Part 5

Lobby Talk

Jim and I are waiting for the elevator on the ground floor of our prefectural honbu. Jim is Chinese-American, a recent bioscience graduate; we work at the same branch-school. Since arriving, the weekly stream of posters, flyers, and fluorescent hand-fans advertising the school have featured my face as the visual counterpart to the school’s flagship native-speaker lessons. Jim’s less exotic and mistakably-Japanese visage recedes into the background, accompanying the school’s administrative details.

Jim is an excellent teacher and an even better salesman. His revamping of our school’s approach to Lobby Talk—the incidental bonus time a student gets with native-speaking teachers before and after class—earned him a two-page spread in last month’s prefectural newsletter. In today’s prefectural study meeting, he’ll outline to a room full of mostly American college graduates exactly how to subtly orchestrate Lobby Talk using prompt cards and thematic posters so as to maximise student satisfaction.

Finding discarded flyers bearing my pixilated face in the streets and parks surrounding my school evinces new dimensions of self-loathing.

The elevator hums and bleeps.

So, you seeing any girls yet?

No luck there. The language barrier makes it a bit difficult.

Oh, man, you’ve gotta hone your katakana! Once you try Jap, you never go back.

Yeah?

Yeah man. Like you wouldn’t believe, brother. I’ve got an empty bottle of wine on my shelf for every girl I made it with.

How many bottles?

Like eight, nine. I’m not sure exactly.

Huh.

Anyways, you didn’t ask me.

What?

(Jim slaps me on the back.)

Why you never go back!

Oh, sure. Why do you never go back?

A Japanese girl will wake you up with her mouth then do your laundry before you’ve even gotten out of bed.

Right.

Anyway man, you get your basics down and you won’t have any trouble. I mean—if I can do it!

Huh?

C’mon, I haven’t got much to trade on here.

(Jim narrows his eyes in a caricature of his own Asian appearance.)

I see what you mean.

I’m a bit of a chameleon, I know. But they hear me speak [makes collegiate-like yowl] and trust me, it’s on. But you brother, in your conspicuous whiteness: you have got it made.

(The elevator doors open.)

Alright man. Action stations. You got your name badge?

(I turn my badge towards Jim.)

Hands out your pockets, too, remember.