Storylog

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

“Connection Successful. You may now share information between domains.” My cursor wavered over the “Ok” button.

Bill and I both looked at each other. He blinked, and coughed. “Hmm. Not bad.” He said suspiciously.

“Not bad?” I queried.

“Pretty good.” He said.

I beamed.

After I managed to fix that problem, he set me a list of other tasks to do. I went around happily working through my tasks, with a really good feeling about what I just managed to do on the server. The kind of feeling you get when you just know that something good is coming your way.

As I was working through my list, I occasionally made an idiot out of myself by trying to communicate in Japanese. This particular company housed a number of very impatient and “strong willed” individuals, who in hindsight were not going to be the most appropriate Japanese teachers.

I went up to one office lady, swallowed, and dove in with my best Japanese.

“sumasen, chodo jiakan aru ka?” A best rough translation would be something like “sscuse me do you have just right time, huh?”

She looked at me. I looked back expectantly.

“What?” She said in hard English.

“Oh, um, I just wanted to know if you had some time, because, I need to look at your…” I replied in English.

“Was that Japanese?” She pointedly asked.

“Yeah. Well, um, it was supposed to be…” I started.

She cut me off again. “It was terrible.” She said, her lip curling up slightly. “In the future, you should say ‘sumimasen, chotto computer wo haiken shitemo yoroshii desu ka?’” Her clear polite Japanese bounced right off my head.

“Right! Thanks. Uhh…. sumiashen, uuhhhh,” I desperately tried to copy her.

“Forget it, I don’t have time for this. Just get on the computer. And HURRY UP.” She said, throwing down a file and walking off to presumably go make herself a coffee.

As concealed as possible, I peered around the office to see if anyone else witnessed my harsh Japanese lesson. Well, anyone who might report it back to Bill anyway. Everyones head was down, working busily. I guess I’m alright.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, which turned into a feeling of intense pressure as the office lady came back with her coffee and stood over me at the computer, clearly waiting for me to finish. She started tapping her foot.

“Um, chodo mati kudas sai” I said. (pleash waitashecond)

She exhaled through her teeth, and shook her head. I waited for my next Japanese lesson, but it appeared as though she’d given up already. I finished up my work and quickly moved on.

I noticed that I had worked through everything on the list. I looked at my watch, only 11:45, just before lunch. Great. I bet Bill will be happy everything was done so quickly.

I returned to the server room with my list of tasks, each one ticked off.

“Hi Bill, I finished all of my tasks.” I said proudly as I handed him the sheet of paper.

He pulled his attention away from the server, and looked down at the paper. His face twisted up. “That was supposed to take you all day. Shit, why’d you finish it so quickly?”

“Oh, I, um, ” I stammered, not having a good answer to the question.

“Hm. Don’t worry about it, I guess. Just go back and see if anyone is having problems and try to fix it.” Bill pointed at the door.

I turned and walked out, feeling a bit depressed. That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, after completing a days work in an hour and a half. Hm.

I wandered around the floors, getting to know the office and the people that worked there. Without the pressure of having a list to go through, I talked to many more people who were much more friendly and warm than the initial user. I managed to fix many problems, made some friends along the way. Three people had offered to make me a cup of tea or coffee for the work I performed. “What a nice place,” I thought to myself. “I could definitely spend more time here.”

In that office in central Tokyo, being able to offer my skills to help fix problems for people was very satisfying and enjoyable for me in a way thats hard to explain. Maybe it was because I felt my karma bank balance growing – if I help enough people, surely I’ll get a job! Or maybe it was the feeling of somehow knowing I was on the right track. That at this point in my life, being there, and doing that work was EXACTLY what I was supposed to be doing.

In any case, I knew things were out of my hands now. I just had to be friendly, do the best work I could and let the chips fall where they may.

Soon, it was nearing 6:30pm, and things were winding up. I had gone around fixing many problems, and people were talking about me very positively. Bill even happened to come down while I was having a friendly chat to one of the company’s directors, as I fixed a problem that had been bugging him for weeks. All in all, a very good day. Bill called me over for a moment.

“Hey. I was watching you today. You did a pretty good job.” He praised me.

I beamed again. “Thanks, Bill.”

“So, do you want a job or something?” Bill asked, remarkably offhandedly.

I cocked my head slightly, the words not sinking in.

“A job. Do you want one?” He repeated, loudly.

“Yes, that would be nice.” I politely smiled, and internally did a 20 step gymnastic routine.

“Ok. Why don’t you talk to Shane about the details. Drop by the office tomorrow morning.” Bill said, turning away to collect his equipment.

I stood there. I could feel the whole world revolving around me. This was a major turning point in my life. Then I thought, actually hang on, what about salary? Benefits? Holidays? Hm, I mused. Maybe I’m not out of the woods just yet. I guess Shane will give me the details tomorrow

I collected my things and Bill gave me a lift to the station.

“You did a good job today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, as he dropped me off. I nodded, smiled, and walked down into the station.

On the trip back I was thinking in detail about the kind of salary and job I could expect. I came over to Japan to study Martial Arts – if I don’t have enough time and money to go to class, the whole thing is almost pointless. I frowned as I sat on the train. I’ll have to work everything out. I’ll need to make… a budget. How much will everything cost? How much will I need to survive?

I returned back home, and got out a notebook, and started listing everything that cost me money in Japan. How much would I need to pay my rent, go to martial arts, have a small amount of spending money, pay my mobile phone bill so my family can call me, buy some clothes, pay back my friends, buy enough food, essentially, how much would I need to scrape by and survive in Tokyo.

After calculating everything, I came up with a monthly figure. 314,000 yen per month.

I lied down on my futon and stretched out. I opened the window, and the warm Tokyo air spilled into my room. I went to sleep with the number 314,000 yen floating around my head.

I woke up the next day. The guy down the hall wouldn’t loan me his suit. Shit. I put on my best “casual” gear, hoping it wouldn’t matter since I’d already gotten a verbal job offer.

I made my way to the office. I walked through the door at 9:15 to give the 9am people a chance to settle in.

Shane came over to greet me, and I noticed his eyes squinting as he critically looked me up and down.

“No suit today?” He said.

“Uh, right. It’s in the wash.” I lied.

Shane raised his eyebrows and led me to a small meeting room.

“I spoke to Bill last night, and we’re ready to make you an offer.” Shane said with a smile.

My eyes widened slightly. “Thats very good news, ” I said. 314,000 yen. 314,000 yen.

“Looking at your skill and experience, we’ve come to a number and a package we think is reasonable.” Shane continued.

314,000 yen. Thats all I needed. Thats a very reasonable salary for a Foreign Tokyo IT worker. They’re an established company, I’m sure they’ll offer at least that. Just 314,000 yen.

