Training Day

Moving to a non-English speaking country without friends, a job, or visa required to get said job requires courage. But I’m always up for a challenge. Besides, I had everything mapped out in advance: clear customs at Narita, waltz up to nearest newsstand and purchase The Japan Times, drop off bags at pre-arranged apartment, and sit in café with highlighter in hand.

This scenario was not uncommon during the 1980s when the Japanese economy was hotter than the blowtorch sushi chefs use to cook my delicious anago (Conger/saltwater eel). Although that bubble has since popped like orange ikura (salmon roe) against my teeth, I’m pleased to report that this leap of faith remains attainable.

As of May 9, I’ll be an assistant English teacher rotating among four public middle schools in a ward (borough) 40 minutes north of my apartment (see post: 2 for 2 on Interviews). True to my idealistic plan, this was the first (and only) classified I responded to in The Japan Times, highlighted while sipping a Starbucks frappuccino.

Desperate for an employer, any employer, to sponsor my work visa, I accepted. After all, this agency seemed just as desperate for a native English speaker, any speaker, to fill immediate openings. At the interview I noticed their closet of an office decked out in Texas paraphernalia and framed diplomas from Rockford College, Southern Utah University, University of Central Texas, and Central Texas College - apparently not to be confused with the competing university in the same Central region. Are these accredited institutions? Jesus looked at me from inside a fame on a bookshelf. I didn’t think much of it at the time, until I opened the teacher’s policy manual. The first tenet of the company’s mission:

“To glorify God by following the guiding principles set out in the Bible.”

I read it twice, and then a third time. My eyes bulged and nostrils flared, causing my upper lip to curl as if had I sniffed sour milk. Just what kind of company was this? Was I recruited to proselytize Japanese school children? For which testament of the Bible? Wasn’t David Koresh from Texas? One reason I left the U.S. was to separate myself with a large body of water from the religious right. Somehow I had walked into their overseas affiliate. But, I was desperate.

For two days I trained with five other recruited teachers. The cast of characters: Mike, a cool 30s-something Kiwi skateboarder; Reece, another Kiwi who makes South Auckland sound more dangerous than the South Bronx; John, 30, a friendly adopted Korean via Upper Saddle River, NJ; cool, calm, and collected Leon from Montreal; and whimpering Joanna, the lone female from Toronto via Poland.

The development trainer is Ricardo, a Texan in his late 20s, and a former “not gay” Naval sailor now married to a J-national (as are Mike and Jeff). Not me Jeff, but Jeff the company PR head who has taught in Japan for 15 years, and who uncorked some blunt assessments of Japanese women and their bad teeth. Jeff, a middle-aged smoker with a beer gut, is a straight shooter with crooked grammar.

Pluralizing “everyone” is a common pitfall, despite his “boning up” on grammar in order to teach high school students. Good thing “you don’t got to worry about” younger students asking tricky grammar questions, adding that “my daughter and me argue a lot over blue and green.” In Japan both colors are treated the same, so that a blue light means go. Maybe this teacher will receive a blue apple on their first day. I mean, his first day. D’oh!