On any given cold evening during the week I usually take solace in a heaping bowl of mutton curry and a big chunk of garlic nan. The spiciness of the curry along with the freshly baked nan is usually just what I need to keep my next facebook status from becoming "I'm Tired of Being Wet and Cold" followed by a series of equal signs and opening parentheses.
Tonight was much the same, only this evening was the first time I thought "Well, I never thought I'd be using that speed on my window wiper settings," as I drove down the dark, flooded streets of Murakami, thunder and lightning holding up the rear of our soundtrack in this scene.
Nicole and I arrive innocently enough at the curry shop. I order my mutton curry and nan and start eating when a young man enters stage left to the tinkling of tiny little bells affixed the doors at the front of the restaurant. He sits down at the table next to ours, proceeds to order in English, which I immediately found very disconcerting mostly because Nicole and I would have to change the topics of our conversation to something that at least closer to what the MPAA would give an R rating to.
Sarada, our friendly neighborhood Nepalese Curry Restaurant Owner comes in again to give the young man his order, when Nicole does that sneaky cover-one-side-of-your-mouth-while-whispering-and-pointing-at-the-person-next-to-you thing to inform me that we're sitting next to Jeff, a teacher from about 20 minutes south.
Aaah, crap, so whatever we say he's going to understand. Time to scale it down to a PG-13. But in the interest of being friendly and neighborly (since I've heard about the man but have yet to meet him and he's supposed to be coming to my Adult English Class this week), when we pull out things together to leave I step over to him and have this short little conversation.
Me: Ah! Excuse me! Are you Jeff?
Jeff: Oh! Yes, I am! Are you Bryan?
Me: Yes! I am! It's nice to meet you!
Jeff: Nice to meet you! My name is Watanabe.
Me: ...eh... wha--...huh?
Nicole: Are you Jeff from two cities over?
Not-Jeff: No! My name is Watanabe! I work at the Murakami hospital!
Me/Nicole!: Oh! You're not Jeff? We thought you were Jeff! So sorry for interrupting! We thought you were someone else!
And we were on our way.
Cut to five minutes later, driving down an abandoned, dark and rainy road.
Nicole: Bryan... did you tell him your name?
Me: I...uh... well I did, didn't I?
Nicole: No, I don't think you did.
Me: I...uh... I didn't... did I?
[Insert appropriate ominous thunder/lightning combination here]
The man knew my name. HOW DID HE KNOW WHO I AM.
Sometimes I don't lock my door at night because Japan is a pretty safe country. I've decided to make a change in that behavior starting this evening...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
One of my schools has been pretty rough so far, and I’m not talking about the one where the students were attacking teachers.
No, one of my schools has given me literally nothing to do. I don’t plan lessons, I don’t have an English board to work on, and I don’t eat lunch with the students so I have really limited contact with them. Needless to say this school usually resulted in me being bored to tears by the time 4:00 rolls around.
Today, however, two very important things happened.
First, today was the first day that any student ever has come into the teacher’s room and said “Bryan-sensei imasu ka?”
“What?!” My ears perked up, my heart was all a twitter. “One of the students wants to talk to me!?”
“Bryan-sensei, for afternoon break will you please play baseball with us?”
YES. YES I WILL. HOW COULD I SAY NO TO YOU, OH SWEET CHILD!?!?
So, with my renewed sense of purpose, I scarf down my food so I can go head out to the baseball field.
Oh, but one quick note.
I don’t like baseball. I hate baseball. Baseball was always that sport I was awful at. I can’t bat, I can’t catch, I can’t do much of anything when it comes to baseball, so I absolutely detest it.
The kids tell me I’m up to bat, and the only thing running through my head is “Oh Dear God, please, for the love of everything that is holy and good in this world, just let me hit this ball. Please. Please don’t make me look like a chump.”
So I step up to the plate (in my nice slacks and button down shirt no less), take a practice swing, and squat down into my batting position that I’ve spent years perfecting.
Here’s the pitch and PIIINNNGGGG away goes that ball! I can barely believe it, but I’m cackling to myself as I ruuuuuuun all the way to first base and get there safely… except for slipping and falling and getting mud all over my sleeve, but that’s beside the point!
My faith in God is renewed.
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