Chapter 60: Memoirs Of A Japanese Salaryman

Chapter 60: Memoirs Of A Japanese Salaryman

Uniqlo Satellite HQ, LA. January 2011.

An honest day’s work. Largely, a foreign concept lost on a wealthy, young wastrel such as me. The only sort of head-banging that suited me was witnessed at concerts, not the frustrated forehead desk slamming secretly caught on office CCTVs. 

No. The drones suffering through the drudgery of a nine-to-five’s idea of a good time pertained to well executed excel spreadsheets. While a Hollywood stud, like the one I kissed in the foggy mirror of my steamy shower every morning, was better off causing a hullabaloo in the hills somewhere. 

Yet, needs must. I needed to learn how to conduct myself within the confining walls of a cubicle in an effort to fully embody Eddie Morra’s dead-end ennui.

I padded along the stifled corridor. Closed-door middle-management on one side, and rows of bull pens on the other. Only the clacking of keyboards, the flickering and buzzing fluorescent lights, and the near-constant ringing of landlines concealed my steps. The cheap carpet underfoot was too thin to hide heels hobbling over the creaky wood flooring underneath. Squares of brown, grey, and beige masked only the splotches and stains of cheap coffee, and cheaper custodial staff. 

My route down the hall went unimpeded, and my presence unheeded. No jaws dislocated, no pens and accompanying notepads were hurled in my direction; I didn’t even get passing shifty-eyed glances. Instead, as I poked my nose above the lip of a prefab wall, I investigated what had these people so preoccupied. Feasibility reports were being shunned for mindlessly scrolling through facebook - picture after picture of amateur celebrity sightings; absorbed in distant fantasy while the splendour that was me stood right behind her. 

Oh yeah, this was absolutely and unequivocally dreary - perfect. This field trip was a wonderful scheme. I should really buy Shinpachi a drink for coming up with it. He’d originally flown in from Tokyo to handle something in the Western wing of the company and had made the gracious offer to tutor me in the ways of the everyday jobber at his veteran side.

Though, I doubt he was feeling so magnanimous now. “Ba-boss, what are you doing here!?” Shinpachi, my primary point of contact at Uniqlo, hushed, huffed, and hurried at me all at the same time. He rushed to grab my wrist, yank me away from the cubicle I’d invaded, and frogmarched me towards the exit. 

“If I recall, my internship was your bright idea. What’s got you bent out of shape?” Mostly because he was bowing in apology to basically no-one as we hastened out.

“Yes, you are correct, of course. Demo, it was my intention to have you spend time at our company. Not our telemarketer neighbours!”

“Well, what do you expect me to do? Uniqlo’s digs are full of models. I came here to educate myself about a hard-knock life, not give myself a hard-on.”

Exfiltration successful, Shinpachi sat me in a chair, which I promptly began swivelling. A stark contrast from the surrounding workers methodically pawing through fabric samples and clothes on coat hangers. Even the resident models doing their job as human mannequins were more disciplined than I was. “We can provide you with a taste of an average day of operations, since you have now returned to the premises. There are many tasks that Tokyo has designated I fulfill; I am confident your - how you say, ‘outside of the boxes’ thinking - will prove itself an asset, Bas.” Over our many years of collaboration, he’d loosened his tie enough around me to drop my name without stumbling over honorifics. “And hopefully keep you busy enough to not cause incident.” 

To my delight, he was even capable of a certain amount of impertinence. “Gonna make me slip into my big-boy pants, huh?”

“Just so.”

“Alright. Ahehehem.” I officiously and facetiously cleared my throat and sat up straight. “What’s on today’s agenda, then? Fedex, you take minutes.” Despite jabbing my authority at her, my shadow continued to placidly sip tea in her corner.

“Nothing so fancy - quite the opposite, in fact. Japan, the majority of our Asian markets, as well as the UK, begin the new fiscal year every April. In anticipation of the event, we are planning to capitalise on the seasonal market of office workers, by targeting them for our newest line of corporate fashion.” 

