Yes, the dolphins of financial content have beached themselves on the rocky shores of disappointment leaving yours truly with absolutely no cash. I can't use my English pounds because they wither away when exchanged into Japanese yen. On top of that my Eikaiwa (conversation-based) language school is paying me about 4 years in arrears, meaning I'm not going to see a significant amount of money any time soon. Therefore I have now joined the thousands of salarymen who cram themselves onto the trains early in the morning with almost asphyxiating dedication and perseverence in order to earn the bread... or at least the crusts... well mouldy crusts. I say mouldy crusts, it's actually just the mould in itself; the bread has long gone.
I have no idea how some of these guys do it. At a time far too early to be considered civilised, these smartly-dressed sardines physically force themselves onto the train, turning toward the door as they get on, and then push backwards, compressing the people behind them into a fine commuter-based paste. There is no rush hour on earth like Tokyo rush hour. I don't care where you've been, or how many thousands of people you've seen trying to crawl into a space half the appropriate capacity, Tokyo simply beats everywhere hands down. No one complains, tuts, or sighs. They just accept the fact that they are about to be made into one giant, homogenous salaryman pancake.
It seems a lot of salarymen do things to extremes, the majority of them getting up before sunrise, travelling in unhealthily-sized crowds, and returning home close to midnight after putting in a minimum of 12 hours, though usually closer to 15 or 16. Of course they return home only after drinking whisky to the extent that, when getting on the same train, one is immediately hit in the face by an almost tangible whiff of booze so strong that it practically gives you a face lift.
I've only been on this regime (minus the booze) for two weeks and I'm already nearly dead. I've been nodding off in my lessons while desperately trying to pass it off as philosophical whimsy. I've been subsisting entirely on Calorie Mate which, while good enough for the fictional gaming super-CIA-Marine Solid Snake, probably lacks the nutritional value required to keep people who exist in the real world alive. I'll be honest; it's like eating a block of solid anti-matter that's been sprayed with chocolate. If you're a real masochist you can go for the cheese flavour but you'd be better off asking someone to punch you in the face with boxing gloves made with reeking, fusty milk. Calorie Mate: it kept a virtual character alive because it only has virtual nutrition.
With the economic situation the way it is, it looks like I'm going to have to keep this up for another month perhaps. But as soon as I get out of this patch of 14 hour days, I will hopefully have some cash to see more of Tokyo, and some free time to actually write what I've seen other than the back of a very tired Japanese man's head pressed into my face on the underground.
