Why I Hate Japan Right Now

Okay, so here's what happened:

I've been looking for an apartment since the end of March. Instead of going through Sakura House (not a good company to deal with) or any of the usual foreigner channels, I took my friend up on his offer to introduce me to his real estate agent, a formidable and wonderful woman who I will refer to as "Ikuko".

Ikuko, my friend "Steve", and I pounded the pavement for a day, and I found a beautiful apartment in Shin-Okubo, which is the Korean part of town. It was within walking distance from Shinjuku and two stops away from my friends in Takadanobaba. In short, perfect.

In the twenty hours between then and my return to the office the next day, the apartment had been rented. Ikuko did some sleuthing and found another unit in the same building- not as good of a view, on a lower floor, and slightly less unique than the original apartment, but still quite good. I decided to snatch it up.

Three days later, Ikukp called me: the owners were "uncomfortable" renting to foreigners. May I reiterate that this place is in the KOREAN part of town?

The search started again. I must have walked all over Tokyo. I even went looking two days before my kidney infection put me in the hospital for a week. I found a new place in Ogikubo: not as great as the one in Shin-Okubo, but still pretty good. Great location. Tatami mats. An affordable 2DK. Nearly everything I wanted.

Ikukp called me two days after I told her I'd take the place: oh, now they need a Japanese emergency contact, instead of Steve (who speaks perfect Japanese). And not just any Japanese emergency contact- a coworker.

Okay.

So, I had one Japanese coworker I felt I knew well enough to ask for this- my friend "Yuka". I asked her and received a fawning affirmative reply within minutes. All right, set to go! Right? Right???

Weird things started happening. Ikuko would call me, looking for Yuka, or call me into the office to talk about how hard it was to reach Yuka. Meanwhile, my moving date got pushed up by several weeks due to my hospitalization. The whole time, Yuka assured me that everything was fine, even though Ikuko kept telling me that Yuka refused to take any calls and had called HER yelling. Apparently, she was offended that she was asked to give my guarantor company such violently personal information such as the name of her hometown and the phone number of our work's head office. I know, I know, it's like being raped, huh?

Yet, we pressed on. I left for Abu Dhabi, assured that everything would be okay. Ikuko hadn't mentioned anything about Yuka in a few days, and we'd gone over all the necessary documents with no mention of hitches, so while I wasn't exactly feeling confident, I was comforted that things might happen properly.

Oh, and I should mention that I canceled my guesthouse contract and set up my moveout date during this time.

I got back into Tokyo and the next day, Ikuko called with great news: she had convinced the management company to accept Steve as my emergency contact, instead of ephemeral Yua. She did say that she had left Yuka's name on the official paperwork just in case she did come through, as Yuka'd be a more conventional and acceptable contact, being Japanese. Okay, I said.

Last Saturday, less than 24 hours before I was to sign the contract and move in, Ikuko called. The housing company had dropped me and refused the contract.

It seems that Yuka had sent them a multiple-page fax detailing her fees for translation and English teaching services, threatening noncompliance if they weren't paid. I'm not entirely sure what she expected to accomplish with that, nor what in hell she could have meant by doing so, but the management company was so offended and so freaked out that they refused to deal with me if it meant dealing with her.

Ikuko left for vacation the next day, and she won't be back until the seventeenth. I lose my right to live in my guesthouse a week after that.

So now, I don't know what to do. The timing is such that I'm fucked for Tokyo City Apartments and Tokyo Rent, since I work twice as much as usual this week.

I am out of time, I don't feel well enough yet to be dealing with any of this, and I'm fucking tired.


Racism is a beautiful thing.

Note: I have not seen the offending faxed materials, nor have I witnessed any of the alleged yelling. I do not claim that either detail is one-sided; I am merely reporting the facts as I know them.