I started a new job a few months ago, happily but unexpectedly. I work for a Japanese company that is hoping to increase its global presence and therefore anglicizing things (that's what globalization means right?). Yet it is still very true to its Japanese roots, which makes it an interesting experience for me. Living in a foreign country is one thing. Working is quite another. I wish I had the time to post more because everyday brings delights, surprises and sometimes horrors that I would love to share here.
Japanese work days begin later. Standard office hours are 9:30am-5:30pm or 10:00am-6pm. I have an alternative schedule that allows me to drop my kids off at school and come home in time to prepare and eat dinner. I'm grateful for this, as it is definitely not a given at Japanese companies.
My employer, like most here, pays for my commute. I'm sure you have heard it before: the efficient public transportation system and lack of space means most Tokyoites commute to work. My husband and I both do, just separately. We each take a kid, cycle to school to drop that kid off, cycle to the nearest station, park the bicycle, and squeeze onto the train to go to work.
The good of my commute is that the trains are prompt, the stations clean, and my pass is paid for. What's even better is the women's car, usually the first two train cars dedicated solely for female commuters during rush hour. It's mainly so women can commute without getting groped. In Japan, sneaky crimes that likely go undetected (like groping on a crowded train) is just as common as anywhere else. The bad of my commute is how crowded it can get. There used to be station attendants whose sole job was to push people onto cars like cattle. Now, people push themselves onto cars using their backsides. For more details, visit my husband's account of his commute. The ugly, then, is commuting etiquette, or lack thereof. When it comes to commuting, the gentle, courteous facade emblematic of Japanese manners melts away - it is now every woman for herself (in the women's only car). People will literally shove you out the way to get a seat for two stops. According to my husband, it is worse when men are added to the mix.
I'm lucky enough to work in a building connected to a major station. It takes only a few minutes of walking underground to get to my office. My office is close to the Imperial Palace, which has a popular running path surrounding it. At first, I was hesitant about running during my lunch hour. It's not something anyone does here. As the new employee and a foreigner, I wasn't keen on standing out even more. But a full-time job and little kids makes it hard to find time to run outside working hours. Eventually my desire to run got the best of me, and I started running about once a week. I do feel eyeballs on me when I step into an elevator full of heels and suits, but it's totally worth it.
My office has lots of shoe cubbies, where you can park your footwear if you'd like to switch from commuting shoes to office shoes. After a week of doing this, one day I found a scary pink notice on my shoes. I pulled out my phone to use the translator app. The notice was informing me that I must register for a cubby through the company website and place my shoes in the appropriate cubby. I noticed, comfortingly, that there were plenty of pink notices stuck on shoes. Apparently they do a shoe audit a small handful of times a year. It blows my mind that this is actually someone's job. The thing is, there are more than enough cubbies to go around, so it doesn't seem like the best use of anyone's time.
Just like the commute, lunches are often subsidized at Japanese workplaces. My employer subsidizes half of the cost of meal so that my lunches rarely cost more than $5 USD. I wrote a separate post detailing the different lunch options offered. I have always worked in either non-profit or government, so this is a novel perk that I must admit I am enjoying immensely.
Then there are the funny little quirks that take on new life and context when experienced in the workplace. For example, it is well known that Japanese toilets have multiple functions, most of which the user doesn't use. The "privacy" button is one of these functions. Press it, and you will be treated to a deafening white noise (or sometimes the sound of birds chirping). You can always adjust the volume. I used to think people rarely used it unless they were having a particularly bad time. How wrong I was. At work, everyone uses this button almost all the time. As soon as I walk into the bathroom, any person in the stall would immediately turn it on upon hearing someone else enter. This tickles me - l mean, what else would we all be dong in a toilet stall? No wonder Japanese people who visit the U.S. often comment on the massive gaps in public stalls. In America, we have no auditory privacy and limited visual privacy.
Another funny thing is the absolute silence of the office. At first, I wondered how it could be that I was the only one typing. Or was it that I was typing really loudly? The answer was that nearly everyone else has a silent keyboard that is designed to cut out typing sounds. Then there is the nose-blowing, which apparently no one does in public unless it is an emergency. I used to considered myself a pretty quiet person. Now, I am just about the loudest person at work.
Since my office building is located directly above a train station, there are lots of shops at my disposal. There are restaurants, convenience stores, and kiosks selling various specialties. I have therefore developed the habit of stealing downstairs to buy a quick snack during the late afternoon slump. The choices are endless, though. One kiosk is called the Sweet Corner, which a different business rents out each week. One week, it's cream puffs. The next, pies and tarts. Never before have I been so spoiled for choice.
I usually leave work promptly to pick up my kids and get started on dinner (I just have to be super efficient sometimes - a testament to the fact that parents make efficient employees!). However, the majority of my co-workers stay late. How late? I might never get first-hand knowledge, but I hear 8 or 9pm is not unusual. Overwork is, sadly, still a fixture of the Japanese workplace. Sometimes I feel like it is less because there is too much work and more because the collective takes comfort in the tradition/appearance of working hard. In any case, this is one of the reasons for the scarcity of working mothers. For the sake of not appearing too eager to leave, I usually wait a minute or two past the official end of my workday. Because of my appearance and Japanese surname, some of my colleagues used to mistaken me for being Japanese. A few months in, amidst the running, noise-making, and all the administrative faux-pas, it is clear that I am not.
