Firefly in Japan, Part 13: “So you choose the 50,000 yen?” She said, her eyes sparkling.
I was having lunch with the hot secretary. I guess it’s rude to call her that for a long time (although maybe she doesn’t think so). Her name is Moeka. Moeka was a goddess. Every time I was feeling down or upset, or shitty about “the management”, she would know exactly the right thing to say to make me feel brand new, and ready to battle unlimited tirades of bullshit from Bill and Shane.
She actually had a whole bunch of ridiculous experiences with Bill and Shane that really have to be heard to be believed. I’ve been talking with her about writing these experiences down, and she’s excited about the idea. Look out for these over the coming months.
Anyway, I was telling her in detail about what happened with my 50,000 yen pay cut, and about how I was ripped off for overtime. She sat and listened to the entire story patiently and sympathetically, nodding her head and making appropriate pained expressions.
“I’m really sorry to hear that you’re leaving. We’ve been working together for so long now…” She commented softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes.
I looked back at her, and bit my lip in regret. “I feel the same way. It’s really fun to work with you, and really easy to talk with you,” I said, looking into her eyes.
Her phone rang, and she answered it. She perked up, and said “Hello!” in English, with a big smile, and excused herself from the table. I idly wondered who was on the other end of the line. Boyfriend? It can’t be her husband. I vaguely remember her telling me she was separated. Hmmm, I mused, while watching her talk on the phone from a distance. She was smiling and obviously happy. Shame, I thought. “Whats a shame? Grow a sac and get freaky.” commanded devil Firefly.
Devil Firefly vanished in a puff of smoke as she returned to the table, and we resumed our conversation.
“So on your last paycheck, after working so hard for a year, and after doing all that unpaid overtime, you’re still going to be docked 50,000 yen?” She asked.
I frowned. “Well, I haven’t really thought about it, but I suppose that’s right. That is pretty shitty isn’t it.” I said, suddenly irritated again.
She became thoughtful, as though she was cooking up an idea. “You know… SysTech still doesn’t have a whole bunch of insurance for it’s employees.” She said in hushed tones.
“Oh yeah?” I said, not really interested. I was thinking about what I could have bought with my 50,000 yen.
“No no… they still don’t have insurance that the government requires them to have. They’re operating illegally, right now.” She continued.
My interested spiked. “Illegally…?” I repeated.
“Right. So, say for instance, if someone were to… anonymously call the Government, and mention this fact…. they’d be in pretty bad shape. Very bad, since they’ve been illegal for years.” She said.
“Alright,” I said, not really following her. “So how does this help me?”
“Given the choice, would you rather cause serious problems for the company, or would you rather have 50,000 yen?” She asked me seriously, staring into my eyes.
“That’s an odd choice. Of course, I don’t wish any harm on anyone. I wouldn’t want to cause other SysTech Employees to lose their jobs or something,” I said deliberately.
“So you choose the 50,000 yen?” She said, her eyes sparkling.
I laughed despite myself. “Sure,” I said with a big smile on my face. “I’d choose the 50,000 yen.”
“Alright.” Moeka leaned forward, locked eyes with me, and sipped her drink. “I’ll get it for you.”
I laughed. “Oh you’ll just get me 50,000 yen. And how will you do that?” I asked.
“That’s a secret. But it involves the insurance,” She said slyly.
“The insurance? The one that the government makes it mandatory to have?” I asked.
“Exactly. Of course, you can’t really mention the insurance stuff to Shane or Bill, without it looking like blackmail.” She said.
“Right…” I said neutrally.
“But I could.” She said with a wink.
“No, Moeka, come on you can’t do that. I don’t want anyone else to get involved. Especially not you.” I protested weakly.
She waved her hands dismissively. “Don’t worry about that.”
“What exactly are you going to do?” I asked suspiciously.
“Just. Don’t. Worry.” She grinned mischievously, as she slid her chair out and prepared to leave.
I couldn’t help but grin. Her mischievous conspiratorial manner was infectious. I stood up, and followed her to the cashier.