Welcome To East High School

Hello, children.

Today’s story begins with taxis. Taxis are wonderful inventions. With car doors that swing open and close automatically so that the passenger doesn’t have to be arsed, and a trunk big enough to fit my non-bike, it was like going to school in a sapphire encrusted chariot pulled by winged Pegasus.

Being the incredible lazy schmuck that I am I opted to splurge and spend the FIFTEEN HUNDRED yen that it costs to get my slow pedaling ass from my “mansion” (that’s what pretty much all relatively ‘tall’ apartment buildings are called in Japan) to Higashi (East) High School. It was worth every penny; money well spent. And really only translates to about fifteen dollars. I arrived and emerged from the enchanting chariot with seats coated in white lace, relaxed by the sweet lull of the taxi motor. Today I was not the usual sweaty, disgusting, grumpy, mussed mess of a human being that usually shows up to school.

I entered Higashi High School to a sea of inquisitive faces and a gaggle of teachers and vice principals who were willing to actually sit and chat with me – whether it be about the upcoming classes, their recent trip to New York or the crazy-ass students who go ape shit at the possibility of any sort of sugar substance.

The kids at this school were SO much fun. I don’t know if their English is really all that much better than the kids at Minami but they are much more willing to engage me in conversation and some were literally bounding out of their seats all the time as though I had planted tacks on their chairs. Perhaps the lunches at Higashi are laced with some form of mild stimulant, I don’t know.

Classrooms in Japan are different from those in the States in that the rooms are lined with windows on both sides. One side of the classroom obviously faces the outside world; a world that most of these kids will never know as they are in school from 8AM-10PM. The row of windows on the opposite side faces inwards towards the corridor that connects the various classrooms. Kids were literally leaning out the windows yelling “HARRO” down the hallways and grinning at me with gleaming eyes (some from under shaved eyebrows). When they saw that I was coming into their classroom their eyes widened and a few bounded towards the front podium to have a chat with me. Some cowered in the corner fearing that I would make them speak my hideous barbarian tongue.

I had three English classes on my first day at Higashi. One was with a fairly new English teacher who is just about my age. The other was with a young male teacher whose wife is about to have a baby. He looks as though he is twelve years old with his crew cut and bright, shiny, Aquafresh, crooked smile. His eyes light up whenever baseball or the prospect of his daughter comes up. It’s quite cute. My last class of the day was with him during seventh period.

It’s 3:40 – Seventh Period. In America we’d have gone home by now and would be wasting away in front of the infernal box known as the television watching some syndicated program with recorded studio laughter, eating Chef Boyardee ravioli from the can awaiting the return of some parental figure to cook us some real food. In Japan - I am still at school.

It’s 3:40 – Seventh Period. Students are tired, exhausted, sleeping on the desks. Except, no. Wait. What’s that? A HAND? TWO HANDS? EIGHT HANDS? PARTICIPATION? IN JAPAN?! These boys are literally jumping out of their chairs. Wait. Where the fuck am I? “HEY HEY HEY!” “HARRO HARRO HARRO” “HEYYOU HEYYOU HEYYOU!” reverberates in my ears. Curses on me for teaching them “Hey you.”

I had a series of photos blown up to do my self-introduction speech. I am, obviously, the most interesting person ever, so why shouldn’t I have large boastful pictures of myself touring the world and my fascinating family. Right. As I run through these photos I go around asking the students simple, simple questions:
“WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS?”
“a…. tree?”
“YES!! THAT’S A TREE!!! WELL DONE!! EXCELLENT!! I APPLAUD YOUR GROUND-BREAKINIG GENIUS!!! YOU ARE THE SMARTEST PERSON EVAR SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME!!!” and I bound across the room like an awkward gazelle in heels dodging the eight identical Puma bags that crowd the aisle to reward them with something edible. I think I get double entertainment points from them if I fall.

Generally speaking getting students to respond even in one-word answers can be hard. They are so afraid of looking the fool that they hesitate to make any sort of answer lest I mock, jeer and fall over in laughter holding my sides. This class during seventh period was the exact opposite. I had about eight boys who would not shut the hell up. Glory. Before I even asked a question the boys were volunteering their services. It’s amazing what boys will do for the prospect of a little sugar.

