My elementary school had its beginning of the school year kickoff shindig on Friday evening. Since teachers often leave and change schools each year, the first drinking party of the school year serves as a farewell and welcoming ceremony for the outgoing and incoming staff. Just a few days before the dinner, Sone (pr. so-nay) -sensei, one of the special education teachers and one of the organizers of the event, came to me and asked would I be attending. I told him that I definitely intended to go--after all, it was my elementary school's first staff party of the school year ( which is the most important one). Plus, my name was included on the party itinerary passed out at school. "Amen-sama" was printed in Japanese, under the "Special Guests" section.
"How much is it?," I asked Sone-sensei.
"It's a little expensive...," he said.
"How much?," I asked again.
He said "Nine thousand yen."
9,000 yen?! Good Lawd! When I heard the price, I was tempted to decline right then and there. That's almost $90 US! Tokyo Disneyland isn't even that expensive, and you get to meet Mickey Mouse for goodness's sake (not that I would pay to see Mickey Mouse--this is just for comparison's sake). I mean, spending $90 for a 2-hour event went against my spending principles, my fiscal morals. For that amount of cash, a limo needs to be picking me up to take me to see some world-renowned performer on their farewell tour. You get the point.
It's just that up until then, the school had always treated me, covering or defraying my party expenses; but it seemed now that my "guest" status had depreciated a bit: this time I had to pay as if I were Japanese. I have no problem paying my own way, but to go from paying nothing to 90 bucks for a party is a leap. Actually, the prospect of being treated with more normality relative to my Japanese counterparts presented its pros. However, paying ninety bucks for a couple hours of "finger food" and a few rounds of beer was definitely a con.
But with all those thoughts, I found myself, seconds later, in typical Japanese fashion, saying "Wakarimashita" ("OK"/"I understand"), the most commonly-used phrase of compliance within the Japanese language. It was too hard to say no, although I felt well within my right to--I felt obliged to go, simply because of the hospitality the elementary school principals and teachers had shown me throughout the school year, and because I didn't want to come off as shallow for skipping such an important school affair, over money.
On Friday, the day of the dinner, Asano-sensei, the assistant vice-principal, who'd also acted as my coordinator for the past year, and Hamajima sensei, the former 4th grade teacher, came to school by invitation of the principal, to officially say goodbye to the school staff. Asano-sensei distributed wrapped gifts to all the teachers, including me--sets of small handtowels with cute little graphics on them. Two teachers who'd just days earlier been integral parts of our staff were now guests for the day, lounging humbly in the principal's room. I went in to speak to them briefly and thank Asano-sensei for the gift.
She was happy I came and spoke to them. She'd been promoted to an administrative position within the Aichi prefectural board of education "teaching other teachers," as she said. I told her it sounded like she would be getting paid some nice paper--she just smiled and laughed when I said that. I had no idea she was leaving. I wished them luck in their new locales, and she went on to say my Japanese was fluent. I immediately denied that remark, because I know my Japanese, although much improved, is still pretty broken. I thanked her for being kind anyway.
That evening, on the 25th floor, the very top floor of the International Center, we held our dinner. It was easy for me to get there, as the Int'l Ctr. was less than a 10 minute walk from Nagoya Station's JR Central Towers, where we'd had our last function. I'd gotten to go home just early enough to shower, change into some dress clothes and jump right back on the train to only be 10 minutes late for the event, at 6:40. This time I went on my own because I knew exactly how to get there. At school, I'd even told one of the teachers who wasn't familiar with the building how to get there from the train station.
When I arrived, I was surprised to find that our dinner wasn't in a restaurant at all, rather a private party next to the restaurant in a moderately large Western-style room. There were 3 tables to seat our 20+ member group. There was a large picture window which offered a great view eastward over downtown Nagoya, with a clear view of the monumental Nagoya TV Tower in the Sakae district. I sat at the table closest to the window with the principal, Yamada-sensei, the 2 new teachers, and the 2 outgoing teachers. The menu for the evening was Chinese cuisine, catered from nextdoor. The dinner started off with some words from the principal, followed by short speeches from the 2 departing teachers. Asano-sensei spoke for over 5 minutes, expressing her refelections and parting thoughts. I understood little of her speech, as she spoke pretty quickly, and used some "big words" I hadn't learned yet, though I could tell it was pretty sentimental, as she got choked up towards the end. Holding back tears, she finished with a dry face.
When she sat down, and Hamajima-sensei began her speech, Asano-sensei immediately broke down, quietly sobbing in her seat.
