A Big O Story

Big O, also 27 years old, does not like to be tied down. His near-year at the school, for example, is the longest single job he's ever held. He lives with his wife in an apartment they rent independently of the school, so he has no school-related obligations or debts. At work, Big O dressed as casually as possible within the constraints of the contract, which dictates that a tie, button-down shirt, pants, shoes, etc. be worn. His pants were nearly cargo style, his top button was unbuttoned, and his ties were simple, narrow, and unprofessional (not a slight, just an observation).

When they first moved here, they borrowed some furniture from the school (reluctantly, I'm sure, but everyone likes a chair or two). Once they had accrued enough of their own furniture through donations and purchases, Big O let Sakura know and Chicken Hamburger came to pick it up.

Trash collection in Japan is a world of complications. I still don't have a good grasp on it, though it doesn't help any that the instruction booklet (yes, there's a whole booklet) is written in Japanese. Anyway, Big O's friend needed a place to dump his trash for whatever reason so Big O let him unload his trash bags in front of his place.

Chicken Hamburger, in his stunted English, expressed his disapproval about the location of the trash in the frequently indirect way that most Japanese approach points of contention -- passive aggressive tendencies abound here. Big O said that it was out of the way and not a big deal since it's his apartment. Chicken Hamburger persisted, claiming that it was ugly, and things began to heat up until Big O had enough and, with an emphatic wave of his arm, said, "Get the fuck out of here!" They never spoke again through all the months Big O worked here. (This actually surprised me because Big O and his wife are very laid back -- in a year or two they will be traveling to India to try to obtain Yoga licenses.)

Big O tells me, "You know, if we were westerners, a few weeks later we'd talk about it, have a good laugh, and apologize, and then soon after be drinking at the pub. But this is Japan." I can't remember if it was after this altercation or another, but the boss-peoples were pretty mad and asked every student if Big O was doing a good job. Big O is charismatic, and at a conversation school, that goes a long way, so the verdict was made unanimously, and no action was taken.

The week I started "teaching," Mrs. Eh and Two-Face sat me down with Chicken Hamburger to explain to me the apartment rules. I can't remember what they were, probably because they were pretty innocuous. When they concluded, Mrs. Eh asked the two if there was anything else, and Chicken Hamburger said to them in Japanese (making accompanying gestures) that I should wear my tie tight with my shirt buttoned to the top. Apparently once Big O broke rank, I guess they lost the reins, so I can only assume Chicken Hamburger is trying to break in the new horse. Though I resent the inherent meaning in the self-imposed analogy, I won't let it get in the way of doing a good job and cross him out of spite. But if Chicken Hamburger gets out of line, it's gaijin-smashing time.

Really, aside from breath that causes the hair on my arms to wilt and perpetual sweat-mopping with a large hand-towel, he's not bad. Yesterday he installed some new curtains in my apartment (while I, with my innate Western paranoia, stood by and lent a hand) so the morning light doesn't blind me through the rice paper screens. I believe, for now, Chicken Hamburger is tolerable, but I thank Big O for clueing me in to the bigger picture.