Once upon a time I lived as a single, white, obese foreigner
in Tokyo. That in itself is a story
which needs to be remembered in ink, but today I want to talk about other
things. You see, it was the only job I ever held that I found mildly
gratifying. I was certainly proud of the fact I was translating miniature
drawings into reasonably coherent Engrish sentences but what really satisfied
me was my ability to covertly amuse myself by writing funny stories into the
above mentioned translations. It was a genius plan whereby I worked at 40%
capacity for the JAL Foundation; just enough to keep them happy, whilst the
rest of my efforts were injected into doing what made my heart sing, writing.
Naturally I drew inspiration from those around me and I quickly realised that
all one needs to while away the hours is a drop of imagination mixed with a
hint of erratic human behaviour.
Fast forward 10 years and I find myself in yet another job
that isn’t really me, stuck in some mini dress rehearsal ground hog day until I
discover what I really want to do when I grow up. I am not quite sure where I went wrong. True,
it is all life experience and I have learnt skills that will never go astray. One
day a role that requires a multi-lingual, intermediate PowerPoint whiz kid
meets coffee machine extraordinaire will just fall in my lap. I have probably
increased my level of effort to a steady 50% with the occasional spike of 65%
prior to a deadline. My colleague aptly noted the other day that I am somewhat
vague at times. “Nope, that is just sheer disinterest” I replied. Truth be
told, I would much rather watch the paint dry on our neighbourhood brothel. Interestingly enough, they have actually
painted over the windows in the same dreary grey they have used for the walls.
Browsing their website for updated photos I noticed that they only employ
‘ladies’, and yes, I use the term loosely, between the ages of 18 and 30.
Realising I had missed the boat by 2 years, I shut down the site and returned
to my presentation. I suspect that any role becomes tedious after a while and
even David Attenborough would have his moments where he wants to swap yet
another pile of guano for a desk job.
On another note, our accountant has been rather sleepy of
late and I have caught him on more than one occasion catching a bit of shuteye
around the office. It wouldn’t be such a problem if our bills were paid on
time. Instead they seem to get trapped in the Bermuda Triangle of paperwork,
whereby everything goes unpaid by default until you chase him 3 times, after
which the invoice will find its way back to the original owner. A confused
state erupts as one then tries to remember what service they actually commissioned
6 months prior. Baffled faces are a common occurrence around the traps until
they fade into a knowing smile, the black hole strikes again. I suppose all those mind numbing calculations
would challenge anyone’s attention span. I on the other hand, like to imagine
he has a drinking problem. It’s a completely unfounded comment, but for some
strange reason I get a little kick out of picturing his participation in wild
nights with bikie gang members. Perhaps they listen to the best of guns and
roses in the garage whilst wrapping up arms deals over bourbon on ice. Such ridiculous
antics would somehow justify any delayed payments, in my mind at least.
Rewind 3 years, and I recall another role in yet another
company. Its saving grace was the handful of colourful characters with whom I
shared my working week, not to mention its London
base. I distinctly remember one lunch time farewell getting a tad out of
control. Enjoying each others company so much and not wanting the unopened
bottles of wine to go to waste, we adjourned to the basement level server room.
The Head of IT pulled out a guitar from thin air and we lost a few hours of our
life singing along to some golden oldies. It’s strange the way these time warps
can end so abruptly. I suddenly looked at my watch and realised that the powers
that be were returning from a meeting, I scurried upstairs and feeling like a
bull in a China
shop, I not so daintily eased my way past the boss’s desk. How is it that you
can hear a pin drop in an office as soon as you are pissed as a parrot? I
contemplated the second floor resident alcoholic’s strategy. He started early
and drank his spirits slowly from a tea cup whilst waiting for retirement. Rule number 3: stay seated.
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