In Japan, company farewells can be emotional events. As Yamada-sensei would freely tell me later that evening post-inebriation, Japanese culture is such that "Company is first, then Family and then Self." Indeed. Many times I've seen Japanese people, particularly salarymen, who put their jobs before their families, although compulsorily. In this case, Asano-sensei, an unwed, childless middle-aged woman, had spent her career working in schools, now only to say farewell to a staff who, in essence, was like her family.
After the speeches, it was time for the grub. The waiters brought the first round of drinks: bottled Asahi brand beer--which is like the J. equivalent of Budweiser. I was thinking, "They brought out "Budweiser" for my 90 bucks?! Tap beer is better than this!" Of course I said nothing of the sort aloud. Best believe I was trying to assess where all my money was going. I'd already figured a great sum of cash was going into the rental of the private room on the top floor of a public administrative building--no question.
After the beer, they brought out the appetizers--at least that's what I took them as. They were small appetizers, served in typical Japanese-sized portions: small. It was definitely Japanese-style Chinese food. There were small platters of meat garnished with small vegetables, including some chicken which I ate. The rest were pig-bred, including some pig ears, which I had to chuckle to myself about when I found out--it made me think of some American Black folk. There was some sort of clear gelatin with peas and crab meat inside. It looked sketchy, but I tried some anyway. Soon after, they brought tiny shot glasses, lemon slices and Chinese sake, which was 16% alcohol. They started pouring that stuff and things got festive real quick. By this time teachers were walking around with bottles of beer, filling each other's glasses--typical Japanese drinking etiquette. As usual, I was taking it easy on the alcohol, so my glass was always nearly full, but people kept coming over trying to pour me beer. At first I was like "Oh, my glass is already full," so then they would kind of hesitate before trying to fill the last 10 millimeters of the glass to the brim. It suddenly hit me, that the polite thing to do when your glass is full is to take a swig, . After about 2 or 3 people came and tried to fill my already-full glass, someone mentioned that I was supposed to take a swig, to allow room for the pourer to fill my glass again. After 2 years here, I never actually realized that was proper thing to do--I guess that's why it's called a drinking party, because your glass is being filled, so you don't stop drinking. I decided to make my own rounds and pour brew. I went to the guests of honor first. This time Asano-sensei commented how I'm "Japanese," which was complete and utter lie. Again, she was trying to show how much I was accepted among the teachers, but I have no intention or desire to be Japanese. I just politely shook my head "No."
Next on the menu were big chili sauce-covered shrimp balls, and chunks of fried Tai fish, which were served straight off the platter, with head, tail and fins still attached. They were both tasty. Though, as delicious as they were, I still didn't see my 9,000 yen's worth of grub. Then they brought out some brown soup with mushrooms in it.
"What's that?," I asked Yamada-sensei.
"That's shark-fin soup--very expensive," he replied.
Wow. We have endangered species on the menu. A few people echoed the sentiment about it being expensive, so I knew it had to be pricy if the Japanese folk said so. Rarely does one hear a Japanese person say that something is expensive because everything in Japan is expensive. Each table received a bowl of soup, from which smaller, individual bowls were served. The soup wasn't bad, although I wasn't particularly impressed by the flavor; it was little thicker than your average soup and it tasted...fishy. But from what I heard, I think each table bowl ran upwards of $100 US. So that's where my money went.
After a little while of more drinking and socializing, it was time to wrap things up. We all stood for some final words from the assistatn principal, then we did the loud cheer and single clap thing again. After that, everyone formed a human tunnel, by bridging our hands, for the farewell guests to exit through. As they passed everyone applauded and individually bowed to them and wished them off. A couple of people gave them hugs, which I was a little surprised to see, as hugging is rare amongst Japanese. The whole thing was over before 9:30.
Afterwards, everyone made their way to the train station. Coincidentally, I found out that Kawamura-sensei, the new assistant principal who'd replaced Asano-sensei, was heading to my stop. Her daughter lived in the same area as me she was staying with her for the night. It was her first time staying with her daughter, and she didn't know the trains well, so I said I'd guide her to the right platform. We were the only ones headed in our direction, which meant we had to pair off and split from the rest of the teachers. Kawamura-sensei fretted aloud amongst the teachers, wondering if she would be okay going with me alone. I guess the prospect of walking alone with a foreign man at night worried--never mind we work in the same place. But immediately, the former 6th grade teacher, also named Kawamura, told her, "Don't worry at all."
So after we caught the train together and made it to our stop, I walked with her for about a minute to make sure she had her bearings, before we we parted ways and said goodnight.
