Tales of Grossness

So, I learned something new last night.

When a nice young Japanese man shows you how to get on the absolute last train to take you home, it's apparently standard procedure for his friend to reach out and cup your right tit.

Golly, the culture here sure is fascinating!


My last kids' classes of the year went okay. My last group, which is the rowdiest, actually warmed my cold little heart. Favourite Student got so annoyed with his classmate's whining that he snagged the flashcards from me and started teaching the words to the bratty kid himself. I love that kid.

Don't fuck up in Japan

Seriously, don't. These are some of the things you will have to do for committing a grievous infraction, like being seven minutes late or teaching the wrong part of a lesson first:

1. Write apology letters. In triplicate.

2. Be brought in for an exquisitely torturous scolding.

3. Have to stuff packs of tissues with flyers.

4. Bow a lot, which might fuck up your neck.

Chikan-ery

I was on the train, on my way to work, when he sat down next to me.

He was a bleach-blond Japanese guy, with a protruding jaw and and a typical Uniqlo furry-hooded jacket. I was deeply engrossed in my iPod and book when he tapped me on the arm.

GTA: *sighing, removing earbuds* Hai?

GUY: *inscrutable Japanese*

GTA: Wakarimasen.

GUY: Where you from?

GTA: New York.

GUY: What...you do?

GTA: I'm an English teacher.

GUY: eeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeh?

GTA: Eigo no sensei.

GUY: Ah! High school?

GTA: Iie, eikaiwa no sensei.

GUY: What station you get off?

GTA: *lying* Kichijoji.

GUY: You are Italian?

GTA: Um, no...

Guy performs his mating dance, which consists of bending his fingers backwards in a disturbing fashion. Despite GTA's shrieks of protest, he keeps showing her.

GTA: Okay, okay, I'm impressed! Stop!

GUY: *strokes own fingers* Bone!

GTA: ...yes.

Guy takes GTA's hand and tries to make her replicate his double-jointedness. She demurs, whch is a nice way of syaing "homie don't play that."

Guy is undaunted. He takes his own hand and strokes GTA's cheek reverently.

GTA leaps up, stammers a goobye, and runs the fuck out of the train just as it reaches Kichijoji.

I Fucking Love My Job

Seriously, I do.

Yesterday, I was in Ginza for the fancy-schmancy private lessons. Not only can I check my Facebook from work, but the people are cool, AND I have no supervisor. Hard to hate that.

Today, not only did I meet another teacher who was seriously cool, but I had several awesome lessons. I love it when students get in and just want to talk, instead of having to deal with the dumbass textbooks.

Granted, I'm new, but I am not complaining one little bit.

Children Are Kinky

I didn't even teach a kid's class yesterday, but they managed to amuse (and mildly horrify) me nontheless.

After arriving at work, I sat down to eat my delicious and thoughtfully-prepared konbini sammich when a little boy ran into the teacher's room.

"Hi!" I said brightly. "What's your name?"

He furrowed brow and stared at me, then looked down at my feet. "Purple!" he shrieked, pointing at my suede Jeffrey Campbell thankyouverymuch shoes.

"Good job, that's right! Purple!" I held my hand up. "High five!"

The child declined my offer of a high-five in favour of getting down and licking my left shoe.

I used to know a couple guys who'd pay for that kind of treatment. Why the hell am I working here?

Racism is alive and well

Today's Thanksgiving activity included a colouring page. Along with TG standards such as turkey and sweet potatoes (which the kids, being Japanese, coloured purple), a family was depicted on the page. Your average nice, loving, non-denominational family.

I watched the kids carefully, doing my best to elicit some English words from them. ("What's this? A turkey? YEAH GOOD JOB DUDE HIGH FIVE YOU RULE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!")

One kid grabbed a crayon out of the box and started chuckling to himself. As I glanced at his colouring page, I saw that he'd coloured the family....BROWN. The horror!

As the other kids noticed, they, too, became mired in giggliness. Once the original li'l racist noticed, he switched from a brown to a black crayon, causing the other children to go into leg-kicking paroxysms on hysteria.

Finally, in an attempt to rectify what he clearly viewed as a perversion of reality, the kid started covering up the printed family's ochre/onyx taint with a white crayon.

All this time, I had to resist using a yellow crayon on my own Thanksgiving colouring.

This is why English teachers drink.

What I'm Thankful For

Reading a Thanksgiving story aloud to kids under the age of ten has a few unexpected bonuses. Names have been changed to protect the generally innocent.

GTA: *pointing to pictures in book* Where's the turkey?

GAGGLE OF CHILDREN (GAC): There! There! Turkey! *assorted turkey noises*

GT: Great job! Where's the...corn?

GAC: CORNCORNCORNCORNCORN!!!!
Japanese children love corn. Actually, all of Japan loves corn to a frightening degree, but let's not get into that right now.

