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North America » United States » Massachusetts » Boston
November 7th 2008
Saved: July 12th 2020
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The Bus RideThe Bus RideThe Bus Ride

Me and K-Bomb passed the fuck out
I would’ve met HKW right away, but our schedules didn’t match well. She had midterms during the week and wanted to meet during the weekend.

Problem was, I was going to Boston that weekend for a career fair. So we agreed to meet when I got back.

My life was finally connecting together. Shit was falling into place after all the craziness of multiple women trying to hit multiple bases on multiple nights.

With the smell of women still pervading my apartment, I packed my bags Wednesday night, slept for 30 minutes, met K-Bomb, Princess, Yusaku, the Queen (a J-girl who apparently was the “Weird Face Queen” of her high school), Onna and 2 random J-Girls at the bus terminal and headed to Beantown.




You might be wondering why it’s all J-Poppers going to Boston, but it's a career fair made just for Japanese-English bilinguals. Considering the atrocious job market, this was as good a place as any to start looking for jobs—being bilingual, I was likely to get an offer here.

The ride down was fun—we took up the back four rows of the bus and spent the whole 8 hour ride playing
In The BusIn The BusIn The Bus

A random black kid sits on K-Bomb's lap while she sleeps. The avg household income of her seat decreases.
cards, telling stories and acting like fools. What made the day infinitely better was it was my birthday. I was hoping to duty free some cheap ass liquor at the border and killing it on the bus, but alas, there was no store on the one lane border town we passed through.

I hit Boston around 4pm and I took a deep breath. Finally, back in America. People cursed. Huge cars honked and screeched. Nobody looked with sympathy. Blacks and latinos working minimum wage jobs.

Though Canada is probably the closest thing to America, it ain’t America. So I took a good ten minutes just reveling in freedom. Doesn’t matter where in America you go…South, North, East, West…there’s something connecting all of these places and it can only be realized by someone who’s lived in this amazing country. It doesn’t matter that this was Boston, the city I’m supposed to hate because of its proximity to New York.

In an aside, I don’t hate Boston at all. My mother lived in Boston for 4 years with an Italian mobster family there and as a result, my godmother (the matriarch of this family) lives in the North End in Boston. I have many fond memories of listening to my godmother tell me how my mother “was so facking shy…shi didn’t even talk to me in da cah when I first met ha.” I love Boston (except the fucking nasal accent and the Patriots)…if I had to choose a city to hate, it would be Philly. A garbage dump of a city with rivals in all four sports: the Phillies (I’m a Mets fan), the Eagles (the Giants), the 76ers (I love the Knicks and both teams compete for the cellar of the Eastern conference) and the Flyers (I guess by default I’m supposed to care about the Rangers whenever anyone in Canada asks me about hockey)…

Whether I love Boston or not…I love America.

And so as I stepped out of the bus, I breathed in, turned 360 degrees taking everything in…and then started zipping up all my pockets and checking my wallet.




I was staying with K-Bomb during this four day span and because we’re poor students, we paid for the cheapest hotel we could find. $30 a night, it resembled someone’s rundown house converted into hotel rooms in the middle of
Ghetto HotelGhetto HotelGhetto Hotel

Has no mirrors...so I had to use the TV reflection
K-Town and Brazilville.

It was definitely a little hood and K-Bomb was freaking the fuck out as we walked through the neighborhood. Having lived in sheltered neighborhoods in the Middle East and Japan, she had no idea what an American ghetto looked like.

“Oh my god, we’re going to die!”

Jesus, if she knew what a real ghetto looked like…I assured her we (probably) weren’t going to get killed in K-Town…we might get mugged or something, but as long as we didn’t talk in Japanese, we could make our way through without concern.

I thought these were calming words but it just made her more scared.

“Muggings? What’s the protocol for a mugging? Am I supposed to say anything…Gen what if…blah blah blah”

I just told her to shut up.

She countered back…”Gen, maji uzai!” (fuck you, Gen)

And as these Japanese words left her lips, the street we were walking on became eerily silent as everyone turned and stared at us.

We ran back to our hotel like…like…a Korean in WWII Japan?




The next day I put on my suit (I hate suits), took the T downtown
The Career FairThe Career FairThe Career Fair

5,000 Japs in Suits
and joined a huge herd of J-Poppers in suits making way to the fair (apparently 5,000+ people attended this shit).

I did a few interviews with companies, things were going well then I went to a technology company (due to privacy, I’ll call this company P…it’s a Japanese company equivalent to SONY or Toshiba or any other Japanese technology company).

My resume must’ve impressed them during the ten minute initial interview as they penciled me in for a longer (30-minute interview later in the day). After destroying a hamburger (I love America), I went to this interview with P.

I entered a room with nothing but a table and two chairs, one which was occupied by a stereotypical Japanese businesslady—cute, probably mid-thirties, impeccably dressed. Even though everything told me to be nervous…I wasn’t. I’m confident as fuck in interviews as I can speak well and my resume is more baller than Jordan in the 90’s. I’ve got a full page of work experience and another page of technical projects.

I know I’m amazing.

So though she stared me down, I sat down, leaned back and cocked my head back.

I guess my unique behavior (remember, everyone else being interviewed is a J-Popper allergic to uniqueness), must’ve triggered what happened next.

First Question: My name.

I gave it to her.

Second Question: A short introduction.

