Japan's Business Culture is Not Bad . . . Just Soul-Crushingly Different

So on my roughest days, I have crawled home from work, peeled off my sweaty clothes and cried like a baby cracked open a self-help book or two with the objective of learning how to cope with life in the "Land of the Rising Sun." Being that I spend 9 hours of my life at work, 99% of my anxieties are work related. "Realize that nothing about your host country is bad or wrong" the self-help books repeat, "just different." This advice is perfect. It's fair, it's logical and it's the truth. "Just different" I imagine a soothing voice saying. "It's just different," I repeat to myself.

This line of reasoning has gotten me over quite a few "Japanese-life" hurdles . . . except one. And that, dear reader, would be anything workplace related. That is where my feeble American brain shuts down and the only thought that escapes is "This is crazy!" Now I'm not bashing Japan and I'm also not saying that everyone's situation is like mine. But this is my blog and I can only tell you about the world that I see.

So when it comes to the "business end" of Japan, things get a little . . . (how do you say?) . . . tight. Pun intended.

THE most important thing to realize is that hierarchy is EVERYTHING. One of the first things that I was handed when I started my job was a notebook. On the first page of this notebook was a list of everyone who worked for the company and their respective titles. The president's name and title was first, followed by the vice president and so on and so forth. Near the bottom of the list the names started to disappear and there were only titles. And gracing the edge of the paper, at the very bottom, the lowest position on the list was that of the Native English Teacher. Of course, at the time that I received this notebook, the symbolism was lost on me. I suppose if they'd have straight out told me that this was a totem pole and that I was at the bottom, it would not have been very appealing. Especially with my coming from the United States, a country where everyone wants to believe that they are special. (Ahh . . . Silly Ahmellicans)

In America they give "the little people" incentives to make them feel special. Gold stars to wear on their name tags, employee of the month posters to display, $50 gift certificates to Best Buy or the Olive Garden. "You can call me Bill!" you're friendly American manager might say on your first day of work in order to give off a more "friendly" and "personal" vibe. Followed by, "We're all like a family here." (Which, by the way, is the kiss of death for any job and means you should probably run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.)

Which reminds me of a story. When I was on my way to meet my manager for the first time, I was flustered because I realized that I'd forgotten her name. I sat on the train, purging my memory for any detail I could remember. Finally, when I met her, I gave up.

"I'm sorry, but may I have your name again?" I said apologetically.

"Oh! No name . . . you call me manager," she said.

I remember it taking a while for this to digest. (Feeble American brain, remember?) Regardless, "Manager" is what I call her among many other things. Later on, though, I learned that in Japan employees are called by their titles and not their names. This is kind of a constant reminder of where you stand in the grand scheme of things. You are never to forget your position. You're position is prevalent in every interaction and it means everything.

Anywho, along with this whole "title" and "hierarchy" business, there's the business of decision making. And I'm definitely not knocking the Japanese way of getting things done (because it works for them), but seeing things from this side of the fence really sheds some light on how America and Japan differ when it comes to making decisions.

Okay, I'll just get right to it. In Japan's business culture (meaning my job), everything takes time. A very lonnnng time. The process to grant a vacation request takes so long that sometimes you are still waiting for approval 2 months later, while you are on vacation. And it's not because everyone is just sitting around twiddling their thumbs. The problem difference lies in the fact that when it comes to getting something done, as a friend of mine would put it, "Japan's got more hoops than the circus."

At my job there are 4 or more higher ups that must approve every decision. Book requests, vacation requests, sick day requests, etc. And often times, these people are very . . . particular. They want you to fill out a request, several months in advance and then submit it to your manager. Your manager must then add her 2 cents to the request as to whether she approves of your plan. Then up the steps of hierarchy your request goes, sometimes getting knocked all the way back down, meaning you have to resubmit and start all over again. You can track the process online and I swear, sometimes it's like watching a bill become a law.

One day, I thought I was doing the company a favor by insisting that two of my students purchase a certain book as supplemental material for their lessons. Being that I decided against using a book from an outside publisher, so that the company would profit from selling one of their own books, I thought that I would get some "brownie points." But instead, I got just the opposite.

"Are you sure this is something you want to do?" my manager asked, with a little more intensity than I thought the situation called for.

