Junior/Senior

At 8 am I totter down the hallway to Gabe’s hotel room to wake him from his slumbers. I knock. Nothing. I knock louder. Nothing. I suspect that Gabe may be passed out in some Tokyo alley. Or still at Womb. Or in a love hotel. Or choking on his own vomit. I pound wildly on the door for five minutes. The door opens and Gabe peers out as if he has never seen me before in his life.

“Gabe, we have to go to work.”
30 second pause.
“Ah.”
“Are you alright?”
Pause. Weird eyes.
“Yes.”

It turns out he took a cab home at 7am, or so he thinks. I zip over to McDonalds and get us some coffees, juices, and McGriddles. Time to “man up” and get to the show.

Yoriko is very concerned for our health. Gabe is not capable of forming sentences properly. We look like some awful Cold War army sleep experiment. When Gabe leaves to go to the bathroom, Yoriko leans over with furrowed brow and asks me if he needs medical attention.

Keijiro and me. This guy is awesome and totally “aho,” aka crazy. We slammed some whiskeys at the TICC evening reception.



It turns out that Gabe’s new friend in the Japanese porn industry had scribbled her contact info (email address “bend_me_over_drive_me_home_etc.”) in his passport sometime in the wee hours.



I explain to him that this is a very bad idea. He looks nonplussed.



Two funny things happen to me at the show, humor exacerbated by my toxic condition.

First, I stride over to a table to confer with one of the bigger Japanese coin dealers. He isn’t around but his employee explains “Gontu runch.” I stare blankly. “Gontu runch. Gontu runch.” Finally it penetrates my brain. Gabe and I go to runch at the ramen spot.

I meet with the show organizer, a Mr. Oka, to thank him for allowing us to participate. Anxious to follow proper business etiquette, I say a few careful words to Mr. Oka and bow several dozen times over the course of two minutes. He is bowing like a man possessed. Personally, I feel like a heron feeding in shallow water with a big school of fish passing by. Yoriko commends me on the bowing. “Enough bowing?” I ask her. “Yes, yes, just right.”

Earlier in the trip, Clark had explained to me and Gabe the Junior/Senior system in Japan. Junior: Start young. Work hard. Your boss is always right. No vacation. No right of complaint.
Senior: Dress well. Issue orders. Pay for all social events. Command respect.

To visualize this system, I decide to make a short film in the hotel lobby. Yoriko helps us with the translation:

“Dame shain! Dame shain!”
“Gomen nesai! Gomen nesai! Gomen nesai!”

“Bad employee! Bad employee!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Mr. Augusto Dragoni, an Italian coin dealer, directs:






We pack up, deliver a fancy cake to Yoriko as a token of thanks for her patience, and head over to Shinjuku for an excellent Italian dinner.







Kyoto tomorrow; collapse into bed.