“Your starting monthly salary will be… ” Shane said. Time froze.

314,000 yen. 314,000 yen. 314,000 yen. 314,000 yen. 314,000 yen. 314,000 yen.

“270,000 yen.” Shane said. The weight of his statement slammed into me, leaving me stunned.

Without at least 314,000 yen, there’s almost no point to being in Japan. I won’t be able to do what I came for, I sadly realised. I might even have to work extra hours. How can this be happening.

Shane looked at me, trying to gauge my response. “Does that seem reasonable?” He asked.

“Well, um, I very much appreciate the job offer,” I sighed in disappointment, but tried to stay bright. “So that means that I’ll get 270,000 yen in my bank account every month, right?”

“Actually, after various taxes, the real number is probably closer to 240,000 yen.” Shane said.

240,000 yen. What did I do to deserve this? I thought in emotional turmoil. That wasn’t even a fair offer. I had to pay 68,000 yen just in rent. Before I do anything, I’m down to 172,000 yen. Which doesn’t go very far in Tokyo at all.

I sat in silence for a moment. An intense feeling of sadness washed across my face. I bit my lip.

“Thank you very much for the offer. I’ll think about it, and let you know.” I said, as I began to put on my jacket.

Shane looked surprised, as though he was expecting me to accept on the spot. “Sure. Have a think about it, and give me a call.”

I nodded, smiled, and walked out of the office, feeling lost and alone.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

I jerked awake. I groaned and made a grab for the phone, which was lost somewhere in the covers. I swore as I fumbled about in an early morning haze. After 10 seconds of ringing, right before voicemail, I managed to pick up the call.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hello is this Firefly?” Came a vaguely familiar voice. A moment later, I recognised him as Shane.

“Yes, this is Firefly.”

“This is Shane. Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday. Bill was really tired.” Bill? Oh the president. He was tired? Pfft. Poor bastard, I thought sarcastically.

“Uhm, no problem. Sure.” I crammed down a wave of annoyance.

“Well I’m calling because we might need your help today. We have an important project at a client site today. Are you busy?” Shane asked.

I woke up fast.

“Sure, I have some time today,” I said. I felt a shimmer of excitement, but mostly a sense of resignation after all the recent events. I’d put in so much work, and I’ve had so many let-downs. Whats going to be different about this opportunity. I sighed to myself. Come on, lets give it a good shot at least. If I’m going down, it’ll be in a blazing fire of glory.

“Can you be at Kamiyacho station at 9:00am?” He asked.

“Hang on,” I looked down at my watch. 8:43am. Oh, shit. “Um, can we make it 9:30am? I’m not sure I can make it.”

“Sorry, you have to be there at 9am. Thats when Bill will be coming past the station. If you want a chance, thats the best I can offer you.” Shane said apologetically.

17 minutes?! To borrow a suit, iron a shirt, brush my teeth, have some food(scratch that, no time for food), pack my bag, get to the station, and then go to Kamiyacho? The trip from Tsukiji to Kamiyacho takes 11 minutes, and thats not including waiting for the train. HOLY SHIT. This is it. I began to scramble around for my things as I talked to Shane.

“Uh, alright! 9am. I’ll do my very best to be there. Thanks very much! See you soon, goodbye,” I said with the phone wedged between my shoulder and ear, as I ran about my tiny apartment.

“Ok. See you later.” Shane said, and hung up.

I continued running about. My heart beat faster, I broke into a light sweat, and things slowed down slightly as my body helpfully provided me with a shot of adrenaline. I was simultaneously doing 5 things at once for a few minutes, and then ran out in my boxers and banged on my “friends” door.

“Hey man, open up. I need to borrow your suit again.” I bounced from foot to foot.

“FUCK OFF.” He said.

“Come on you bastard, I need it. Hurry up. Come on.” My voice raised an octave or two as the time ticked away.

“Look, you Australian mooching prick, this is the last time. Do you get it?” He said gruffly.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Come on, open up.”

He flung the door open and threw the unwashed suit at me. I caught it, paused, and looked at it before gingerly sniffing it.

“Take it or leave it. Preferably fucking leave it.” He deadpanned.

“No, it’s fine. It’s great. Thanks man, I owe you big time,” I said as I jumped about the hallway pulling on the pant legs. I picked up my bag, and ran off at top speed with the shirt flapping open. I ran down into the station, and out of luck, managed to get straight onto the train going to Kamiyacho with no waiting time. The doors closed, and I stood on the train, in front of tens of horrified Japanese. I looked down, and realised my shirt was completely open. Oops. I turned to face the wall and buttoned up. I had 11 minutes to cool down before the doors opened at Kamiyacho, and I bounded out from the station. I got up onto street level, and checked my watch. 9:03am. Oh shit. I hope he hasn’t left.

Shock set in. He might have left already. I started sweating more. I stood there, looking as together as I could. I rested my bag on the ground, and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked terrible. I tried to fix my hair with my hands, and adjust my suit to be as clean cut and neat as possible. I looked at my watch.

9:07am. I gulped.

I looked at my phone.

Full reception. No missed calls. No emails. No voicemail messages.

I bet he’s left. Bastard. Unbelievable. I waited 2 hours for him. He couldn’t wait 3 minutes?! I considered calling the office.

9:10am.

My stomach grumbled. Hungry.

9:15am.

I snapped. I called the office.

“Hello, can I please speak to Shane.” I asked.

“One moment please,” someone said. Music. I stood, sweating and shell-shocked in front of Kamiyacho station. Music. “I’m sorry, Shane is not available right now. Can I take a message?”

“Please ask him to call me. Thanks,” I said, hanging up.

I continued to wait. I reflected on the fact I’ve been doing a lot of waiting recently.

I don’t mind waiting normally. It gives me time to think, imagine, come up with new ideas, work on problems. However, every moment I was waiting, was one less second I could spend working on a way to stay in Japan. A bead of sweat ran down my face. I impatiently wiped it away.

At 9:30am, a car pulled up in front of me. The occupant reached across, and opened the door. I looked down, and recognised Bill from last night. Bill?! He’s LATE?! I was simultaneously intensely relieved that he came, and extremely irritated he kept me waiting AGAIN.

I got into the car.

“Hi there. Sorry I’m late. Crazy morning. Sorry about last night too, eh. I had been working for 20 hours straight and I was totally spaced out.” He said, as he pulled into the Tokyo traffic.

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t really accept his apology. I suppose he’s not to blame for all the other crap I went through. Cheer up a bit, why don’t you. “Don’t worry about it.” I said, finally.

He brightened up a bit. “So, you just got here huh? How are you finding it so far?” He asked, excitedly.