Me: Umm, yeah. (confused face . . . as usual)

Her: (Deep sigh and walks away)

Apparently she had to submit a bunch of requests to get this decision to go through. And considering that along with the sale of these two books, there was a possibility that the company would have to purchase one (yes, just one) teacher's manual to go with it, well . . . this was what dragged the situation out for 2 straight months. My manager tried to explain to me that it was too much trouble, but I just didn't get it. I couldn't understand why they would make such a big deal out of a couple students deciding to buy some of their books. Yeah, they would have to buy a teacher's manual for me, but they'd still be making a profit. I've seen them sell books before. They'd even told us to push students to buy books that month. So here I was, doing just that, and I was getting dragged through the mud. Regardless, the decision was finally decided in my favor when the company realized that there was no teacher's manual for the book that I was requesting. I guess they forgot to check in the first place.

Either way this leads to something else. The "no" factor. Now this may just be my truth, but at my job, I've noticed that every request is given a "no!" before it is granted. And it used to bother me, but now I just realize that "no" is more of a reaction than an answer. It's more like, "You want what?! . . . NO! . . . wait, what did you want again?" Kind of like a grumpy old man who thinks that everyone's trying to get over on him.

Regardless, it takes patience and a quiet strength to get through the day sometimes and this is something that, I'm sorry to say, I have to work on. I've never realized how quick and impulsive America is. And as an American, I've always prided myself on my ability to (as it says on my resume) "assess a situation and react accordingly," or "my determination to be goal-oriented" and "results driven." But here in Japan, that's not a selling point. It's not about the results, so much as the long, strenuous, agonizing process. If your superior has reason to believe that you are not respecting the process (in other words, if you're making it look easy), they don't care what the results are . . . they will shut you down with the quickness.

Now there are some jobs in America where the people are like this. For example, every office has that person who walks around looking like they are going to have a heart attack. You know, the "oh-my-god-my-life-is-so-hard-why-god-oh-why-do-I-have-to-bear-the-weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders-every-single-day-'do-you-need-help?-"no, because-only-I-know-how-to-do-this-and-you-wouldn't-understand-it-even-if-I-explained-it-to-you" person.

Well, that's how most of the managers are at my specific company and if you think you are going to mosey on up to them and nonchalantly get something done, your casual-ness might come off as reason to get a quick "no" because well, you're not respecting the process which is "complicated-and-oh-my-god-what-do-you-think-you-can-just-come-to-this-country-and-get-anything-you-want-you-silly-American-things-take-time-and-work-and-seriousness-and-you'd-better-just-wait-a-minute-what-did-you-want-again?"

I say all of this to say that casualness is the kiss of death in the Japanese workplace.

So, about me. I've been working for a Japanese company for 5 and a half months now. My routine is not perfect, but it's stable. I wake up every morning, make and eat breakfast, read a few bible passages, make a feeble attempt to clean or do something useful but just end up on Skype chatting to my friends and family, I turn on my favorite dvd full of music videos (a REALLY thoughtful gift that I got from a friend) dance around in the living room for a while, get dressed and then admire myself in the mirror for a few minutes. I am a tall, lean, caramel complexioned Black woman wearing a dark suit, a silk blouse and heels. My makeup is done and I like to wear my dread-locked hair in an elegant up-do. I don't look like I am going to a job that requires me to crawl around on the floor with 2 and 5 year old babies. I don't feel like I am ready to listen to some overweight 11 year old with spiky hair attempt to be sarcastic to me in broken English. I don't look "child-friendly" and I don't feel "child-friendly." But this is the costume of a working person in Japan. So I tell myself, "it's just different" and I hop onto my bicycle and ride past other souls, who are also going to their daily grind. These brick-faced individuals, all wearing the same kind of dark suits, look like Japanese versions of me. No more thrilled to be going to work than I am. We all blend together like a swarm of black bumble bees, collectively charging toward our prison cell to be held captive for 9 or 10 hours. The whole time I ride to work, I am blasting my iPod at full volume, purging all of the happiness and rhythm that one can muster from a Luther Vandross song.

" . . . who needs to go to work to hustle for another dollar.

