The Changing of the Guard

Keys were turned over, maps were handed out and I passed on my first teaching block to the new solider today. I hope she has the padding to take the heavy artily, folks. I was asked a month ago to move her in. It as the logistical choice. I had her school keys and would be able to give her to low down on what she could expect from her new schools. However up until yesterday I had no key to move her in. A little bit of a company oversight, don’t you think? After a few phone calls made Friday I was informed a package would be coming sometime on Sunday. That sometime happened to be 9am while I as dreaming of Natalie Portman, some butterscotch ripple ice cream and a keg of A&W Root Beer. I have dirty, dirty unhealthy dreams. Pop went Portman into the dreamscape and I answered the door, accepted the package and returned to dreams only this time all I could muster was Bea Arthur, some pork rinds and sour milk. It also occurred to me, as her key fell out of the envelope, that I presently don’t have keys to my four new schools. Well, just another bridge. So today I rise early and shave off the mutton chops that I had come to enjoy. I decided the first view the new kids get of me should be a clean shaven Canuck. Gradually I can work back in the I-Just-Got-Out-Of-Prison-And-Now-I’m-A-Strip-Club-Bouncer beard. Like the long hair it’s coming back. After tossing my chops in the trash I headed on down to Takada station to meet the new teacher. I’d spoken to her only twice before. She seemed a bit withdrawn (comes with the isolation we are faced with in the middle of nowhere land Japan, I gather) but was nice. She’s also Canadian and calls where I plan to head off to next year home: BC. I pull into the station which also happens to be one of my teaching cities, go figure, and I figure this chick is going to be the only other foreigner around and sure enough she’s in front of the Mr. Donut with a suitcase that looks like a Ferrari and an inpatient look on her face. Man, I thought I was early. I take out the map the company sent me. It reminds me a lot of that map I was given which marked the internet café I never found. She’s been in the country longer then I and appeared to have a better grasp on Japanese kanji (actually, a hamster could probably grasp this stuff better then me. No…no, I can do better then that…a shaved hamster on crack….yeah, that’s more like it). She navigated us towards the apartment as I explained the area to her. She didn’t seem particularly interested but such things don’t stop somebody like me who seldom gets to converse with other English speakers. Her apartment is about the same distance from door to station as my own although she doesn’t reside directly in front of the tracks. I forgot to mention that she actually moved to Japan after meeting a Japanese dude on vacation in Vancouver. She was placed originally with classes pretty far off from where he lives. He lives in Osaka, from what I gathered, and now with the move she is much closer. Nice of the company to bring together such budding love. Already waiting for us where her boyfriend’s parents, the nicest Japanese folks I have met since that wonderful man toured me around Nagoya. The both offered me warm bows of welcome and we exchanged pleasantries. I looked inside their car. It was nearly bursting apart with the amount of luggage packed inside. I thought the luggage was arriving tomorrow. I was corrected. This was only partial luggage. Man, that’s a lot of accumulated assets. Lucky for her I am a champion mover. I think since leaving home at the age of 18 I must have moved about 25 times. From city to city, basement room to bachelor, roommate after roommate, as packed a lot of life into boxes. Strange to think that right now only eleven remain in a Cornwall basement. Thankfully the Japanese parents had adopted the method used by my family. We work like an old assembly factory or that episode of Lucy where she stuffs all the chocolate in her mouth. One unloads, one carts half way, one brings to the door and the other unpacks. There wasn’t much heavy lifting involved. I swear, this girl was moving out of a shoe store with the bags of footwear I carted up the steps. Her apartment was nicer then mine, slightly larger with better flooring and a balcony. I miss my Bell Street balcony. One of those would have helped during the murderous Japanese summer months. The only plus I have on this place is a two burner stove. Both parents struck up conversations with me, especially the old man. As the woman and the new teacher were trying to figure out how the get the gas running the old man and I had quite the talk. Well, he talked and I mimed (I’m doing you just Marcel, may you rest in peace) and uttered the little Japanese I knew that could fit whatever it was this guy was talking about. He managed about as much English as I did Japanese but we did alright. I told him of my travels in Japan, what I had seen, done. He was impressed that I had devoured so much of his culture. At one point the woman said that I’d done more then she had. The air was hot in this place which had been closed up for over a month and the old woman purchased us all drinks. She was very grandmotherly but a typical Japanese elderly person. There was no stopping her. She was moving things around, setting them in place, lifting things she probably shouldn’t have been lifting. My mother and her would have become instant friends. Afterwards, with the refreshing soda burning my throat and a fan now plugged in cooling us all, I sat with the new teacher to give her the good, the bad and the ugly. Actually, most of it was the ugly. I explained that I could tell her of her soon to be good classes but such things are joys she could discover on her own. There were kids like Spawn of Lucifer to warn her of not to mention the angry doctors, the ADHD kids, the mildly retarded child, the witch of a Japanese teacher (damn, I just made a typo. Can you find it?) and all the other blights and blemishes she needed to know about. She seemed unfazed. Actually, she seemed disinterested. She had to get back to Osaka, I was told. I quickly surmised my notes I’d made for her over the last four weeks and asked her if she had any questions. She had none. Well, best of luck to Madam is all I can say. I informed her I was around should she have any issues or concerns and as slight drizzle, the first in weeks, began to fall and walked back to the bus station and headed on home. You know, I am actually relieved and refreshed. Turning those keys over felt good not so much because I am leaving behind some terrors (I am sure I will acquire some more) but I am looking forward to a fresh page in a few days. Out with the old, my friends, and in with the new.