Born and raised in New York City—that’s why my Japanese isn’t that good, tell me if I make a mistake ok?—go to university in Canada and work experience in Japan, New York and Texas with huge names in the industry—want reference letters?

Third Question: Tell me more about your upbringing in New York City.

(Here I should’ve realized something was amiss…Japanese interviews never deviate and ask things that have nothing to do about the job…but I love talking about myself so I didn’t notice)

I grew up in a multicultural neighborhood on the poor side of town, but due to my test scores, I was able to escape to an upper class middle school on the Upper East Side. After that, I went to the best high school in New York.

Fourth Question: Tell me about your family.

(Ok, no one has ever asked me this question in an interview. Something was wrong…but I needed this job so I didn’t give a fuck. Plus, what’s the harm…)

Father and mother are Japanese but hate Japan—I know, weird huh? So we speak English in the house—yea, all the Japanese I’m speaking now I learned at school and in Japan. Amazing? No, no, I’m sure anyone can else can do this (I know for sure no one else can do this…which is why I always bring this up to show how fucking intelligent I am).

Fifth Question: Are you single?




I sat there struggling to process the last question.

Ok, look at it mathematically.

1. You want the job. Answer the question truthfully and play along.

2. You can sue the shit out of her. Don't answer.

Tied one on one. So what’s the tiebreaker?

I took another look at her.

She looked like any other Japanese office-lady clone. The swoop style haircut every J-Girl in a suit has with the bun in the back. Manicured eyebrows and enough foundation to hide most of the wrinkles starting to form on her otherwise flawless face.

The suit was definitely some designer brand and her legs were long and killer…ending in some heels who’s simplistic elegance probably made a huge dent in her paycheck.

Ok, looks like a mature grown woman with cash.

One more final check…look at her left hand…

Shit.

A rock glistened on her finger.

From just a few days ago I learned not to mess with relationships…

But I wanted this job.

And…and…and my mind reasoned…this would be good practice for HKW.

Let’s do this.

“You don’t know what the fuck you just started”, I thought looking at her…there was no pressure on me and I could act freely…And due to the circumstance, I was going to go all out and use tactics I would never use…She deserved it for being married and hitting on me…She won’t know what hit her.

Mentally I gleefully rubbed my hands together to see how far I could take this…

Outwardly my right hand flew to my throat, fluttered a bit and then returned to my lap, twisting with my left…

“No…no…I don’t…have a girlfriend…”

I shyly raised my eyes to hers, held it for half a second and then pierced her with a look I knew would jolt her.
Queen Suited UpQueen Suited UpQueen Suited Up

Retaining her crown as "The Weird Face Queen"
I quickly cast my eyes down.

I was pretending to look straight down but I was carefully observing her shadow on the table…she raised her arm…thought better of it and put it back down.

Too easy, bitch.

A silence started up.

I pretended to find the silence really awkward and still looking at the ground, in the lowest voice I could manage without destroying my voicebox, I trailed a whisper, “I’m looking for one though…”

Her fingers on her left hand were unconsciously massaging the back of her right hand in slow circles.

Too easy, bitch.

A silence started again.

I slowly raised my hand to my lips and whispered through my fingers, “I…I…always. I always…can’t get a girlfriend because I’m too scared to tell them…”

I finally raised my head up with a look of nervousness quivering in my eyes.

“…because I’m too scared to tell them…I…I love you.”

Her eyes softened and her shoulders slumped slightly underneath her shoulder pads.

Too easy, bitch.

Silence started up again.

A knock on the door. “30 minutes is up.”

I relaxed, my nervousness immediately switched to
Me and K-BombMe and K-BombMe and K-Bomb

Arrogant fuckers
my cockiness from before, I swaggered up, picked up my bag, spun around and started out with a huge ass fucking grin on my face,

As I started turning the knob, her voice called out weakly, “Can…can…can I…have your number?”

I stood there for a beat, wrist half rotated on the knob.

I turned it the rest of the way and pulled open the door. Without a glance back, I strode out.

“It’s on my resume.”




She probably called me later that day. I had a missed call. But I didn’t go back to P’s booth nor did I attempt to contact her for the following two days because I realized how much trouble there was.

The woman seemed like a nice person and if anyone found out what had transpired, she would’ve gotten fired and I probably would not have gotten the job. I was also highly immoral in my wooing of her. I used tactics that I know work with older Japanese females that I vowed to never use again. It’s highly immoral because I know it works and it requires me to lie profusely and change my character.
Me and K-BombMe and K-BombMe and K-Bomb

Eating Chowda in Boston

Plus, I didn’t want distractions from my goal of HKW. I wasn’t going to risk news of this traveling back to Montreal to destroy all my careful work just to set up a pitcher in Japan that I would never date.

So I spent the rest of my time in Boston being a good boy…no drinking (save for one shot of whiskey to celebrate my birthday and half a beer at a Chinese restaurant), no fighting, no chasing tail, nothing. Just work, work, work.

I really didn’t get to enjoy Boston as I worked hard but I didn’t care. I’ve been to Boston enough times and it hasn’t changed much over the years (save for a few championship banners).

I got back 10pm on Sunday night, school and tests looming over the Montreal horizon. But fuck it, after four straight days of no fun…I deserve something. I called HKW.

“Hey, I just got back to Montreal!”

“Cool, let’s meet tomorrow!”

Shit…I was nervous for real now.


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Comments only available on published blogs

16th November 2008

what an entry
shit this one was entertaining. “It’s on my resume.” baller.

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