I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holla! . . . "

When I arrive at work, the music stops. I hop off of my bicycle and prepare for the (as I like to call it) "9 hours of silence." I teach English during this time and run around with "the midgets," make small talk with my adult students and just try to look as busy as possible. My interactions with my coworkers are pleasant but limited. There's something about the environment that sucks the life out of everything, I don't know whether it's my business suit, or the fact that no one understands "natural" English or that it's always too hot or too cold in the lobby but gradually my desire to converse at work diminishes and I am left with the feeling of introspection. And honestly, I don't mind this at all. Actually, I think this is something that I probably needed to work on anyway. It feels like a bootleg version of meditation. (Maybe one day I'll work my way up to real meditation.)

During these moments, I look around and take in my environment. I listen to the conversations that I hear from the parents as they gossip in the lobby. I watch the way the Japanese teachers plug away at whatever project they are working on. I watch my poor manager run around the lobby looking worried and smiling desperately at children. I wonder what kind of lives other Japanese "business-people" are living and if this is how they imagined they would spend the majority of their lives. At work for ten to twelve hours a day. My meditations have lead me to believe that "work" is a kind of religion in Japan. The purpose for life. Sometimes, I look at the children running around in the lobby, playing with hand held video games and cell phones and wonder if they are ready to worship at the shrine of corporate industry. And then I decide that I don't feel sorry for these children because they don't know any other way. Just like my boss and my coworkers. This is their way of life. As my Japanese coworker said, defensively, (after I told her that I don't like spending so much time at my job), "Life isn't about having fun!" My initial thought was, "It isn't?" but I guess that's just a reflection of American culture. Here in the U.S. we judge a person's success by how much leisure time they have, while in Japan it seems (in my opinion) that a person's success is judged by how much they work. So here I am complaining about something that any other Japanese person would (maybe) feel blessed to have. Eh, either way . . . these are the thoughts that run through my mind during my 9 hours of silence.

. . . just different.

So at the end of the day, I hop onto my bicycle and the music commences.

". . . Oh my love!

A thousand kisses from you is never too muuuuch"

Pictures

With how much I write, I don't think I post enough pictures. So in order to satisfy your insatiable desire for voyeurism . . . here's more pictures and less words.

My Hood

This is the apartment building that I live in. Good ole' Hime Tifany. Strange, all of this time I never noticed the sign in Romaji letters.

The view of my apartment from the front (or back - I don't really know which one it is. I just know that this is where I come in and go out.) I live on the second floor.

I ride down this little street every day.

This is where I park my "ride." Mine's the black one with the blue umbrella.

The creepy graveyard I have to pass by every night on my way home from work.

The driving course next door.

The main road off of my street.

A woman doing some gardening alongside the river stream gutter I don't know what it is.

The Family Mart around the corner.

The grocery store across the street from me. It's called "Co-op." Thank God for this place.

"Sir Barks A Lot" - The annoying dog in front of my apartment.

Yours truly. (I know it's blurry, but I like how brown my locs look in this picture.)

I found heaven an art store.

Visiting Bob

This guy is one of my dearest friends from High School (and one of the reasons that I came out to live in Japan in the first place.) So yeah . . . he's kind of a big deal.

I thought his living room was really cute, so I took a picture.

After trying to catch up on the past 6 years and reliving High School memories, I crashed on his futon/couch for the night.

Bob had gone to work when I woke up, but left out some coffee, cereal and this nice little note.

. . . now that's a real friend!

When I saw the "New Jersey" postcard on Bob's refrigerator, I got a little nostalgic.

A store with a very strange name.

Taking a "Me Day," visiting the local Art Museum.

Summer Festival

Strange girls at the festival who were not shy about posing for this picture.

I've seen quite a few of these kinds of ladies out here.

A Few of my Favorite Things

I caught "the cooking bug" a little before I moved out to Japan. Occasionally (despite a long day of work), I'll go home and whip up a meal. On this particular night I made spaghetti.

My kitchen is microscopic as you can see.

Every week, I have dinner with the wonderful people from my congregation.

And they. can. COOK!!!

A sister from my congregation was kind enough to bake this for me.

It's like a huge loaf of chocolate chip bread, but they were calling it a "pancake."

I'm addicted to reading and eating kakigori (shaved ice).

Every other day I go to the same Udon noodle place and order dinner and kakigori as dessert. The people get a kick out seeing me so much, but they know I'm a good customer and are always very kind.