“So far?” I reflected back on my experiences. “It’s been…. pretty crazy.”

“Isn’t it?!! Tokyo is a crazy place. It’s totally nuts. Most of the people are crazy too. Look at that old guy over there.” He pointed out an old Japanese guy with white hair walking slowly down the street. “He’s totally crazy. But the weird thing is, if you put him in a foreign country, after a few years, he’ll be normal!!” He said quickly with a big smile on his face. “Hm, actually, maybe not him. But most Japanese people, anyway. You take them out of the Japanese box, and they can see the system for what it really is. Bullshit.”

I nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable. I wondered what he meant by ‘the system’. He continued to brief me on his views on Japanese society.

We arrived at the clients, and we went upstairs. I was treated to a brief glimpse of tens of people working in an office. It felt good to be inside a company. I could feel the hum of commerce, and I felt incrementally closer to getting a job and staying in Japan.

We continued upstairs, and we walked into a server room. The hum of server fans and the slightly warmer air greeted me as I walked over. Bill’s face blanked out, and he walked over to the servers and started working. I peered over his shoulder, and tried to get an idea of what was going on.

“Hmmmmmm”, Bill hmmed.

I stood there, trying to look helpful. Which is quite hard to do, when you’re not doing anything, and you don’t have anything to do. Bill continued working in silence for about 25 minutes.

“Whats with this stupid error,” Bill said under his breath. I got a glimpse of the error before he clicked it away.

“Should I, um, do anything? Can I help you somehow?” I asked him, thinking about the error I just saw.

“Nah, you can’t do anything. Just wait a minute. I have to fix this first. This is what kept me up yesterday – this goddamn error. Piece of shit, I don’t get it. It worked fine on a different machine.” Bill was barely concentrating on what he was saying. “I did some research and I thought this would fix it. But it didn’t, ” he growled, as his focus returned to the server.

I saw a spare computer in another corner of the server room. “Um, excuse me,” I started. I gulped as he looked at me with fierce irritation, but pushed myself to continue. “Do you mind if I use that computer over there for a bit?”

“That computer? Uh, yeah whatever sure.” He said with obvious impatience. He jogged over and put in a username and password and logged me in, then promptly returned to the server. I walked over, took off my jacket, and once again rolled up my sleeves, as I dived into Google. The mouse cursor shot about the screen as I ran some initial keywords and the error message. 5,000 pages popped up. I narrowed it down. 4,000 pages. I added the type of server and hardware. 1,200 pages. I added some more keywords relevant to the problem. I continued narrowing down the search piece by piece. Finally, I came across a page where someone talked about a possible solution, and gave me a couple more keyboards to work with. I ran those with my original search. After 10 minutes of intense googling, I had a possible solution.

I looked at Bill. I could tell he was going to be irritated by my interruption. I interrupted him.

“Um… Bill?” I ventured.

He whipped around again and looked at me. The irritation was turning into anger. Uhoh. “WHAT.”

“I’ve.. found something… I’m not sure if it’ll help but, um, why don’t you give it a shot.” I nervously showed him the results of my research. His eyes narrowed.

“I tried that.” He snapped.

“Um, I’m sorry, but I think you tried something a bit different. Can I have a shot at it?” I asked.

He stood in front of the server guarding it like a leprechaun guards a pot of gold. “You can watch what I do,” I said in an effort to be re-assuring.

He slowly moved aside. “….alright..” he said hesitantly.

I entered in the new settings, and I clicked enter. I ran a test. The server processed. A message came up on the server. We both peered in to look………..

Gotta run for now. I’ll try to write more soon.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

So, I had a good interview with Shane. No, a GREAT interview. I felt really good about the whole job. I was sure that Shane liked the cut of my jib, and I was certain that meeting the President was a formality. A job offer was sure to follow. Once again, I was riding Japan’s emotionalroller coaster , and I was again on top of the world, bouncing around and excited about my future prospects in this fascinating country. I returned home, and had a few drinks to celebrate with my victory. Who cares about 1,350 yen worth of beer? Soon I’ll have a proper full-time paying job, with benefits. And maybe a bonus! Yeah. And probably a free computer. I wonder if I get a free phone? I drunkenly wondered as I passed out in bliss.

I woke up to a slight headache, but the same feeling of jubilation. Today is the day!! Today I get a job in Japan. I get to stay in Japan! My enthusiasm bubbled up from inside me. I tried not to get my hopes up. Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, and all that. But dammit, I felt it. This was it. All the signs pointed in the right direction, and that direction was a full time job in IT! The momentary lull in my enthusiasm overrode my hesitation, and I was bouncing around the room again. I forced myself to be still and sit down, and did whatever preparation I could. The hours dragged by like years, but finally, it was 4pm. Time to go claim what was mine. I borrowed a suit again from the same guy who was getting kind of shitty with me, and left.

I arrived at 4:50pm, and stood outside the office, watching people go in and out. I wonder when I’ll be a part of that crowd? Tomorrow? Maybe next week. I hope they don’t make me wait 2 weeks. I shook away the thought of trying to survive for 2 more weeks on cup noodles, empty interviews, and borrowed suits. I went up to the office, and waited until the time on the phone read 4:58pm. Not too early, but sharp, and on time. 4:58pm was a good time to call reception, I decided. I picked up the phone.

“Hello,” I said with confidence. “This is Firefly, and I have an interview at 5pm with the president.”

“Oh! Ok. One moment please.” A thin, attractive woman opened the door. Woow, I thought. I mentally shook myself and summoned back my professional veneer.

“Hello. Nice to meet you. I’m Firefly.” I smiled and extended my hand.

She returned my handshake with a soft moisturised hand, and smiled sweetly. FOCUS.

“Please wait here.” She directed me to a seat right next to the door.

I nodded graciously. Moments later, Shane from yesterday walked past.

“Ohh…… Um… Hello. How are you?” He said stiffly.

“I’m great thanks. I’m very much looking forward to meeting the president.” I said.

“Yeah…… Well he is coming soon. So could you wait a bit?” He asked.

“Absolutely!” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Shane awkwardly excused himself and walked off. I took the opportunity to examine the office. It was a smallish office, seating around 12 people. It was mostly empty though, there were only four people. Out of those four, the thin, hot girl was talking on the phone. I wondered if she was a secretary. I forced my gaze away. There were a couple of other people working quietly. There was an odd atmosphere in the office; everything looked normal, but there seemed to be… something under the surface. I shrugged my shoulders in response to my suspicions. I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was work there. I would do anything.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 5:08pm. 10 minutes already? That was fast. I wonder if the president is running a bit late. I continued looking around the room.

