Work; Perks
On Thursday, the station was brimming, people backed up to the exits and a hum of gossip and anxiety filled the air. My workmates and I talked in a tight little cluster. A suicide, it has to be, said someone. Most of us agreed. The station staff ran up and down the platform, reassuring salarymen, apologising profusely. Sirens flared in the distance, and time stretched out as the cleanup crew went into action. At last, a train arrived, the killer, windows steamed up, a grim tolerance on the faces of those who poured out. Our train went past the place where someone killed themselves ten minutes ago; it was already clean, a crowd dispersing. "You know what's bizarre", said Jeremy, "what's strange is that the railways charge the family of the suicide for the cleanup bill and for slowing down the network." Most of us knew of that particular Japanese quirk ""Yeah, but did you know that a few rail companies decided that it would be cost-effective to start up suicide prevention lines?" I said. This was also common knowledge. Then Jeremy offered something new. "Not only that, but people who want to die prefer to commit suicide in front of a JR (Japanese Railways) train, because it is cheaper for their family." This particular tidbit shocked us into silence. "You're joking", said Jess. "Nope. People shop around. The private lines are just too expensive - several million yen, I think." How remarkable.
While I'm on Japanese peculiarities, take this one. Japanese train/department store companies will sometimes build an entirely new train line, primarily to place consumers within their department stores, which comprise the bulk of each station. I suppose it's a little bit like independent petrol outlets in Australia - none of them make money on petrol, but just use petrol as a way to put people near their overpriced goods.
---
I'm fickle with my affections, and this week, my allegiance to certain toddlers has shifted. Hina, she of the ankle-biting infatuation with all things Doug, has become rapidly annoying. She has a fit whenever I dare pay attention to another child, and if I -shockhorror- actually pick a rival up, she throws a wild tantrum on the floor. But she always comes back, snottily faithful. The thing is, she doesn't know what to do with my attention when she has it. She doesn't like learning colours or numbers or names; she pays me tithes of lego bricks and fluffy toys to win my favour, but squanders it by crawling all over me, a restless little creature. She clumsily wields blocks to defend her rights to my left leg, leaving a trail of crying children behind her, but then does nothing but gaze at me with puppy eyes. In short, she needs a wake up call, because, baby, this thing just ain't gonna work. No, this sickening devotion and desperation has made her appeal shrink, and I've already made my way to cuter climes. Moeko has continued her winning ways, flouncing about in her Rastafarian beret, complete with marijuana leaf embroidered on top. She has improbably large eyes, anime style, and chipmunk cheeks. But Rai is definitely my favourite at the moment. She pioneered the where-are-my-hands game, and her　delighted face when she fools me for the tenth time (where could they possibly be?) always melts my little heart. She's warmhearted, and can't stand it when other children are crying. Most other kids stand around the weeper in a circle, watching silently, looks of uncertainty and a vague unfulfilled reponsibility in their eyes. Not Rai. Rai sweeps in with a tissue, dabs it all over the crying face, which is ineffective but adorable, and then consoles them until an adult arrives and her face relaxes into happiness.
---
It's a beautiful irony that toddlers, the most self-centred segment of the human life-cycle, are the creatures who are most unable to satisfy their own needs and desires. Most of us have to wait until we're old enough to get credit cards. I love watching this frustration play across their faces. They want instant gratification - hugs, food, blocks - but they can't do a damn thing about it. I think it's why kids learn so quickly, to overcome this frustration, why they strain to make ungainly fingers click open a locked cupboard door.
I'm also fascinated by the way causality is slowly dawning on these children. Takumi will grow up to be a big, strong bully, and he's in training right now. Clonk! goes Thomas the Tank Engine, connecting with Soshin's head. Waa! goes Soshin, after the initial look of surprise passes. Takumi sits there, weapon in hand, with a vague look of guilt on his face, as if he knows that the two events are somehow connected, and that he was the instigator, the catalyst between these two nows. Still, also, there is this guilelessness and placidity which hangs on his face and covers causal guilt. He has an inkling that he should feel bad and that his frequent visits to the corner for special Takumi time are also linked to this inkling, but right now, these ideas are still coalescing.