Day two at Higashi was even busier than the previous one. My first class of the day was with the head English teacher at the high school. Togashi sensei is a well-traveled woman of about sixty who is on her way to retirement. During my class with her she sat in the back of the room. I was on my own alone in a sea of Nosy Parker eyes.

My next class was with the same twelve year-old-looking teacher who is about to be a father. Being misinformed I launched into a different activity and entirely skipped my self-introduction lesson. Who the heck was this strange foreigner jabbering away in this heathen tongue at the front of the room? I had asked him several times if the kids were different or the same and he assured me that it was the same class.

The faces were different. I did not recognize a single one of them but attributed it to my progression towards dotard-ism and the fact that clearly all Japanese people look the same.

Sixth period arrives.
Henceforth I am striking the word “enjoy” from my vocabulary. I have been forced to use it far too much since I arrived in Japan. Often it is used incorrectly. Students and even teachers can be heard making “enjoy” into an adjective. Posters, postcards, sweatshirts, underwear, advertisements enblazen “IT IS ENOY!!!!!” all around me. Pain. Annoyance. Exasperation. The word “enjoy” stems from the Latin verb‘gaudeo, gaudere,’ meaning “to rejoice.” “LET’S REJOICE IN ENGLISH?” I think not. Although I may start saying that just to see if it catches on.

Sixth period arrives.
“So please say to the students, ‘Let’s enjoy English class together,’” instructs my Japanese Teacher of English.
*Long pause*
Inner monologue/childish whine: ‘Aw fuck. Naw really. Do I HAVE to? Every time I say that phrase a little bit of me dies inside.’
Outer monologue: ‘*one eyebrow raised* Let’s…enjoy… English class together, kids.”
*Smidgeon of personality shrivels up inside never to return again*

Seventh period I was invited to a homeroom class. Usually I believe they discuss matters going on in the school, but since I was there we played a rousing game of Bingo. It was a traditional game of Bingo – no trick questions. The kids were happy to answer my questions and eager to ask their own. And by own, I mean their very own.

I’m talking to a flock of girls inquiring as to “WHO LIKES THE COLOR YELLOW???” or “WHO CAME TO SCHOOL BY BIKE???” or “WHO LIKES TO WATCH PAINT DRY????” with an intonation that would make another native English speaker think I was either fascinated with such tedious, dull questions or that I was mildly mentally retarded. Or quite possibly a little bit of both.
“Nikki! I have a question!”
“Sure.” I turn around and am greeted by a boy with a shaved head, impish grin, bright brown eyes, a nice tan and, even though he looks about ten years old, he is taller than me.
“Aru yu ah vagin?”
“I…I beg your pardon?”
“Are you a virgin?”
My eyes widen. Loud raucous laughter ensues from both myself and the group of boys who undoubtedly sent him over loaded with words that he didn’t understand. Sure, they can’t tell me where Rome is located or what month it is, but they know the word virgin. Ah, high school. That was most assuredly NOT on my Bingo sheet but I checked to make sure. Later he came back up to me with a big sheepish grin: “Sorry. My mistake.”

These kids didn’t need much impetus to participate but since I came to Japan loaded with stickers that have been weighing me down for the past fifteen years of my life I fully intend to use them. Stickers were awarded to the kids who had bothered filling in the squares, bothered listening to me call various names and bothered checking. I didn’t think the boys were going to be too enthralled by pieces of shiny, adhesive paper but surprisingly they seemed content. Some however had other things in mind.

A boy comes up to my desk.
“Ah, you have BINGO? Let me see. Yes. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Excellent. Which one would you like?”
He pauses: “No, no. No sticker.” He points to me. “You.”
“What? Me? You want me?”
“Yes. Yes. You.”
It’s nice to know that I might be more alluring than a sticky piece of lustrous paper with a goldfish on it to some.
“Well. Okay.” I shrug, bound by the rules of the game, and follow him back to his seat.

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Published:
9.19.06 / 5pm
Category:
classroom antics, what i call life