Ken Seeroi - Strange Nights, and Some Days Too: Why Youll Love Japan, for About a Year

Strange Nights,

and Some Days Too

Why Youll Love Japan, for About a Year

Ken Seeroi

The stories in Strange Nights, and Some Days Too are based upon real-life events. Some names and identifying details have been changed.

Copyright 2020 by Ken Seeroi

Cover art: Tottori sand dunes, by Ken Seeroi

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For enquiries, please visit japaneseruleof7.com.

ISBN: 978-1-7351746-2-4

Shioyaki Press

Second Edition

4 6 8 10 9 7 5

To my mother, father, and brother; the kindest, funniest, and most loving people I know.

Contents

The end of this book contains definitions of the Japanese terms used within.

My first night in Japan was spent in a hotel without a shower or closet, in a silent corner of Tokyo called Nihonbashi. I was like, Wheres all the nightlife? I thought this place was supposed to be a parade of colorful bars, bustling restaurants, and busty girls in short skirts? Strange. Instead, I meandered in the dark past the occasional Chinese hooker and wondered if the apocalypse had happened and Id simply overslept. Thatd be just like me. Everyones gone up to heaven and I missed it cause I had a bunch of cocktails on the plane. But eventually I found what appeared to be a local restaurant or possibly just someones kitchen, slid open the door, and a roomful of Japanese folks suddenly stopped talking and stared in my direction like I was a giant white rabbit. I was like, Surprise! Heres your Easter eggs.

The elderly lady behind the counter and I attempted a conversation, but we were soon reduced to gestures, clicks, and whistles before I managed to get a beer and something to eat. I made do with two pints of Asahi and a soggy grilled eggplant topped with fish food, then left before things got any weirder. On the way back, I stopped at a 7-Eleven, bought a bottle of sake, two rice balls, a bag of shrimp-flavored chips, and a can of habanero soup, then scarfed everything down in my tiny hotel room while watching sumo on TV. I then proceeded downstairs to the communal bath, took off all my clothes and hopped in the tub with a bunch of wrinkly old Japanese dudes whod apparently left their teeth in the locker room. Well, details aside, I was still naked and drunk in Tokyo, which I count as a win. Such is my optimism.

The next day I ventured out for a couple sobering cocktails, then a couple more, until I bumped into an amazingly beautiful girl named Ran who insisted I check out of my hotel, stuff my suitcases into a locker near the station, and go clubbing with her in Roppongi. Finally some neon. Now that was the Japan Id come to see. Ran took me to a dinner of udon noodles, followed by a round of karaoke, during which she confessed that she was actually a Victorias Secret model, which was totally credible. She was stunning, Japan was perfect, and Japanese people were all so friendly. Somehow I ended up paying for everything, but Im pretty sure that was an oversight. Ran of course later turned out to be a Filipino prostitute, and Roppongi a jumble of grimy bars packed with German tourists and sidewalks full of Nigerian touts pulling me endlessly into hostess bars for drinks with Russian women. So international, Japan. Anyway, Im just glad I got to have a night of expensive sex I dont remember with a Victorias Secret model. I woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar room with the hotel manager calling me on the phone to say things I didnt understand and Ran had mysteriously, well, run. I assume she had a photo shoot. Models.

From the day I arrived in Japan, I began studying Japanese. And you know how you look back on your life at things you did when you were younger and youre glad you put the effort into them? Well, Japanese isnt one of em. If you want a magic key that opens doors and helps you make friends in the nation, uh, thatd be English.

Moving on. After my Roppongi adventure, I flew back to Japan for a couple weeks every year, before finally settling here in 2008. Ive had a score of jobs and girlfriends at this point, some of them good, and some bad. Well, most were pretty horrible, actually. I mean the jobs, of course. The women, well, well get to that in a bit. As for making a living, suffice to say Japan isnt known for its easygoing work environment. Ive made the yen equivalent of hundreds of dollars an hour (good), and other times got paid nothing more than beer and rice (slightly less good). What can I say, its a pretty bipolar country. But maybe thats why I feel so at home.

Over the years, Ive read everything I could get my hands on about Japan, the people, its culture, and language. Youve probably read much of the same stuff. Theres a tendency to either glamorize the nation or treat it with cartoonish Orientalism, and along the way lose sight of the fact that its a real place populated with real, albeit slightly twisted, people.

Its not easy to depict an entire nation in a few words, and I dont pretend to do so. Well hey, Japans a big country. But maybe thats the point. Its not something thats summed up easily. Even living here, I barely know what the hells going on half the time. Actually, half may be generous, but Ill just give you my perspective, for what its worth. As the Japanese say, Hope you enjoy.

So somehow it came to pass that I found myself in Ikebukuro at 3:30 a.m., drinking malt liquor, eating kimchee and a really fabulous grilled mackerel, helping this random izakaya owner translate his signs into English. If you wander into a place there with a hand-written poster reading A customer must pay when it orders, then yeah, that was me.

Though Im happy to finally be teaching English in Japan, Im certain juggling monkeys would be more relaxing. Students rush in and out of my classroom while I madly prepare for the next lesson and remember I left my teaching materials in the mens room stall. On an average day, I teach seven classes, plus give tests, do interviews, and carry out the garbage. I have neither desk nor chair, which is fine, since Id never be able to sit anyway.

My first week here was spent on the outskirts of Tokyo, in training. This consisted of random white guys reading all the rules in the company handbook, while overlooking anything about how to actually teach classes. One thing the trainers were clear on was the fast pace of eikaiwa life. One guy suggested pursuing hobbies as a way of relieving stress. His hobby: doll collecting.

Since Im generally receptive to advice, I decided that instead of building a collection of mini people like that weirdo, Id simply put more effort into my existing hobbies, namely drinking and womanizing. Thus began a steady regimen of hobbying that has grown in force like a tornado to include boozing and making out with teachers, students, and various other unsavory remnants of Tokyos nightlife. Now, due to circumstances almost beyond my control, I seem to regularly miss the last train and wind up in some dingy ramen shop, staring into the salty broth and wondering why on earth its come to this. My existence has been reduced to a blur of classes, seeking sustenance, buying clean underwear from convenience stores, and booze.

As I step over a pile of Japanese guys in suits passed out in a doorway, I realize Ive lost the ability to distinguish day from night. Right from wrong of course went by the wayside long ago. I still havent gotten a bank account, cell phone, or the internet, nor have I figured out how to even take out the trash at my apartment, and plus my washing machine freaking exploded this morning and blew water all over the balcony. My fridge is as barren as Antarctica. Im vaguely aware of working nine or ten hours a day and commuting another two. If it werent for sleeping on trains, corn soup from vending machines, and my steely resolve, Id surely perish. At least there are only twelve more months to go, right? And now the staff at this net caf are saying something in my direction. Jeezus. Ill just pretend to be dead and maybe theyll leave me alone. If anybody asks, Im not here.