---
On Thursday, the station was brimming, people backed up to the exits and a hum of gossip and anxiety filled the air. My workmates and I talked in a tight little cluster. A suicide, it has to be, said someone. Most of us agreed. The station staff ran up and down the platform, reassuring salarymen, apologising profusely. Sirens flared in the distance, and time stretched out as the cleanup crew went into action. At last, a train arrived, the killer, windows steamed up, a grim tolerance on the faces of those who poured out. Our train went past the place where someone killed themselves ten minutes ago; it was already clean, a crowd dispersing. "You know what's bizarre", said Jeremy, "what's strange is that the railways charge the family of the suicide for the cleanup bill and for slowing down the network." Most of us knew of that particular Japanese quirk ""Yeah, but did you know that a few rail companies decided that it would be cost-effective to start up suicide prevention lines?" I said. This was also common knowledge. Then Jeremy offered something new. "Not only that, but people who want to die prefer to commit suicide in front of a JR (Japanese Railways) train, because it is cheaper for their family." This particular tidbit shocked us into silence. "You're joking", said Jess. "Nope. People shop around. The private lines are just too expensive - several million yen, I think." How remarkable.
While I'm on Japanese peculiarities, take this one. Japanese train/department store companies will sometimes build an entirely new train line, primarily to place consumers within their department stores, which comprise the bulk of each station. I suppose it's a little bit like independent petrol outlets in Australia - none of them make money on petrol, but just use petrol as a way to put people near their overpriced goods.
---
I'm fickle with my affections, and this week, my allegiance to certain toddlers has shifted. Hina, she of the ankle-biting infatuation with all things Doug, has become rapidly annoying. She has a fit whenever I dare pay attention to another child, and if I -shockhorror- actually pick a rival up, she throws a wild tantrum on the floor. But she always comes back, snottily faithful. The thing is, she doesn't know what to do with my attention when she has it. She doesn't like learning colours or numbers or names; she pays me tithes of lego bricks and fluffy toys to win my favour, but squanders it by crawling all over me, a restless little creature. She clumsily wields blocks to defend her rights to my left leg, leaving a trail of crying children behind her, but then does nothing but gaze at me with puppy eyes. In short, she needs a wake up call, because, baby, this thing just ain't gonna work. No, this sickening devotion and desperation has made her appeal shrink, and I've already made my way to cuter climes. Moeko has continued her winning ways, flouncing about in her Rastafarian beret, complete with marijuana leaf embroidered on top. She has improbably large eyes, anime style, and chipmunk cheeks. But Rai is definitely my favourite at the moment. She pioneered the where-are-my-hands game, and her　delighted face when she fools me for the tenth time (where could they possibly be?) always melts my little heart. She's warmhearted, and can't stand it when other children are crying. Most other kids stand around the weeper in a circle, watching silently, looks of uncertainty and a vague unfulfilled reponsibility in their eyes. Not Rai. Rai sweeps in with a tissue, dabs it all over the crying face, which is ineffective but adorable, and then consoles them until an adult arrives and her face relaxes into happiness.
---
It's a beautiful irony that toddlers, the most self-centred segment of the human life-cycle, are the creatures who are most unable to satisfy their own needs and desires. Most of us have to wait until we're old enough to get credit cards. I love watching this frustration play across their faces. They want instant gratification - hugs, food, blocks - but they can't do a damn thing about it. I think it's why kids learn so quickly, to overcome this frustration, why they strain to make ungainly fingers click open a locked cupboard door.
I'm also fascinated by the way causality is slowly dawning on these children. Takumi will grow up to be a big, strong bully, and he's in training right now. Clonk! goes Thomas the Tank Engine, connecting with Soshin's head. Waa! goes Soshin, after the initial look of surprise passes. Takumi sits there, weapon in hand, with a vague look of guilt on his face, as if he knows that the two events are somehow connected, and that he was the instigator, the catalyst between these two nows. Still, also, there is this guilelessness and placidity which hangs on his face and covers causal guilt. He has an inkling that he should feel bad and that his frequent visits to the corner for special Takumi time are also linked to this inkling, but right now, these ideas are still coalescing.
---
posted by Doug @ 3/20/2005 11:25:00 pm
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