5:19pm. Hm, the president must have been held up. No problem – I’m going to blow him away as soon as he walks in. It’ll be the best interview he’s ever seen. I smiled.

5:31pm. I ran out of things to look at. I caught myself staring at the hot girl. I deliberately looked at the ceiling.

5:35pm. I started to get a little concerned. I thought about walking over to Shane and asking him about the delay. I decided against it.

5:44pm. I started thinking about talking to Shane again. I coughed. I reluctantly stood, and walked around the corner to Shane’s desk.

“It’s, um… I really don’t mind waiting, or anything, but um…. uhh, should I do anything? Or just hang around? Or?” I nervously asked. The last thing I wanted to do was offend my ally.

“Oh, he’s probably just been a bit held up. Don’t worry about it. Uhhh…. just have a seat.” Shane said.

“Sure, ok, no problem. I’ll be just over here.” I sat down.

The clocks ticking somehow seemed to get louder. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I looked around the room. I looked at the hot girl. She caught me looking. I flicked my eyes away.

6:00pm. I’ve been sitting on a chair, waiting for an hour. Hm.

6:10pm. Did he forget the appointment? Is he coming? I’m starting to get a bit depressed. Maybe all of my excitement about getting a job was for nothing?

6:30pm. The hot girl left. Damn.

6:54pm. Is this some kind of joke? Are they waiting to see if I just leave by myself? I’ve been waiting nearly 2 hours. Is this part of the interview somehow? Surely not.

My thoughts were interrupted, as the door flew open. I immediately stood up. In a split second, I recognised the president of the company from a group photo pinned up on the notice board. Here it is, my time to shine. I extended my hand, and with a large, warm smile, I said :

“Hello. Pleasure to meet you, my na…” I was cut off, as he pushed his way past me, completely ignoring me. I was shocked into silence, frozen on the spot with my hand extended, looking like some kind of pathetic wax figure.

He walked over to his desk, sat down, and presumably, started checking his emails. I sat down, feeling dizzy. I briefly considered talking to Shane, but immediately decided against it. I’ll just wait here, I thought. No problem.

7:10pm. The president was focused on writing some kind of document. Everyone else had left the office. It was just me, Shane, and the president, who was still completely ignoring me. I deeply sighed, as I felt my previous certainty of getting a job evaporating. I started to feel sick. How much money did I have left?

7:15pm. Shane stands up, and walks over to the presidents desk.

“Uhh… he’s been waiting… don’t you want to… uhh… interview him?” Shane tentatively probed.

“What? Who?” The president snapped. My heart sank.

“Australian guy. Called Firefly. Seems pretty good with IT.” Shane said.

The president paused for what seemed like a very long time. Finally he uttered a long, embattled sigh. “Ok, fine. Whatever. Lets hurry up and do it then.”

My previous concerns, worries and depression vanished, as I stood up with a smile on my face, and confidently walked to the table, and sat down in front of the two men.

“Hello, pleasure to meet you.” I said with a smile.

The president regarded me coldly, as though I was stopping him from doing something he really wanted to do. I internally frowned.

“So. Firefly, from Australia, huh?” He said.

“Yes, thats right.” I confirmed.

“Soooooo………………..” he paused.

I sat there, trying to look professional, when I was actually feeling stupid, like I’d been trodden on, and then made fun of.

“Soo…. what do you do?” He finally asked.

“What do I do? Um, is that in reference to work? Personally? What do I do in Australia? or Japan?” I tried to get more information to better answer the question.

“Yes.” He said.

Shit. Pull it together. Come on.

“Well, in a personal sense, I came to Japan for martial arts. I also studied in Australia. Professionally, I worked in Australia doing IT. I gained experience and skills in various sectors of IT, ” I spent a few more moments explaining my skill and experience in IT. When I finally felt as though I had satisfactorily answered his general question, I stopped talking.

The president swivelled back and forth on his chair. It didn’t seem as though he was paying attention. Why won’t he at least look at me?

After the silence drew on for several more moments, Shane started to feel uncomfortable.

“Aren’t you going to, ask him anything?” Shane asked quietly.

“I did ask him something.” The president said, defiantly.

I sat there and tried to gauge my chances of staying in Japan. I looked at the president spinning back and forth on his chair, and I felt my chances shrinking even further. Then, he kicked me while I was down.

“Do you really want to do this?” Shane asked, slightly pertubed.

“Hmm… actually no. No, I don’t really want to do this.” The president decided, rolling his eyes and sighing. He fixed an apathetic look onto me. “Can you like, come back some other day, or something?”

I sat there, awash with emotion. My previous certainty of getting a job was crushed, and I felt upset, like I lost something important. I was angry too. After waiting more than 2 hours he just doesn’t feel like continuing? Thats BULLSHIT. My anger flared up, but was washed away with grief and shame, as I realised I wouldn’t be able to pay back my friends anytime soon. Then I was hit with a wave of regret, after I realised I spent all my food money on drinks last night. Shit. Shit, shit. SHIT.

“Oh, I see.” I restrained a sudden urge to fly across the table and grab him by his shirt, shake him and scream, “you bastard, this was it, this is my chance in Japan, and you don’t even give a shit? you don’t even care? whats wrong with you?” I was brought back to reality by Shane.

“I’m really sorry, about all that,” Shane said. The president looked out the window at nothing.

“No problem. I.. guess you guys must be… tired. I’ll just…. come back some other day. Nice to meet you. Thanks.” Looking back, after I stood up, it was like I was dreaming. I robotically walked out. I was so emotional my motor functions weren’t even working properly. I walked.

I walked, and walked. I was in a state of pure shock, depression, anger, fear, rage, depression, uncertainty, denial. All the emotions relentlessly attacking me. So I walked. I kept walking. I was vaguely aware of stopping for red lights. And walking on green lights. I walked. My head throbbed, but I kept walking. Very slowly, the emotions lost their edge. I kept walking. The emotions were still there, waiting for a chance to be aired out, and re-examined. I kept walking. The strength of the emotions lessened slightly. After some period of time, I stopped walking. My head still hurt, and my face was wet with tears of anger and disillusionment. I looked around, and realised I had no idea where I was. Uh-oh, I thought. I was tired, and my feet hurt. I checked my watch – 11:20pm. I’d been walking for nearly 4 hours. I asked the closet person where a station was, and I walked there, and got the train home. I collapsed into bed, my crushed hopes weighing down on me. I fell into a trouble sleep, to be awakened by another phone call the next morning at 8:30am…..

