Dignity Retained

I opted out of Optia Partners' round two interview. As Miell and my family not so subtly hinted, I didn't come to Japan to be cooped up in a corporate office. Belch. Who was I fooling? Back to the classifieds I go.

So far they seem to be working well. In addition to the modeling agency interview tomorrow, I am also meeting with a public school teacher placement service (the only Japan Times classified ad I responded to). Funny enough, the guy is familiar with Dartmouth College because the college he graduated from in Chiba (east of Tokyo) has an exchange program during the summer, and he used to hang out with Dartmouth students after school!

This position is an Assistant Language Teacher in junior high schools [shudder]. I don't know much about ALT work, but it beats the alphabet soup of for-profit corporate companies (Nova, Geos, Aeon) because these hours are normal school hours: 8-3:30, giving me time to moonlight. The pay, however, is peanuts and here's why: public school holidays are long and frequent, so I'd only end up working about 120 days/year. Yet this enables me freedom to pursue other interesting and non-career oriented jobs like modeling, acting, voice-overs, bar work, and whatever else needs a friendly Western face.

Okay, it's dawn for you folks but I'm hankering for some dinner. No more sushi or ramen though! I'll write more when I get back...
***
It's now past midnight. Felt lonely so sought out Roppongi, an expat party enclave. Tired of pointing to pictures to order meals consisting of mystery meats and fish (lunch tasted like liver, species unknown), I went Mexican. Dios, mio - mistake! My margarita tasted like bathwater with equivalent alcohol content. I splurged on garlic-laden fajitas because for once I wanted to feel sated after leaving a restaurant. My breath still reeks of onion.

Meandering along bustling streets lined with glitz, sleaze, businessmen and tourists, I attracted attention from sketchy black men suited up in front of gentlemen's clubs. "Join da party, mon," one hollered after me. Not tricked by a "free dance," I floated along with moth-like attraction to the neon signs and flash bulbs glowing overhead. Space limitations necessitate bars, restaurants, and parlors to do business from above street level. Would you ever climb a flight of stairs to enter a Mexican restaurant on NYC's UES? Especially not with bathwater margaritas.

Finished up the evening at Legends, a sports bar with baseball cards from the 1970s framed along its walls. My pint of Japanese beer set me back $9.37. Gulp. Made acquaintances with Effi, an Israeli bartender who called me "brave." In addition, she gave me tips on searching for bar jobs and donated English magazines with good classifieds sections. She waitresses and bartends on an expired tourist visa and lives in a cheaper, more central apartment. Hmmm.

Daily dilemma: this wooden chair (read: stool; see previous post for pictures) may be suit a preschooler's buns, but I'm developing back pains. Sitting on the bed with my laptop doesn't offer much relief. Maybe I should be a salesman after all. I could introduce the wonders of TempurPedic one door at a time.