I have wonderful friends and family who send me all kinds of awesome goodies. This is the first of many boxes I would receive.

I received some flowers from home the other day.

More pics to come . . .

The Good, the Bad and the Chubby (7 - 9 year olds)

My mother (who is one of the wisest women I know) once told me that by the age of 6 years old, a person's character is pretty much cemented and the only thing you can do beyond that point is damage control. After four months of teaching 7 year olds, I see EXACTLY what she means. Actually, it didn't take a full four months. After about one month, I knew which classes to walk into and actually try to teach a lesson or the ones to walk into, throw a pack of UNO cards at the little savages, go into a corner and pray for God's kingdom to come.

To further elaborate on my mother's theory, it seems that beyond this age, certain learned behaviors are hard to break. (And for the record, I'm not saying it's impossible . . . just really, really, really, really, really . . . Really, REALLY hard.) The fission between the mindset of a five year old and a seven year old is pretty grand canyon-like when you get to experience it. After teaching a class with malleable five year olds where all I have to do is give an angry look or a dramatic gesture and I have instant obedience from even the roughest kid in the class, to my seven year olds where I have to literally smash a glass bottle against the whiteboard and tattoo my own face just to get eye contact . . . well, it makes me wonder what could have possibly happened within a one year period to make these seven year olds so rigid (and brave).

All right, enough with the introduction . . . I'll just get right to it. The classes with this age group aren't all bad (but most of them are.) I teach about 11 students between the ages of 7 and 9 years old and only four of these students are not absolutely dreadful. On one particular day, I have 3 of these classes. That is the day I will focus on.

It all starts with Sonny and Cher. (That's my nickname for the first duo). The boy, 9, is tiny and resembles a monkey. (He also screams and throws things like a monkey too. "Eeeh! Eeeeeh!") The girl, 8, is rather large (even by American standards). She has long, flowing hair and giggles a lot. I don't know who dresses her, but she always comes to school wearing skirts that (in my humble opinion) are a little too short.

I walk into the classroom and the kids are already running around, the tiny boy talking a mile a minute and the big girl following behind him squealing and giggling. I used to spend most of the class trying to get them to sit down and pay attention but most times, I was unsuccessful. (Until I found the secret, but I'll get into that later.) Anywho, Cher is always easier to teach than Sonny. (Sonny is a lost cause - loud, obnoxious, and just plain crazy.) Cher, however, is madly in love with Sonny (as she once told me during a particularly interesting - yet strange - conversation we had when Sonny was absent.) So she pretty much follows him around and does whatever he does.

One day, when Sonny was late, I was shooting the breeze with Cher. I was secretly, praying that Sonny was absent but lo and behold, I see the door open and the small strange looking boy swaggers into the classroom and swings his bookbag around, placing it on the desk.

"Hello, Sonny!" I muster up, with false enthusiasm.

"Hello $%&!" he says, his face expressionless. (I don't know what he called me, but I'm sure it wasn't Most Honorable Sensei). He opens his bag and pulls out a foam gun. And almost like clockwork, like they're on an assembly line, he hands Cher the gun and before I can say "Don't shoot!" (which I tried) I had a foam arrow hitting my head. And for a split second, I thought to myself, "If that were a gun, I would have been dead." Either way, these are my students for a full hour. A full hour of running and threatening and anger, and head shaking and finger waving. By the end of the class, I always have a headache. And then they walk out of the room chirping "Goodbye!" and four 7 year olds walk into the room without even saying "hello!"

This class, I like to call "Our Gang." All of the children are small and chubby but they are not cute because they each have their own level of badness and they are indeed a little gang. First, there's the one with the ring worms all over his body. (He's Sonny's little brother by the way). I get no "hello" from him. Just a quick "breast squeeze." That's right! He walks into the class with his hands cupped, skips the pleasantries and goes straight for my breasts. I used to fight it, but I found out the hard way that when I attempt to cover the top half of my body, his hands just find another inappropriate place to grope. So that's "Chester."

Next, is "Boogers." (I think you can deduct why he has that nickname.) His entrance is not so dramatic. Actually, besides the constant booger eating and classroom roaming, he's not so bad.

