As we move toward the end of 2016 from the last gasp of November, late autumn has started giving way to winter. As the temperatures spiral downwards, and the trees in the park are gradually denuded of the last of their brilliant autumnal finery, change is afoot once again in Olde Nagoyaland.
Enter and witness the full commercial frenzy of Japanese Christmas season (ironic in a country of virtually no Christians), as it ramps up and merges into the 'assholes and elbows' bustle of the traditional, year-end 'Shogatsu' holiday period. Watch as calendars are blocked in, obligations fulfilled, and duty once again supersedes pleasure or need. Bowing will be done. Lip service will be given. Excuses will be made, and money will be spent. In prolific sums. These are all things that the J-locals excel at, and go about like seasoned experts.
T'will also be the season of 'bonnenkai' (occasionally raucous - though more often painful - obligatory year-end drinking parties with 'friends' and co-workers), and 'giri' (read - obligatory and joyless) workplace gift giving. For those not 'in the know', this may conjure up images of the good old annual office Christmas party back home. Names are drawn from a hat at the beginning of December, and, with a modest budget in place, everyone sets about buying a gift for the co-worker whose name they've drawn. The boss cuts loose on the office expense account, a small spread is set up after the day's work wraps, and a prolific amount of booze is trucked in and consumed. Foolishness and drunken shenanigans ensue...and significant hangovers are nursed the following morning (along with the requisite embarrassed looks, rushed trips to the bathroom, hushed voices, and countless cups of black coffee). It's the one night that the drinks and merrymaking are 'on the boss', and everyone gets their licks in.
Shift to the alternate reality of Planet Japan, and the story is quite different. Depending on where you work, this obligatory group sojourn to a place of dining and libations may set each participant back from a 'reasonable' ¥5000 (U.S.D. $45.00), to upwards of ¥15000 (U.S.D. $145). The location and time is set (usually 7 pm), and everyone has to make a mad dash from the office to the arranged venue, so as not to be late, hold up the proceedings, and be the proverbial 'spanner in the works'. Depending on the company, these venues can range from casual ezikaya (Japanese beer halls), to more upscale French restaurants or specialty sushi shops. The deal usually consists of some kind of 'course menu', and an 'open' bar for 90-120 minutes. If the boss isn't there at 7pm, don't count on eating or drinking anything, though. The checkered flag does not drop until the boss has rolled up, seated himself at the most auspiucious spot at the table, given the obligatory long winded speech, then raised his own glass in a "kanpei!" (cheers!). Don't think that you can relax, though. If you happen to be sitting near the boss, or a 'superior', you will have to pay constant attention to their drink, dutifully refilling it (while neglecting your own) in a show of fealty and deference. T'is a 'no-no' to fill your own glass...and if no one happens to be paying your vessel any mind, you're not going to get much of a drink in. Depending on the company that you are in, this event can go from being almost fun, to absolutely excruciating. It doesn't necessarily end there, either. It is thoroughly common for these festivities to carry on into a 'ni-ji kai' (second tier party), then 'san-ji kai' (third tier party) and so on, until the bitter end, with the remains stalwart participants usually hunched over bowls of noodles cross-eyed drunk at a ramen shop sometime in the early hours of the morning. Mind you, this is assuming that a good time was had - which is not always the case. Happily, these 2nd and 3rd tier parties are relatively easy to slide out of attending (unless the boss, or your co-workers are applying the pressure). As these affairs almost invariably take place on weeknights, one thing is certain. The next morning will be hellacious.
I used to do freelance proof-reading for a patent attorney's office some years ago, and even though the boss actually paid for this seasonal staff excursion (a rare thing), no amount of free booze or food could ever, ever entice me to go along on another one of his bonnenkai junkets. The last year that I participated, the restaurant that the the old man chose was in some far-flung location out in the boonies, half an hour by bus from a terminal subway station out in the middle of nowhere. The outskirts of the outskirts of Old Nagoyaland. A place so far removed from the city proper, that in 20 years, I'd never even heard of It, much less been there. The destination was an Indian resturant, large and devoid of customers. A bit surreal. Who the fuck builds an Indian restaurant out in the hinterlands of the fringe of Nagoya? There are dozens of conveniently located Indian restaurants in the greater Nagoyaland area. Apparently the reason that the old man chose this particular place was that he (fancying himself something of a 'gourmet') favoured the 'bone-in' tandoori chicken being served there, over and above that being dished out at any other similar, more conveniently located establishment. Of course, he also insisted that everyone, without exception, order it...regardless of personal preference. What do we know about anything, anyways? He was on some self-appointed divine mission to teach us about tandoori chicken, and a "no, thanks...I'd like to try the prawns instead" wasn't an option. After all the hoopla, the dish arrived...one scrawny chicken leg and thigh each, brilliant red and wrapped in tin foil. The verdict? A bit dry and mingy. Not spicy enough for my palate. Everyone smiled, and "ooh-ed" and "ahh-ed". I didn't have the heart to tell him it was mediocre. In retrospect, I should have. I guess, to him, this justified the 90 minute bus and