To be continued.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

The scene : Tokyo, Japan. I’m living on borrowed money, cup noodles, rice balls and a pure sense of fierce determination to survive, and pay back my friends. After being fired from a job teaching English, I had completely run out of prospects. I became depressed with my dismal situation. Then I kicked my own ass, and went to an internet cafe and applied at 115 companies. I got one interview with an odd old Japanese guy, which I failed in short order. I got countless rejection notices from companies, but finally I had a request for an interview at an IT company. Now begins part 3.

I felt like Japan was testing me. Seeing if I had what it takes. One guy at martial arts often talked about the “martial arts god”, who looks after people who come to Japan with the serious intent to learn martial arts. “If you just commit yourself to martial arts, things will happen,” he told me, as we sat on a train speeding through the Japanese countryside. “You’ll find a way to stay. After a while, the martial arts god will say ‘this guys got enough mettle to handle budo, and Japan. I better sort him out with a place to stay, a job, and a woman.’, and then you’ll be fine”.

His words echoed in my head, as I was doing internal somersaults of joy. An interview! For IT! I was happy beyond words. An IT job would surely pay more than an English teaching job. And I’m really good at IT. The interview will be easy. I can’t believe how lucky I am! I went around to all my friends at Sakura House, and told them of my good fortune with my job search. I called my friends and family at home, and told them a shortened version of the story you’ve been reading. At first they were shocked with what happened to me, but eventually were surprised and happy that I managed to get an interview. “Good luck, we’re on your side!” they encouraged me. Their warm words from hundreds of kilometers away warmed my heart and calmed my nerves.

I spent the next 5 hours into the night researching everything about the company. Management, services, products, contact details, location, goals. I went through hundreds of sample scenarios and questions in my head. I was ready for absolutely anything that could have happened. Except what happened.

I arrived to the station 2 hours before the interview. I found the office quickly with the map I had drawn onto paper. I walked around, and noted the distance and location of several surrounding train stations. I calculated the fastest and most efficient train route from my station. I looked at my watch. 15 minutes to go. My heart started beating slightly faster, as I remembered my friends and familys words of encouragement. 5 minutes. I stood in front of the office. Here we go. I walked into the building, and took the elevator to the 4th floor. I walked in, and picked up the reception phone with one clammy, nervous hand.

“Hello,” my voice cracked. “I’m… I have, an, interview. For a job. At 5pm.” I gulped. Get it together, you fucking wuss. Come on.

“Sure, please wait there.” A friendly female voice chirped back. I selected a seat, and waited. It was only 5 minutes, but it felt like 10 years.

Finally, a man walked out. He was tall, and looked generally uncomfortable. He looked me up and down, and frowned. My internal organs shrunk slightly. “Uh, I’m Shane. Uh… this way.” Shane guided me into a meeting room. I smiled as gracefully as my nerves would allow, and managed to seat myself at the table without knocking over any plants or breaking any equipment. This is my final interview in Japan. Better make it a good one.

He stared at me from across the table. I returned his gaze with a uncertain, nervous smile. My blood pressure continued rising. For one irrational moment, I was worried that Shane could hear me sweating profusely. My throat went dry. My head became weightless, and threatened to depart from my shoulders and float back to Australia.

Suddenly, I was relaxed. I was calm, and controlled. My nervousness was immediately replaced with a cold determination, and intense feeling of confidence. I had only a moment to figure out what was happening to me, before Shane started talking.

“Nice to meet you. Hm. I checked your resume again, and you didn’t have quite as much experience as I remembered. I hope this interview won’t be a waste of your time,” he said in a reserved tone. I could tell he was having second thoughts after meeting me face to face. Previously, this statement and realisation would have frozen me into silence and inaction. However, inexplicably, I knew exactly what to say.

“Shane, if I was in your position, I would probably think exactly the same thing.” I said with a hint of a smile, and a calm, relaxed confidence. “What I feel I should tell you though, is the experience and skills that I have. The skills that your clients need.” Shane almost imperceptibility raised an eyebrow. In a detached way, my previous nervous persona tried to figure out what was going on.

“I was browsing the jobs available section of company site after your email yesterday. I noticed a disproportionate trend towards requiring technicians with skill in these technologies, ” I listed various technologies from the website. “Let me tell you about my experience in these areas.” I described some project work I had done.

Shane asked me a few questions. My mind was so focussed, and working so hard that time just slowed to a crawl. I had a leisurely amount of time to consider the best answer among 5 different combinations my mind offered. After some consideration, I repeatedly selected the best of the 5, and replied as such. He asked me a few trick questions, but I could see them almost before he started talking. My previous nervous persona was becoming excited. This new, cool relaxed persona was nonplussed.

I finished talking. He finished questioning. He looked at me curiously. I evenly returned his stare. I could see him thinking. Oddly enough, I already knew what he would say.

“Well, uh, hm. I think, you should probably meet the President of the company.” Shane said, finally.

“Right,” I said, expecting this turn of events. “When is he around?” I asked.

“Uhh, I think, uh, he is around tomorrow. About the same time. Uhhh.” Shane said.

“Alright, I’ll come back tomorrow at 5pm. It was a pleasure meeting you. Thanks very much for your time.” I said, shook Shane’s hand, and left.

I walked outside, to feel the hot summer air on my face. I deeply inhaled, closed my eyes, and smiled. “Thanks, god of martial arts,” I said with genuine gratitude, as I began the walk back to the station.

Well that was easy. All I need to do now, is meet the President. I’m sure it will go just as smoothly.

I was very, very wrong.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Well to paint the picture again, I was sitting in my small, stuffy room in Tokyo. It was 9am. My brain was jarred after I had just been fired from my part-time job after my 2nd lesson. The crickets chirped continuously, intensifying the dull thud in my head. I stood up, bare foot on my futon. I walked over to the small dirty sink in my room and splashed some water on my face.

After about 15 minutes of sitting down on the hard wood floor, finally, I said out loud, “Fuck this. FUCK THIS.” I wasn’t going to save up money for 3 months, study Martial Arts continuously to a level where I would benefit from the training in Japan, put my entire life on hold in Australia, leave all of my friends and family to finally make it to Japan, and LEAVE. Because I couldn’t find a JOB. A sneering laugh escaped my pursed lips, as my motivation began building up. After experiencing the incredible training in Japan, after making some great friends, after meeting loads of wonderful Japanese people, after experiencing life in a different country, after learning some of the Japanese language and being fascinated by it, what kind of LOSER gives up now? After coming this far? To go back after just a MONTH!?!? “FUCK THIS!” I said louder, empowered. My whole body felt electrified. I threw some clothes on, and ran out the door. I raced off through the crowded Tokyo streets. I knew exactly what I had to do.

40 minutes later, I arrived in Shibuya. I walked out of the ticket gates, and began on a straight line to my final destination. People jumped out of my way as I stormed through the crowds. Anyone who got close enough would have seen the electricity in my eyes. I finally arrived to the building. I walked into the lift, and pressed 7. Some shitty music played on the tinny speakers. The worn elevator doors slid open to reveal a counter. I walked over.

