By Mark
Hello, Mark again. See Coworker Abuse for how I got to Japan in the first place.
There are certain things that are expected of you when you work in Japan. One is that you MUST have at least one navy-blue suit. Another is that after work, you go out and 'teambuild' with your coworkers, (i.e. drink heavily).
On one such occasion, we first headed to a very nice shabu-shabu restaurant. For those of you not familiar with shabu-shabu, I consider it on of the most foreigner-friendly dishes you can get. We had one guy from California who hated Japanese food so bad that he would head over to Roppongi to Johnny Rocket's every night so he could get a burger with no soy sauce on it. And HE liked shabu-shabu.
It works like this. You usually pay a flat rate for your food. That gets you all you can eat. At your table is a large copper pot that looks like an angel food cake pan. Underneath it is a gas burner. Inside the pan is usually water or a broth. The pot is brought to a boil. Your waitress brings out a platter of raw meat, seafood, or chicken, and a platter of raw veggies. You pick what you want, sling it into the pan where it flash-cooks in the boiling water, and then pull out the result and dunk it in your choice of sauces. It's phenomenal. Highly recommended.
At any rate, after consuming our fill, there was some debate as to our next destination. Some people wanted to go to another bar, but a few of the guys wanted something more 'exciting'. The group split up. Since I am a big fan of 'exciting', I tagged along with them.
We end up in a truly grotty part of Shinjuku called Kabukicho. By this time it is well past midnight, therefore the trains have stopped running and my coworkers are stuck in Tokyo unless they take a taxi. At this hour there is usually only one thing to do...head to a hostess bar! The hostess bars are open all night catering to carousing salarymen. You pay a flat rate, drink all you want, and you are served by hostesses. Contrary to popular belief, hostesses are not always prostitutes. The woman who served me was very nice, in college, and 22 years old. She had a steady boyfriend, and loved karaoke. She insisted that I sing some Guns-N-Roses songs (her favorite band) because she liked the way it sounds when sung with an American accent. I also had to take a stab at singing an enka (traditional Japanese karaoke song) song and struggled to follow all the kanji. No matter how badly I did, she always acted thrilled. It was honestly rather flattering, though I didn't necessarily believe her.
I was in the middle of one hell of an Elvis impersonation (to 'Hound Dog' of course ) when I met one of the local mafioso. He walked in like he owned the place (which is entirely possible), sat down, kicked his feet up, and two girls immediately went to serve him. He was wearing a steel grey Armani suit, and a pair of Raybans which he never removed. I was expecting trouble, but he turned out to be a decent sort. He applauded my Elvis job, and he took the mike for his turn. He had a voice like a moose giving birth over a public address system, but we all applauded enthusiastically when he finished. We started chatting, and he complimented my Japanese skills as well as my singing voice. He was very polite to the girls he was with, and traded double entendres with them constantly.
The only tense moment was when my hostess asked me what I did for a living. Not thinking, I mentioned that I was a computer network engineer, and also a part-time cop. She didn't understand the English word 'cop' so I used the Japanese word 'keisatsu'. The room got very quiet, and she gave a nervous little giggle. All of a sudden the gangster started roaring with laughter, and the tension evaporated. He said 'You scared me for a second' and started his next karoake song.
Everything turned out ok. I got home around 4 a.m. My coworkers didn't get home at all. They just went back to the office in the same clothes as the day before.