The next kid is "Brain." He's the most devious of the gang operation but he's also just 7 years old so there's but so much rebellion he can pull off (and he's also addicted to stickers). He's like the big head mouse on Pinky and the Brain . . . super smart, but still just a mouse.

And then there's "trailer boy." I call him this because he has a buzz cut, missing teeth and always wears a white tank-top shirt and torn up jeans. Of course, with the "no shoes" policy in Japan, he walks around barefoot and the only thing missing is a Budweiser in his hand. While I find this hilarious and adorable . . . he's still, pretty bad and fits right in with the rest of the gang. Although to his credit, he and Boogers are the easiest to manipulate . . . ahem . . . I mean, handle.

So all four of them walk into the classroom and act like maniacs. Screaming, hanging from the curtains, hitting the walls and fighting each other, picking up tables standing on the chairs, etc. It's amazing. Generally, it's Chester and Trailer Boy doing the non-stop screaming and talking, Boogers is pulling the tables apart and Brain is deliberately keeping the madness going by helping Boogers to pull apart the tables and punching Chester over and over again.

"Everyone sit down!" I yell again and again. The rhythm of my screams of "sit down" travel throughout the classroom like background music. Sometimes I'll hear the students repeat it like a song. I can tell it means nothing to them. Like "yes, yes . . . sit down. Why do you always say these crazy things you big silly?" Occasionally I'll catch Brain stealing glimpses at me to see if I've given up. (He's the only one that actually does this. That's how I can tell he's misbehaving on purpose.) Sadly, one day I did give up. I sat down and began to rub my throbbing head. At that moment, I looked up and saw an expression of satisfaction on Brain's face. This must have been the motivation I needed because I stood up and started grabbing bodies and throwing them into chairs, Nanny 911 style.

"Sit down, sit down, sit down" I said until everyone was in a seat, looking scared and confused. I turned and looked at Brain's face. He was not happy.

It took me three months to figure that class out. Actually, it happened by accident. I made up some worksheets for them to work on for a supplementary lesson and when I saw how consumed they were with getting the work done, I realized that I'd been going about things all wrong. This class wasn't begging for activities and physical games which is what I had been brainwashed to believe originally thought. "The native speaker's class is supposed to be fuuuun," I was always told. But I noticed that the more "fun" the lesson was, the less the students took me seriously. So I gave them what they wanted from a real "Sensei." Actual work. And oddly enough, they go nuts for it. As soon as I pull out the pamphlets they say a collective, "Yaaayyyy!!!", snatch the papers out of my hand, bury their little faces into the page and write so hard that I can hear the pencils scratching and digging into the paper. I wish that I could say that all I hear from that point on is mouth breathing - like with my 5 year olds - but no, these kids like to sing songs and talk. On one particularly rough day (before I got my routine rock solid), I heard a conversation that went something like this . . .

Boogers - She's being mean today.

Brain - Yeah (pause) Where's she from again?

Trailer Boy - Wazu Land I think.

I'm not going to lie, that made me a little angry. But on second thought, I got a good laugh off of it after telling some friends and family.

I wish I could say that the students walk out of the class, but they don't. As soon as the clock hits 4:50, I break the heck out ( . . . like I have the chicken pox). You should see the expression of confusion on the students' faces.

Two classes later, I have my last student in this age group and she. is. an. angel. She walks into my classroom after hugging her mommy extra tight, and proceeds to undo all of the anger and frustration brought on by the other students in her age group. I'll call her "Hope."

Hope is the most adorable, tiny little girl with one missing tooth up front and straggly hair that she's always brushing out of her face, despite the fact that it's always tied up extra tight. Her class is everything I thought teaching her age group would and should be. We play the same games that I used to attempt with the other classes. I give her the privileges that I used to attempt to offer my other students. We laugh and make jokes. We draw pictures and write on the board. I even let her play "Angry Birds" on my iPad. (Now that's love!) She's everything that I remember about being 7 years old. Wanting to do well in school. Excited to be able to play games with my teacher, but never losing sight of the fact that a teacher is in fact an authority figure. She's truly a blessing to teach at the end of a long day. She's like God's little reminder that all children aren't bad and that when I start to think horrible thoughts about these children (which, I'm not going to lie . . . I do) at the end of the day, there's always Hope.