subway hopping commute each way in near zero temperatures. Naturally, he drove, so what did it matter to him anyways? The other 'partners' drove, too. Nice. Worst of all, he disregarded the time.The 90 minute rule went out the friggin' window. I suppose that he was having so much fun grandstanding to the staff, trying to impress everyone with his rudimentary mastery of simple greetings in a handful of foreign languages, or needling lowering ranking staff members about their drinking (he was a non-drinker), or bullying them about their weight (fat shaming is something of a national pass-time here in J-Land), that the concept of time, or the fact that anyone may have actually had a family, or 'life' outside of the company completely escaped him. The whole undertaking dragged on from our initial meeting time, at 7pm, to just after 11. The well had run dry by 9 pm, and there was no more food served or 'free' beer available. That didn't prevent him from dilly-dallying over tea, and bullshitting endlessly. When the Indian staff finally started hovering, and giving 'looks', it was clear that he had finally worn out our welcome. A few of the non-drinking staff members (the other 'partners') had driven, and kindly volunteered to ferry everyone to the terminal subway station, where they could catch their respective last trains homeward. Everyone EXCEPT for me. You see...there just, "wasn't any room", or anyone willing to squeeze in a bit tighter. Shoulders were heaved. The buck was passed. Excuses made. Talk about an awkward situation, and feeling like an outsider. As I turned to leave, I caught the lights of the bus coming down from the top of the hill, and had to bolt across the icy street to the bus-stop. Lucky. Second to last bus to the terminal station. Had I missed it, I might have got the next one 30 minutes later, but my last train would have been gone. Of course there were no apologies forthcoming. Heaving shoulders and excuses. I got home at about half past midnight, jacket covered in sleet, and determined that I wouldn't be accepting any more bonnenkai invitations from the patent attorney's office. Fucking pricks. They actually had the nerve to forward two more invitations my way, but I had no issues in declining. The freelance work, which had been on the wane, eventually dried up completely, and I never heard anything from them again. I suppose the old fucker took it personally that I had better things to do? Maybe he finally packed it in? Perhaps he hopped 'this mortal coil'. He was in his late 70's. Who knows? In the succceeding years, all has fallen quiet on the patent attorney front. Another one bites the dust. It's basically recognized that declining an employer's entreaties to drink or dine will jeopardise your future employment. Oh, well. I refuse any employment offered me to be based in any way on a willingness to kiss arse for watered down draft beer and mediocre 'bone-in' tandoori chicken.
2016 has been a real shit-show. In a year where the once hopping E.L.T. business has been unusually slow, my income less than it's been in decades, and in which I've actually lost more 'friends' than I've made, I don't expect to either spend a lot of time or money jostling for 'giri' gifts, or coming up with excuses to avoid 'bonnenkai' parties that I finally won't be invited to. I'm thinking that, at the brink of my half-century anniversary on planet Earth, these aren't necessarily bad things. I'm learning to embrace isolation and personal unpopularity, while constantly tailoring my ever-lower material expectations to match my floundering business prospects (and resultant dwindling income)...and finally not give a shit. After the passage of a storied near half-century since the Christmas eve that my dear departed Mum grunted me out on to a medical gurney at L.A.'s Cedars Sinai Medical Centre, I figure that not spending a lot of time giving a shit is the best strategy. I am fortunate to have a lovely wife (whose care and affections I feel I am largely undeserving of), the distant warmth of a splintered family back in the Old World, and a little more free time on my hands than I did last year. Put to productive use, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I'm not sure what the next trip around the sun has in store...looking at the world at large, things don't seem too encouraging.
For those of us that aren't Japanese, don't work for big companies, or find ourselves single, and possibly without family, insulating groups of 'friends', or even jobless...the reality of the coming festive onslaught can be a disquieting one. Though the holiday period's rhythm and timing are a little different than back in the aforementioned 'Old World' (Christmas is not a national holiday on Planet Japan - which can be depressing in itself), the media and society here (as there) have a way of playing up to, and creating certain expectations that, ultimately left unfulfilled, can result in a classic case of near suicidal seasonal depression, if one isn't careful. For those of us that are vulnerable around this time of year, moving into December, it's a good idea to have some kind of strategy in place. Make sure that you are sufficiently emotionally anchored, so as not to get swept up in some weepy seasonal stupidity, and end up like poor old George Bailey in 'It's a Wonderful Life', drunk, blubbering, and hopping the rails of the nearest bridge...because, sadly, there will be no Clarence the Angel, angling to get his wings, fishing you out of the freezing drink below.
Find your anchor, your peace of mind, then batten down the hatches. Go ahead and lash yourself to the wheel, if that's what needs to be done. Keep an eye on the assets, rather than the deficits. Do something for someone else...just because. A smile. An encouraging word. Or, go out and get shit faced at every opportunity, suck it up, spend that money, and play the game.
The second week of January will be here before you know it.