“*#@*!*!@$(#($($#.” Said the guy behind the counter.

“INTERNET.” I said.

“@#!@($**(%..?” He asked.

“Uh… time? 2 hours.” I made a guess at his question.

He handed me a small card, and I walked over to a computer. I had arrived at an Internet cafe, and I had the determination of a thousandBuddhist monks under a thousand waterfalls. I sat down on the cheap plastic seat. I slid my sleeves down to my elbows like the maestro of an orchestra. And I began.

Open Hotmail, enter password. Download Firefly_Resume.doc. Open. Edit. Change. Improve. Download sample professional resumes. Compare. Improve. Update. Research available Japan jobs. Research companies in Japan. Find company. Research company, change resume to cater to company. Research professional cover letter. Write Cover Letter to suit company and position, attach to Resume. Prepare first Cover Letter and Resume. Scan for errors. Fix typos. Scan again – perfect. Click send.

I spent hours sending my resume to about 115 companies in and around Tokyo. I would settle for any job. Many companies I contacted had no positions available, but I emailed anyway. Anything to stay in Japan. I had to borrow money for food from friends living at my guest house, and I was driven to pay them back. My face flushed brilliant red with shame when I had to ask friends for some money so I could buy food. I renewed my vow to never to be in that situation again.

I sent my resume to many different industries. Investment Banks (any intern positions? I’m dedicated, available and capable), to English schools (I speak excellent English, and I have experience in teaching business English to… large groups and small groups.), to IT companies (I worked in IT in Australia. I am currently studying Japanese, but I am certain my skills, experience and dedication would make me a valuable asset to your company. Please consider me for an interview.), even to Restaurants (I am very capable and practised with food, having consumed food almost every day of my life. I have no experience, but I am dedicated and available to start immediately).

After 7 hours I woke up from my trance covered in sweat with an intense headache, and a rumbling, empty stomach. I splayed back in my chair, completely exhausted. I put together a list of the companies I emailed, and compiled a list of phone numbers to call. My stomach momentarily over-rode my brain, and I purchased some cup noodles for 120 yen, which were conveniently available within the internet cafe.

As I stared up at the smoke stained ceiling of the internet cafe, I had an odd feeling. I felt like I had placed my entire life savings on red at the roulette table, and I could feel the ball spinning around, and around inside my head. The ball was slowly but surely slowing down. I exhaled deeply. I leaned forward, and clicked refresh on Hotmail.

1 new message.

My stomach tightened as I clicked it.

“Thank you very much for your interest in our company. Unfortunately at this period in time, we are not searching for someone of your skills and qualifications. We will certainly keep your resume on file, and as soon as such a position becomes available, we will contact you.”

A polite rejection letter. I found this companies name on my list of phone numbers and circled it. I would call them first.

I refreshed again.

1 new message.

“hello thank you for the applying. we are making the class of enlgish so we wish to have interview for you. palease repling with your avlaible time to orgnize the interview. – Okada”

Well, sounds like this guy could do with an English teacher. I was happy to provide my services.

“Hello, thank you very much for your interest. I am available immediately for an interview. I will be in Tsukiji shortly, but I am available to travel anywhere in Tokyo.”

He replied and we made an appointment for Tsukiji at 8pm. I was cautiously optimistic. I borrowed a suit, and wore it to the meeting place. I was the only foreigner waiting, so Mr Okada had an easy time to find me. As it turns out, he could barely speak English. This made things difficult, since my ceiling of Japanese was “Hello” and “Goodbye”. Useful Japanese to know, but it makes for a short interview.

He took me to a coffee shop, and we sat down. After sitting down, I dimly realised I had no idea who this guy was, or where he was from. I applied to 115 companies, he could be from any one of them! My eyebrows furrowed slightly as I realised I was at a major disadvantage.

“I have friend. Good friend,” Mr Okada started.

“Oh,” I said, unsure how best to react.

“He is work atto Intel. Big company. He top position there. Beri important.”

“Thats… yeah, great. I like Intel.” I said, uncomfortably. What the hell is going on.

“I also have friend Toyota.” He haltingly continued.

I blankly stared at him.

“In Japan,” he continued illustrating his points with his index finger. “Toyota izu………..” Okada-san paused for a long time.

I leaned forward in my seat to somehow try to encourage the next statement.

“Number 1,” Okada-san finally continued. I sat back in my seat.

“Butto… there is Nissan. Nissan izu…..” Okada-san paused. I involuntarily frowned.

“Number two.” he finished.

I sat there, my feeling of optimism draining away. This was turning out to be a waste of time, and I’m losing another day. Shit.

“Honda is maybe…….. number 3,” Okada-san kept talking, and I was doing my best to follow and nod appropriately.

A thought struck me. Was this an English lesson?!? Ahhh man.

I sat as patientily as I could, doing my best to not squirm while I felt the spinning roulette ball in my skull continue to slow down. Finally, after 30 minutes, some kind of interview seemed to start.

“Do you have English?” He asked me with a serious expression.

“Yes,” I replied confidently. “I have English.”

“Do you have teaching?” He asked.

“Yes,” I replied, as I stifled down the memory of the stern short fat woman screaming in my ear. “But only 2 classes.”

“Only 2?” He rolled the statement around in his mouth as though he ate something distasteful.

“Yes. But I’m very,” My mind raced. Dedicated? Committed? Motivated? SHIT, I need something with less syllables. Devoted?

“….. good.” I offered.

He looked at me. I looked at him. There was a sudden, odd silence.

“We think on you.” He said.

Rejected.

My world didn’t crash down, because it pretty much already had, but I somehow felt just a bit more depressed. “Thanks.” I said, as I reluctantly put down 500 yen on the table, my half of the bill. 4 cup noodles for a cup of crap coffee. I internally cursed.

I walked back to my guest house, feeling sick to the stomach. The dull thud in my head returned. Dejected, I walked inside.

I saw an American guy sitting inside the common room typing on a laptop.

“Wassup!” He said. “How was your day?”

“Yeah, wonderful. Magical day. Uh, hey, is it ok if I use your laptop for a second? I applied for some jobs and I want to see if anything came back.”

“Sure dude, no problem, man.” He handed the PC to me, and I logged into Hotmail.

4 new messages.

“Thank you very much for your interest in our company. Unfortunately at this period in time, we are not searching……..”
“Thank you very much for your interest in our company. Unfortunately at this period in time, we are not searching……..”
“Thank you very much for your interest in our company. Unfortunately at this period in time, we are not searching……..”
“Hello, we are a Tokyo IT company. We saw your resume, and we may have a position for someone of your skill and experience. Can you come into our office tomorrow at 5pm for an interview?”

