Category: Work

In today’s interoffice memo, the official English language nomenclature was revealed: CONCENTRETION TIME.
This filled me with great joy for some truly inexplicable reason, and I was immediately tempted to stab my eyes out with a sharp pencil.
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In other news, the supposed 60-year holdouts of the Japanese Imperial Army in the mountains of Mindanao are proving to be more elusive than Yamashita’s gold. (There’s a Leon Uris novel in there somewhere, I know it.)
And now, back to concentretion.

Wow. Talk about killing the party vibe, dude – the old man ain’t even here today! He wussed out and went on a trip or something, so our protesting stunts are kind of pointless… Yet it’s funny to mock the lauded Concentration Time even in his absence, so the office is a flurry of activity right now.
People are talking loudly on the phones about totally nonsense shit, having group discussions from across the office, and the guy next to me is singing (softly, granted, but still…). I, myself, drank a liter of water during lunch and have gone to the head three times in the past twenty minutes. Just doing my part, you know. Because my ultimate goal is to someday be told to hold it, at which point I will whip it out and shower thee golden, I swear.
By the way, the official length of Concentration Time has already been shortened – it now runs from 1:00 to 2:40PM. It will be interesting to see if my Japanese comrades still show the same audacity tomorrow or whenever the old man gets back. All I know is that I’m having a liter of water with lunch for the foreseeable future; this is too much fun.
DOWN WITH CONCENTRATION TIME, I SAY! DOWN!

Maybe I can appeal tomorrow’s Concentration Time by pleading time proactively served by my relatives at Manzanar… I really did try to get work done today, but I was too pissed off.

I’ve put up with the various quirks and idiosyncrasies common to westerners working in corporate Japan for quite some time now and I think I’ve done very well, overall. But today I came this close to blowing my stack, just going COMPLETELY FUCKING NUTS, in front of the whole office, because MOST JAPANESE ADULTS ARE ACTUALLY JUST (SLIGHTLY) OVERGROWN CHILDREN… Ahh, now I feel much better with that off my chest.
So what set me off? (this time)
Our senior manager, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to enstate a “concentration period” from 12:25 to 2:40 PM every day, when we will not be allowed to leave our desks except to get printouts or use the CAD room. He specifically stated we could not talk, use the phone, or go to the restroom during this period. He says this is to raise the efficiency of this office. #@!”#””$#%!(‘(&%(%@”!!#%!! (motherfucker, say what?)
This rule goes into effect tomorrow.
I have already announced to my supervisor that I will take a piss whenever I damn well please, and asked how fucking old everyone in this office is that we have to be told when we can or can’t leave our FUCKING SEATS TO GET WORK DONE. I mean, give me a fucking break (and give me a fucking KitKat), how the fuck do you fucking expect us to be fucking competetive with other fucking electronics companies when you fuck us with these fucking stupid-ass rules and meaningless fucking exercises in fucking assfuckery?
But that’s not all, there’s a punchline to this fucking joke: At the end of his announcement, our great leader proudly announced that he got this brilliant idea from a television program he saw last week.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! HA!

It would be pretty fun to check this out with my brother and sisters: Goonies 20th Anniversary Celebration
Combined, we must have watched that movie at least fifty times. Plus, I think the little stereotyped Asian kid inspired me to become a gadget freak.

Recently, dealing with changes due to the new fiscal year have taken up my time at work, and today was no exception. Into my Inbox flies a matter of great concern to the corporate higher-ups: They say we have been bad monkeys, and our poor “upbringing” and “manners” are marring the company’s precious image as of late. Severe breaches in company protocol have been observed, thus they are compelled to remind us of the following:
– Morning exercises are mandatory.
– Break time is finished when the bell chimes.
– Drink vending machines may only be used during break time.
– Eating and drinking are only allowed in break rooms, during break time.
– Drink bottles and cups cannot be placed on desks.
– Talking in the hallways is prohibited (especially idle chatter).
– Walking with your hands in your pockets is prohibited.
I must admit, I am a serious violator on every count. A rebel, have you. At least they didn’t say I had to take my crack pipe off my desk… Ha!

Yesterday was my company hanami. I didn’t feel much like drinking from noon, so I went at around four-fifteen. It’s only about fifteen minutes up to the top of Magata-yama, where it was being held, so I bought a tall can of Asahi at the bottom of the hill and hiked up. I looked for my party for half an hour and they weren’t there, so I sat under a secluded grove of sakura, sipped my beer, and went back home.
The people at work obviously have no idea what a real hanami is.

Was listening to Van Morrison late last night and got caught up in memories when the said track played.
When he first started his practice, my father often accepted barter when his patients couldn’t afford treatment. One man brought in a couple jars of Tupelo honey from his own beehives. Naturally, when I heard this story a couple years ago, I asked my dad how it tasted. “Sweet,” he said.
When my pal T’s father opened a cram school thirty years ago, many of his students came from poor families, so he also accepted fresh produce or other various goods as payment. That’s so cool.
When I think of how impersonal and insignificant office jobs are in the modern world, it makes me fucking sick.

I just reviewed a technical journal describing recent work-related accidents in our industry (electronics manufacturing) and came across an incident I coincidentally heard about from another source a few weeks ago. Last month, a manager at a (whatever) factory blew his stack at a worker who was welding together a steel support during factory expansion. He tore this guy a new asshole and made some threats, and told the worker to complete the job before he returned. The job wasn’t finished when he came back, so manager dude decides he’s gonna show the worker how to do the job right… Except he had no formal certification for welding (and thus no formal training on record). Perhaps you see where this is going.
His hair caught on fire. He was not, however, seriously injured. He was also not able to cover up the incident (apparently not for lack of trying; I wonder how he explained the wisps of smoke emanating from his head) and I am just guessing that his “overzealous micromanagement” was grounds for dismissal. Considering the materials he was working with, I think this lesson, if indeed learned, came relatively cheaply.
Dumbass.

Due to unforseen circumstances, I just spent a whole half an hour 43 minutes supervising forklifts loading a huge truck with our products. You may recall that this is not one of my areas of specialty. Or it wasn’t until today, at least. Now that I can add Forklift Supervisor to my resume, I just might be able to relax a little and can die knowing I am a true leader of… operators. Plus, it was highly educational.
I learned that oncoming traffic respects vehicles with sharp-pointed steel arms protruding from the front. I also learned that the bald, white rubber tires on forklifts combined with a smooth concrete floor make for awesome power slides. Other than that, it was hard to pick up some of the nuances and whatnot, because I was too busy CONCENTRATING ON THE JOB AT HAND, FULFILLING MY WORKPLACE RESPONSIBILITIES, and really wishing I could be LEADING BY EXAMPLE.
I have learned that supervision, for the most part, is for suckers. It turns out that you just sit there bored out of your fucking mind while the peasants toil away and tell fart jokes, which may sound like fun, but sucks big nuts in reality. If you can get past that, you may be ready to be a supervisor.
Your role as a supervisor is simply to be there, and be ready to perform harakiri later if your guys screw up too badly. So you have to stay on top of them and treat them like they’re little children. This is not so hard, because the thing is, they begin hating you and will be jealous of the benefits and respect earned by your increased rank, such as being able to leave your desk without telling people where you’re going. Petty drones.
I was basically born to do this job, I think. For instance, as I supervised to the best of my ability, some of the operators asked if I was sleepy, but I told them the “spaced-out” look on my face was from being concerned with holes in the ozone layer caused by hydrocarbon emissions and would you PLEASE GO THE FUCK BACK TO WORK ALREADY! What, do you think yen grows like seaweed or something? Time is money, money is time! Jeez.