So, about Shiiba

Shiiba Village is a tiny mountain village. I mean, tiny. We have a street. We have a stoplight. We have a grocery store. End of story. I've been told there's a restaurant somewhere in town, but I can't find it. I have some leads, but I've checked into a few, and they just turned out to be people's houses. That was awkward, because I don't know how to say, "I don't know if this is your house or a restaurant. Either way, will you cook me some food?" in Japanese yet.

Everyone here is really nice to me. Although they do stare. Yesterday this kid just about had a stroke when I got out of my car at the grocery store. Of course, he/she (it's hard to tell) may have just been shocked to see me get out of my car. It's the kind of performance you can usually only see performed in a giant tent by a dozen men with white makeup, giant shoes, and a VW Beetle. It's kind of convenient though, because if I want to get something out of the trunk, I just reach back and grab it. I'm thinking about taking it home as a souvenir when I'm done here, it ought to fit in my carry-on luggage.

So you're probably wondering what I do all day? No, you're not? Well, fuck you, read it anyway. Actually, you don't have to read it, you're looking at it, in a remote, virtual kind of way. I sit in a office. There are nine of us here. Across from me is the rotating seat, sometimes nervous, really weird, always blinking guy sits there, sometimes it's guy with one arm. Sometimes, on Wednesdays, I think, the really fat girl (yes, they do make fat people here) from the city hall comes in and sits there. I don't know what they do all the time, because the laptop at that desk faces the other way, but it must be difficult, because it takes them all damn day. To my left is Chikahiro-san. He's alright, kind of looks like that nerdy Egyptologist from Stargate, except not at all, because this guy is Japanese. Then across from him, diagonal from me, is Shintaro-san. This guy must weigh about fifty pound, and he kind of looks like a Vulcan. His face is all pointy, and he hides the tops of his ears under his hair. I don't know what he's hiding, but as far as I can tell, he's the youngest person here. I think that's what makes him the office bitch. He's always sweeping up, or cleaning people's desks, or taking out the trash, or something. I offered to help once, but then I remembered I hate helping.

Alright, then we've got another little square of four. Bottom left, we've got Yosuke-san, who is really creepy. I think he's a nice guy, but he's got the crazy facial tic, where he blinks twice, really fast, with both eyes, about every, oh, two seconds. It's impossible to look him in the face, and he just stares at you, blinking. Really freaky. Across from him is Tadahito-san, who is just a dick. Enough said. Next to him is Kuniko-san. She's a woman, and I think she's relatively in charge, because I think the further you get from my desk, the more in charge you are. She's actually the only woman, and though I think she's generally in charge, I think being the only woman also makes her in charge of serving tea, because she does this about twice a day, everyday. Across from her is my actual boss, Tanigawa-san. He's alright. If you know Craig Utz, then this will help you understand him. Imagine if Craig Utz were a tiny Japanese civil servant instead of a large American roofer, and you have the beginning of an idea. He chainsmokes about twelve thousand cigarettes a day, and throughout the day goes between extremely magnanimous and funny to furiously busy and grumpy about as often. Still, he's taken a shine to me, and he makes some good jokes. Or I think so. Did I mention nobody else here speaks English? I probably should have. It makes things very confusing.

Oh yeah, there's one other guy, who sits at the head of office. His name is Something-something-san, and he's everybody's boss. He sweats a lot and never talks to me. Enough said.

So, I sit in this office, where people seem to be conducting a lot of business in Japanese. Did I mention I don't read, write, speak, or understand Japanese? That's probably important. I get here at 8:30. I leave at 5:00. In between, I make flashcards. That takes a couple of hours. I have a lot of flashcards. I read webcomics. That takes up a lot of time too. I go to the grocery store to buy lunch. I eat a lot of sushi and chicken-on-a-stick. That's called yakitori. Sometimes we try to have conversations. It doesn't usually work. Mostly, I just die a little on the inside. But, I have been paid, and they are writing quite a fat check for my competitive webcomic browsing, google chatting, wikipedia reading abilities. Although, perhaps I'm simply being compensated for sitting for eight hours in a room without air conditioning. Did I mention the Japanese don't use air conditioning? They don't. I'm told I can also look forward to them not using heating either. Or insulating houses. This is really a very primitive place. Instead of air conditioning, they've invented a really great device. It's a piece of stiff paper, stretched over a lattice of plastic or wooden spokes, with a handle, that you wave back and forth in front of your face all day. It's the pinnacle of Japanese temperature control technology.

Today is my last full day at this office. Fridays are half days for me, and next week I actually start teaching. I think. Remember, I don't speak Japanese, so these things are a little tentative. But, I'm going to the big city on Saturday. I've got to get some rare things you can't find in Shiiba. A few examples from my list include a cutting board, a butter knife, and a pillowcase. For that I must drive two hours down crazy mountain roads. Then back. And I have to be back on Sunday. At 6:20. In the morning. For Sports Festival Day. Yes. Sports Festival Day. I think I'm going to bring the hurt at tug-of-war.