I stared at the message. It suddenly registered. My eyes popped open. A smile bubbled to my face, as I excitedly hit reply.

“Dear sir, I am available tomorrow at 5pm. I found the map to your company on the website. I will see you tomorrow at 5pm. Warm Regards, Firefly.”

My heart skipped a beat as I clicked send. I leapt out of my seat, and high-fived the surprised American. I ran down the hall laughing like a mad-man. Japan was really giving me an emotional rollercoaster ride. Sure, I complained a bit at times, but the truth was, I loved every minute of it. I grabbed a notebook, and went back to the PC to study everything about the company that was interested in me.

However, absolutely nothing would prepare me for the completely crazy interview I would be put through at this company. It was like something out of a movie.

I’ll try to write about it soon.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10a, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Okay.

My dad is a ‘Nam vet. He was an officer in 5th and 7th Special Forces. Lt. Colonel. D. C. Christensen. When I was a kid the man was always bigger than life. But I suppose most kids feel that way about their dads. But in many ways he was really bigger. From a family of the west. A family of some real tough ranchers, farmers and hard scrabble Mormons used to scratching out a life in the wilderness. And he was in the Green Beret. So it’s only now I realize my childhood was not typical.

I’ve told the story of eating iguana at Christmas when we were stationed in Panama. I’ve told the stories of how, when my family was stationed in Vietnam, I was conceived during a Vietcong mortar attack on the local theater thus predisposing me to having a soft spot for agrarian Marxism and Ho Chi Min. But this story is after this larger than life man got back from the war. And he was broken.

My father last tour in ‘Nam the family got to spend living in Europe. In England. We were there before he got his last set of orders and he didn’t want to uproot us. He knew the Army, and Nixon, was desperate. So he played them for all he was worth. Keeping us in the best off-base housing in a little village in England while he went and helped with the pullout of the Special Forces guys in ‘Nam.

When the war looked to be over the jig was up. He called us and told us the Army wanted us the hell out of there and back in the States. He would meet us in New Jersey and we would drive, another typical army family long cross continental drive, all the way to Denver. The Army wouldn’t even pay for a through flight.

We were used to this sort of thing. But I imagine my mother wasn’t happy. Coordinating moving from over-seas three kids (two totally uncompromising teenagers and me, a little scrawny weirdo) and a dog and meeting up with the man she loved without so much as the guarantee of a roof over our heads. The man she had not seen in almost two years. But it was such a relief to know he was finally safe after dreaming , every single night while he was gone, that a bullet had found him. Or worse.

It’s true. As a kid I dreamt about my dad nearly every single night while he was gone. Horrible dreams of death in the wet green places of the world. And sometimes I’d sleep with a picture becuase I couldn’t remember his face sometimes.

Anyway. When we finally got to the airport in the states my dad had been there for a couple weeks, actually. I’ve learned that was becuase he needed so much medical treatment. And he needed time to decompress. A thing they never told us until we were grown up. But my mom and us kids we hadn’t seen him until that moment. It was weird. We had been so “typical” on the trip. Bickering. Petulant. But then you could feel the man’s presence at the gate. My sister, who’d dropped acid nearly every day of her senior year had become a serious problem child to the point of even joining a cult briefly, was first to run to him and I couldn’t see him. There were so many people. When you’re a kid all you see is legs. And then the crowd parted and clapped a little. My mom and my dad were kissing. A soldier and his wife. Kissing. Like high schoolers. But there was something. Something wrong. And when she let go and he bent down toward me I was a little afraid.

The man I knew was so diminished. He was a skull set on top of a stick placed inside a baggy dress uniform. His eyes were watery and so hollow. The pale blue of them glowed in the dark of the sockets.

I could smell his Bay Rum aftershave over mildew. I could feel the rough sunburned skin of his face against me. His arms were iron. And my fear melted.

“I got you a Robot in Hong Kong.” He said. And out of his bag he pulled a toy. And walked all five us to go get our dog out of quarantine.

Two cars. The VW Van we shipped back from England and the American Motors Ambassador he bought from his “blood money.” Two cars and a family of six. Including Ralph, our spaniel. That was our caravan. There are many stories I could tell about that drive to Denver. (Like my dad liberating our dog all by himself — regardless of the official quarantine for shipping pets. And nobody stopped him going back to the pet shipping area. And he called “Ralph!” only twice before our dog’s distinctive howl brought my dad right to him and he pulled open the crate bare handed and walked the dog out the door without a leash or so much as signing a form. Nobody was gonna fuck with him.) But I’m gonna skip ahead.

He was not well. He would twitch and jump at the slightest sound. He could only drive a few hours at a time and he’d get confused and would need to go into the back of the VW van and sleep. He had terrible fevers and would yell in his sleep.

When we got to Denver my dad had a couple of months before he started his job at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal. His new less stressful job helping America prepare for thermonuclear war. It was big of the Army to give him a couple of months down time.

We had standing orders. If dad leaves the house: alert mom no matter where she was. But he never left the house. He spent most of his time in the basement of our house on Hudson Street in Denver, sleeping in the cool dark. Occasionally we’d see him in his bathrobe, like a ghost, awake just long enough to grab some food out of the fridge. Or sometimes he would soak in the tub for a couple of hours. Until the water would get so cold he would be blue. He’d sit in the freezing water. Staring. Until my mom would gently bring him round and help him back to bed. But he’d always get up in the middle of the night and pace the house. And then go to the basement to sleep during the day.

Except one day. It was the fourth of July. My mother told us to look out for him. To remind him of what day it was and there was gonna be fireworks. She had warned the nieghbors. A couple of days previous a neighbor kid shot off a bottle rocket over our garage while we were watching TV. All I remember is my dad running in grabbing my mother over his shoulder and throwing her down on top of us and pulled the couch over on all five of us while the dog barked. That was just a sample.

My mom had gone and collected an array of tranquilizers. Which he took by the fist full. With whiskey. It made his eyes swim around in his head. And it made him deliriously happy.

He would sometimes dance little jigs in the kitchen with the dog or who ever was handy. And sing randomly from musicals like Oliver or Paint Your Wagon. “Eyeeeeeee Wazzzz buh-orrrnnn under a wah-drenn Starrr!” At the top of his lungs and happy as a clam. He would give me my allowance. 10 times per day. We’d shoot baskets for hours on end. Him in his bathrobe and cowboy boots.