GTA: Wow, good job, everyone! Okay...Ken, can you find another food in this picture?

Ken studies the picture solemnly for a minute, before breaking out into a wicked grin. He points to something on the page.

KEN: BABY!

Sure enough, he's touching a smiling baby, who was sitting innocently at the table and totally unaware that it was on the menu.

GTA: What? Babies aren't food!

KEN: Haha, baby!

GTA: Okay, everyone, repeat after me: babies aren't food.

GAC: BABIES AREN'T FOOD!!!!

I'm a good influence, after all.

The Facetiously-Answered Questions! (That's FAQ, people)

Updated when and where I see fit.


When do you start?
November.

Cool; what company do you work for?
I don't think it's a good idea to come out and say that. If my company was really invested in finding this blog, I'm sure they could. I haven't actually started yet, so all I have to say is YAAAAAY FOR [MY COMPANY]!

Fine, loser. Where are you going to be working? Can you at least tell me that?
Kanto.

WHERE in Kanto?
Dunno yet.

GOD!
Well, sor-reeeee.

So, you were an English major? Or Asian Studies?
Physical anthro and history double-major.

Way to use those areas of expertise.
Hey, if someone dies in the apartment next door, I'll be able to figure out how. Then I'll get really famous and have a TV show called "SUPER CRIME-STOP GAIJIN!" where I solve mysteries and then do really inexplicable ads for sandwiches.

Wow, I would totally watch that.
Of course you would.

Was it hard getting the eikaiwa job?
Kind of. There was a lot of preparation involved- I spent hours reading about others peoples' interview experiences and the various "Dos and Don'ts" lists that invariably followed them. A lot of forum-reading and logging in major hours at eslcafe. I also made a really shitty poster about different jobs that may or may not have had a picture of a Nazi on it.

Seriously?
Well, no...it just kind of looked like one.

How many places did you interview at?
In terms of companies, three. In terms of countries, four.

Can you tell me about your interview experience with ______?
I'm only equipped to discuss the details of three major eikaiwa: AEON, ECC, and Berlitz. If you ask about one of them, I can be more specific, but I'll be happy to give general tips to anyone who asks.

I heard this thing about NOVA and--
I know as much about NOVA as any uninformed observer. Please don't ask me about it; all I can do is point you to a handful of helpful articles. I do not teach for them and I don't know anyone who has. This may change once I'm fully entrenched in the eikaiwa world.

What does your blog name mean?
Back in the Dark Ages (1998-9ish) when I actually read manga, one that I liked was Great Teacher Onizuka.

....and?
Sorry, Blogger fucked up. Anyways, the plot of GTO is about a guy who becomes a teacher in order to shag underaged girls, but eventually ends up helping kids instead through his wacky "street" methods. My name is Anna. I felt punny.

So you're gonna nampa.
NO, dammit.

What does "nampa" mean?
Extrapolate from the context.

You're a poop.
Well, I can't argue with that one.

"To die will be a very great adventure." J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

The thing I hear most from other people about this whole "going to Japan to teach English" thing is, "Oh, I wish I could do something like that." Being the persistently-helpful asshole I am, I immediately offer a laundry list of people and companies to contact, only to be met with a whole slew of excuses: need to save money, don't want to break up with my boyfriend, can't abandon my pet goldfish, etc.

Well, there's always a reason not to do something. Me, I only have reasons to go to Japan. Let me explain:

I was born in the US and lived most of my life there, but went to Canada for university. In my second year, my parents decide out of the blue to pack up our shit and move to Abu Dhabi, a fairly esoteric choice. What's a girl to do straight out of school when she can't even flop at Mom and Dad's and work a shitty temp job?

I'm no weeaboo. Sure, I had an anime period when I was in eighth grade or so, but I don't really watch the stuff. I do still listen to J-Rock, but everything I like is hopelessly outdated (I like to pretend Malice Mizer never folded), and every time I hear Gwen Stefani squeal about Harajuku, I feel vaguely ill. I don't speak Japanese. I don't cosplay. I don't even eat fish.

You might very well be asking, then, "why Japan?" Well, Steve- I can call you Steve, can't I?- I love Japanese history and culture. It's fascinating. I have an anthropological interest in sex workers, and Japan is nothing if not a neon candyland of crazy poon. I'm also very interested in geisha. And Shintoism. And trains. And very small trees. And going to the store and buying a small luxury item and having it wrapped in no less than three bags, plus tissue paper. Maybe I'm not the average eikaiwa drone; I don't really know. All I know is that Japan feels right for me, right for now.

I'm leaving for Japan at the end of October, and until that point, I'm in limbo. I figured that, in between puttering around the US-Canada border and selling my old possessions on eBay in order to make beer money, I might as well do something vaguely constructive. Hence, this blog. Vamonos.

Test post

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