Graphic Media in the Workplace. my eyessss MY EYESSSSSS

Midterm week has rolled around for most high schools in Niihama. Teachers come to school wearing suits and white shirts that look even more starched than usual and ties that barely allow oxygen to pass through their tracheas.

Teachers must be examples. Teachers must look smart. I’m all about looking ‘smart’ ‘presentable’ and all that garbage, but as far as teachers serving as examples go, I think it’s more important to have ones values, morals and actions in line than a tie. But that’s just me.

No doubt the teachers at Minami are under gargantuan amounts of stress having to worry about preparing, grading tests, starching their underwear, not smiling etc. etc. I often wonder to myself how some of these uptight Japanese people relieve this build-up of tension since society does not allow them much in the way of an outlet (yes, I know – I mean besides beer).

However, I have found there are two types of teachers at Minami. In one category we have this teacher who is the most relaxed English teacher I have encountered. He comes to school, sits cross-legged in his tiny little chair behind me (one of the benefits of being a slight, small-boned, disturbingly flexible Japanese person with the uncanny ability to bend limbs in awkward positions that perhaps only an amoeba should be able to manage) and takes naps with his balding, combed-over head hanging back over the back of the chair. Occasionally he will sleepily turn on his computer and make a slideshow or two. Today he brought in his computer, brazenly put on some Japanese soap opera and sat there watching it. He simply didn’t bother with headphones.

The nerve. The gall. The cheek of this man. Is this the sort of example our children are supposed to follow? Watching insipid DVDS in the WORK PLACE?

Neat. Tomorrow I’m going to bring in Season 1 of Rome. I have been itching to start watching that.

Sitting next to me is this man’s complete opposite. This teacher often seems stressed as he will take off his glasses, squint and rub his temples – all key signs of overwork. Or, if not overwork at least it creates the illusion of it. Sometimes I’ll mimic him in an attempt to make people think that I’m actually doing something productive around here. Given the fact that it was midterm week I assumed that this week would be even worse for him.

“OOOOOH. AHHHHH. OOOOOH MYYYYYYYY. OOOOOOH YEAAAAAAAH”

What the fuck. Was that.

My stressed o-worker’s laptop was all of a sudden emitting load groans of pleasure. He was certainly pushing those buttons correctly. What a happy sounding PC. But wait. He wasn’t even there.

There is an unspoken rule in say, an office place or a coffee shop – you’re not supposed to look at any one else’s computer screen. It’s rude. You’re being a nosey busybody, interfering and not minding your own business. However, when loud erotic moans start coming from the computer next to me, I’m sorry but I’m going to look. It’s like a reflex of human curiosity. Even a nun would have her attention momentarily drawn.

This must be how stressed-sensei relieves his nerves. Given the fact that he sits between me and this very sweet, modest, prim twig of a Japanese woman, I’m guessing he doesn’t usually watch it at the work place. Or if he does, he hides it much better. But in my professional opinion, which comes out but rarely, if you’re going to work where there are normal children, take the porn OUT of the DVD drive and leave it at home. At least for the day, you degenerate.

I sat at my desk stifling a bemused smirk, and attempting to do my best NOT to notice the loud whimpers of ecstasy and the glaring screen full of porn one foot to my left. The teacher in question was sitting at the staff table in the back of the room. How no one else noticed or heard the racket the woman in the production was making I cannot imagine. But the Japanese are excellent at avoiding confrontation and stifling any sort of emotion.

After about ten minutes of this it was high time to take a walk. I went for a stroll to give the offensive, pervert of a teacher a bit of time to discover his filthy laptop and put a stop to it once and for all. I would have loved for a student to have wandered in and come to talk to him at his desk. That would have been a true test of stamina for avoiding confrontation on both sides:

“SENSEI, ARE YOU HERE? I’M STANDING AT YOUR DESK!!! … looking… at… your… computer…. WHOAAAA, AWESOME!!!!11”
“Ah, Yoshi-kun. Of course. You had an English question.”
Eyes agape looking at laptop: “…. I wanted…. to… know… about the perfect passive… Oh, nevermind. I have a completely different question now.”
“No, no. Let’s enjoy English. I SAID. LET’S ENJOY ENGLISH.”

By the time I came back the laptop screen had been casually lowered and the writhing, nude human pretzel had disappeared from the bleak gray staff room. It was back as it always was once more – no after hours Cinemax special. The teacher was sitting across the row chatting with the teacher who usually sleeps. There is little doubt that he knew I saw it. How could anyone NOT see or at least hear that ruckus is beyond me.

I suppose these two teachers could have been talking about the midterms, English, the weather, or the life span of caterpillars – but since I can’t understand exactly what they are saying my brain tends to latch on desperately to a few words and then makes up the rest. Their characters, personalities and anecdotes are, essentially, completely a result of my imagination.

I was able to pick up a couple words here and there – two of them being: “video” and “people,” two key elements of porn. Were they discussing the porn that had been so sluttishly displayed on the adjoining desk? I had never seen these two men talk for such a prolonged period of time. The wanton teacher also has not caught my eye since the ‘incident.’

On a completely different, yet somewhat related note – my welcome party (two and a half months after my arrival) is to be held this Friday the 13th. Guess who is driving me? Japanese cars tend to have DVD player/mini TV sets in the front dash. I best not catch a rerun on the way there.

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Published:
10.10.06 / 5pm
Category:
amusing incidents, what i call life