But it was near the fourth of July. And then a firecracker would go off. And he’d rush through the house to find a bomb shelter. Or to look for his war kit. Some times when there was a couple of bangs he’d dive behind a couch and from behind it would bark orders at me and my friends while we sat watching cartoons, to “quit fucking around and start returning fire!” Luckily my mom had had the forethought to hide his ammo and clips.

This sounds cruel. But honestly, just being a kid, I thought this was hilarious. So I’d bring friends over to watch. Unfortunately our closest neighbor kid was Micheal Yim. An Asian kid. My dad would occasionally speak to him in Vietnamese. “I’m Korean.” Micheal would say, annoyed. My dad would reply, “Wrong war.” One other thing we would do is just say “Nixon.” And no matter what room in the house he was in he would yell “GOD DAMNED NIXON!” No matter how many times you did it, he would yell back, like an angry echo, “GOD DAMNED NIXON!” We’d do this until my mother would herd us out side. “Jesus Wept! Don’t you have anything better to do.”

The fourth passed with only a couple more incidents. But through it I had amassed quite a war chest of ill-gotten allowance money. And I was living large. I’d go across the street to a little drug store, Oscars Drugs, and buy cokes and cookies for everybody in the neighborhood (there’s a related story years earlier of me finding a large sum of cash under my parents’ bed — my dad was acting paymaster for a few months— that I then treated all the neighborhood girls to ice cream from the ice cream man).

The coke machine was a central gathering point on hot days. All the kids would lean their bikes next to it and we would drink our cokes while we shot the shit or we dared each other to run across the lava-hot black top of the drugstore parking lot barefoot. This coke machine was kind that had bottles that you pulled out. Bottled coke was so much better.

One day I put in my quarter. Nothing. The bottle wouldn’t pull free. No biggie. I was LOADED. So I put in another. Wouldn’t budge. So I put in another. Nada. I was out of quarters. This was common with this particular machine. We had complained to the drug store but he had ignored us. So I said let’s go get some more money from my dad. So we rode back home.

All the meds my dad had been on had run their course and at this point started to conflict with each other in his brain. It being the early seventies he compensated with more booze. My dad sat in the basement watching football with the sound off. We came running down stairs and I worked up some tears.

“Dad. The coke machine stole my money!”

He looked at me and his face just began to vibrate. Vibrate red. “WHAT!”

“The c..coke machine at Oscars stole me quarter and…”

“The HELL it did! This mother fucker will not STAND! Show me this machine!” He yelled.

My friends started to back away and run up the stairs. You could almost hear the gaskets blowing in my dads noodle.

“Uh… the one just across the street at Oscars!”

“SON OF A BITCH!” And he was off. It was like all the injustice of the world was at that drug store and had to be confronted. He was out the door before I could get up the stairs. I heard it slam.

We had standing orders to get mom. But there was dad. In his bathrobe and cowboy boots marching to war with the Coke Machine across the street. He had an escort of neighborhood kids n bikes flanking him. My plan had backfired.

“MOM!”

She came out from the backyard where she had been hanging laundry or something. And I just pointed out the window to my dad who was now just about to reach the corner by the drug store.

“Oh dear” She said.

I ran after him. But by the time I rounded the corner my father was already in the middle of landing dozens of punches to the coke machine. While he swore at it and told it that one way or another he was gonna get his kid’s quarter back and why not make it easy on everybody and just hand over the coke.

Then he started with the drop kicks. He’d run at the machine and kick it with his whip thin skeletal white legs. Oddly my greatest fear was that the neighbor hood would catch a glimpse of his testicles through his robe and loose boxer shorts. Apparently they were more transfixed by the ever escalating violence he was perpetrating on the Cocoa Cola Company. Punch. Punch. Kick. Kick. And occasionally a head butt.

My mom got there. About the same time as the cops and the drug store owner. My mom spoke gently to him. The cops just stood back as one of the nieghbors informed them that my dad was a ‘Nam Vet. They just stood back like, “Hey. We’re good.” Waiting for my father to gas out.

However the coke machine broke before that happened. And my dad started pulling out bottles and handing them to all the little kids who had gathered. “YAAAAAAAY! Mr. CHRISTENSEN! YAAAAYYYY!” They yelled. To them he was the coolest folk hero ever.

Some change spilled out. My dad picked up a coin and gave it to me.

“Buy them from some place else next time.”

And he walked home, a skeleton in a bathrobe and cowboy boots, with the entire neighborhood in awe. The cops just let him go. My mom had her checkbook already out.

tkchrist @ a metafilter post

I had a Casio DataBank Telememo 30 watch (was really jealous of its calculator cousin) which let you add names and numbers to it laboriously with a toggle switch on the front face. Freshman year of high school I had a quiz in Physical Science in which I had to write out from memory the first 50 elements. I spent the night before entering them, and double-checking them as I went to make sure I had them in order (used the phone number part for the atomic number), but when it came time for the quiz, I realized I’d accidentally memorized them all in order from all the slow text entry, and didn’t use the watch. It’s about 16 years later now and I’ve never forgotten them. The secret to remembering anything is to use a terrible text input system to write it out.

Credit: gfixler @ reddit

I don’t like telling this story too much. In fact, my brain doesn’t even like to wander into those memories too much, so whenever I tell it, it feels like I’m telling something I heard somewhere rather than something that actually happened to me. Here it goes.

Back when I was maybe 8 or 9 years old, I was allowed to walk home all by myself. It was a looong walk; school ended at 3pm and if I walked at a normal pace, I’d be home in maybe 40 minutes to an hour. You see, the way home from school involved walking past a huge empty field that had previously been farming land, which was then sold to developers who were busy building ‘insta-suburbs’. My home was in one of the newer developments at the far end and my parents decided I’d go to school on the other end of town because they knew the teachers there. And back then, all a child needed to know was that cars kill people and not to talk to strangers — so it was OK to walk by ourselves. Read the rest of this entry »

There was no doubt about it: I had discovered The Next Big Thing. Like Edison and the lightbulb, like Gates and the pc operating system, I would launch a revolution that would transform society while bringing me wealth and fame. I was about to become the first person in America to sell condom key chains.

I first encountered the condom key chain while working in Bangkok. Faced with a warehouse full of soon-to-expire condoms, the ingenious leaders of a Thai community development organization took the aging prophylactics, sealed them in plastic and attached a key ring with a tongue-in-cheek logo: “In Case of Emergency, Break Glass.” They couldn’t sell them fast enough.

My belief that the condom key chain would quickly eclipse the legendary success of the Pet Rock was confirmed by a simple market survey. I showed one to my mother. “Robert,” she said, “these are the funniest things I’ve ever seen! Get me 50. I’m going to give them to all my friends.” Mom loved it. She thought all her friends would love it. America would love it. What more did I need to know? Read the rest of this entry »