrupt my experiencing the three traditional Japanese seasons: hot and muggy, freezing, and wet. I also have a kitchen, fully loaded with all sorts of cookware that I'm sure would come in very handy to any of the other six billion people on the planet, none of whom have managed to light boiling spaghetti on fire. And of course, I get the pleasure of a traditional Japanese bed, which I assume comes in one of two comfortable sizes: small and tiny. And I get all of that for the low, low price of 39,000 yen per month. I've been told that my predecessor, and the last three predecessors before her paid a whopping 16,000 yen a month for the exact same house. I think I'm going to have to discuss that with my supervisor, and my first big challenge in assimilating into a foreign culture will be to get through my first day of work without using the phrase, "Fuck you, douchebag!"
Not only that, I'll be lucky enough to have a car, also generously provided by the Shiiba Village Board of Education for the reasonable sum of 8900 yen per month, which in dollars is a much smaller number, I hope. It's a Subaru 4WD "k" car. I assume the "k" stands for "kill car" because I'm basically going to be driving a tin can with wheels. It may or may not have an automatic transmission, but it certainly doesn't have airbags or crumple zones. But since it weighs in at just under eleven pounds, there's a good chance both the car and my body will be thrown clear of any crashes. Here's hoping. And with a maximum speed of 65 kph, I'll be cruising the slow lane in style. It's ok, I've been told it's fashionable to drive with your chin resting on your knees anyway.
Of course, in between showering and driving, I may be expected to go to work. I'll have classes in the two middle schools, a small one with twenty students, and the large one with sixty. All in all, that's probably for the best. I had enough trouble trying to remember the names of my SAT students. Luckily for me, all of my new students will have black hair, brown eyes, and identical uniforms, which I can't help but think will make it easier for me to tell them apart. I'll also be expected to make infrequent appearances at the seven local elementary schools, but at that age who needs to tell kids apart anyway? I mean, there's no way to tell whether they'll be cracked out meth whores or rich, successful businessmen until they're twelve and can take the meth whore standardized test. No reason to get attached before then. Luckily, I will stand out from the crowd. Not because of my 6'1" (and a half) height, or my round, blue eyes, or my ability to pronounce the letter "r". But because I'll the most underdressed person there. While all of my students have to wear formal school uniforms, I'll be wearing polo shirts, slacks, and slippers. Which is great, because I didn't feel like packing my ties, suits, dress shoes, and dress pants. Nor did I feel like buying my ties, suits, dress shoes, or dress pants.
Of course, I might also stand out because I'll be the only person in town between the ages of fifteen and fifty who doesn't have a family. The nearest person my age lives about forty minutes away. She'll be another new teacher, like me. Word on the street is she's from Hawaii, so maybe, if I'm lucky, she can teach me to surf. Since I'm so graceful, poised, and naturally athletic, I'll probably need someone to help me rein in and focus my natural abilities. And it turns out skiing was more pipe dream than reality. There is only one run at Gokase, which still attracts about half the island on winter weekends, in years where it happens to actually snow. Oh well. Maybe I'll pick up mountain biking. That'll give me a chance to meet the village doctor. Luckily, he speaks English. I haven't learned the Japanese for, "More morphine, please."
