Yongfook is a web producer and usability consultant based in Tokyo

Following the habitual rules of Wednesday evenings, me and a few other JETs in the area went to the gym. At the gym, the female JETs run on the treadmills untiringly, focusing their steely gaze on the air 3 feet infront of their faces, like T2000’s with John Connor-shaped carrots dangling on fishing rods protruding from their foreheads. The male JETs lift weights and tire themselves out within 15 minutes, then moan about wanting to go home. Usually, I am the only male JET.

Standard Wednesday night post-gym protocol is to eat dinner at the kaiten sushi (conveyor belt) place nearby. There is something unnervingly desolate about inaka kaiten sushi bars. The generic and omnipresent irrashaimase girl welcomes you with a squeal as you enter the door. This is probably the last time you will hear a human voice whilst you are inside. A cross section of inaka Japan’s social spectrum sits dotted around the restaurant. Those who are eating do so in relative silence, whilst those who are not, sit hunched forward, gawking mindlessly at the various unremarkable titbits of cheapo 100yen sushi-u-like that waft past their eyes.

Brushing away the cobwebs from the other customers, you take a seat. You let yourself fall into the same hypnotic quasi-daydream as everyone else. You attempt to numb yourself to the music that is being coughed out of the sound system - usually whatever irritating bubblegum j-pop that is popular that hour. The miserable atmosphere that permeates the restaurant makes all the sushi look grey and dry. To your horror, you look at your hands. They are grey too.

After a few plates, you start to feel kaiten sushi paranoia. The silence, the melancholy, the shite music - its all too much. The walls start to close in. With eyes agape, the other customers rotate their heads towards you slowly, staring right through you. “Join us- JOIN US” they whisper, without opening their mouths.

Before you realise it, you have ripped your tiny revolving chair from its fixings and flung it through the plate glass window. You pay your cheque and leave.

Other news, in brief:

I have received my business cards. Why on earth a JET needs a business card is something that eludes me, but I’m happy to have them nonetheless.

On Sunday I participated in another sports festival, at the village Elementary school. I did a 100m sprint, which I lost to an incredibly fast 12yr old. I also did a Japanese dance with the kids, called yosakoi soran, which uses traditional Japanese rattles.

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 3rd, 2002 at 2:22 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.