We wheeled over to the massive table in the very middle of the showroom. Situated as the central hub, it was the eye of the storm for all the activity flowing around it, and it looked like it had been hit by one recently, too. Strewn cuttings of cloth, scissors, chalk, measuring tape, and a slew of varying mock-up designs. Shinpachi reached down, and thumped a cooler sized plastic container, packed to the brim with office attire, onto the tabletop.

I rolled up my sleeves and lugged the other two up for him. We dug through them in a chorus of crinkling plastic. “Cotton shirts, pleated trousers, blazers, and argyle socks. And a lot of it, too. Not exactly anything you’d feature on the front page of a magazine, is it?”

“Yes.” Shinpachi agreed. “And therein lies our problem. It is our task to make the mundane exciting. Our initial concept involves leveraging your recent change in image somehow. Though we are unsure of how to approach this.”

Which was an odd notion to my ear. The annual financial reports, including incomes and expenditures submitted to investors, kept me apprised of just how much Uniqlo spent on PR. I frowned at Shinpachi. “Are we paying marketing too much? Shouldn’t they be a bit more on top of this? Why lean on us?”

“Not an unfair assessment. In their defence, however, Japanese culture - especially business - has unavoidable rigidities. I do not doubt that there are many creative ideas they can showcase. Although, if they do, often leadership will always default to the tried-and-true methods they’ve been using for years and years without deviation. They also fear inevitable blame if the new endeavours cannot meet projections. So, they give up, zip their mouths, and save everything for themselves.” He neatly sorted his stack of apparel according to their distinction.

“Sounds like a choking hazard.” My pile toppled over haphazardly.

“As you say, it can be. That is why there are common idiosyncrasies they use to cope. Alcohol, karaoke, and…prostitution.” 

“That’s one way to blow off more than steam! Speaking from experience, are we Shinpachi? Were you frequenting gentlemen’s clubs and behaving the opposite?” I playfully elbowed him in his ribs.

“I was not always in an executive position.” Shinpachi candidly confessed the sordid aspect of this sort of life with a quiet chuckle. “It might be shameful to admit, but as a younger man, spending my meagre earnings on such things was the only way I had to find relief in an oppressive atmosphere. My story is not unique, merely a persistent reality that we deny mention of.” 

“Sex sells, I guess. Even to destitute wage slaves.” I ruminated.

“It does, indeed.” 

His agreement suddenly hit a nerve, sparked a neuron, and ignited my next thought. “So, why don’t we use it to our advantage? For this, I mean. Sex it up.”

Shinpachi seemed initially unsure when his brows furrowed in confusion. “Would that work?”

“It’s… okay - you ever been to a library?” He nodded, encouraging me to follow through on my scenario. “One thing most people overlook is the librarian. Similar to the average office worker, they’re invisible to most of us beneath the glasses, boring hairstyles, comfy cardigans, and long skirts. But then, one day, you spy one bent over returning a book to a low shelf on the case. And there, peeking just over her waistband, is the thin strap to a lacy thong. It would surprise you, wouldn’t it? Make you see her in a different light. Every trip to the library from then on would have you fantasising about what else is under there. I bet you anything you won’t just be checking books out anymore.” 

“Bas… are you a hentai?” His frameless glasses did nothing to hide the genuine shock in his widened eyes.

“You didn’t know!?” I reeled back just as flabbergasted. “Did you forget I stripped down to my skivvies for the last advert we did?”

“Good point.” 

“Further to it,” I piggybacked, “we’ve a decent grasp on what entices a good chunk of our demographic. You’ve revealed the seedy underbelly of it all. Why not explore how deep the roots run? Office romances and affairs are a thing too, after all. Let’s leverage it. That’s the attitude we ought to be selling - that dichotomy. From drab to goddamn!”

As I flailed my arms for emphasis, Shinpachi crossed his own in consideration. “Hmm. It is similar to karaage. Dry breading on the outside, delicious juicy chicken on the inside.” 

“Whatever floats your boat, man.” 

“Yes.” He tapped the table with determination. “This is what we will do. Good job, Bas.” He reached into his pocket and brought out his phone. “I am going to call the team in Tokyo to get started right now.”

“Aren’t they seventeen hours ahead of here? They’re probably asleep.”

“I do not care. They better wake up, it is time for them to work. There is much to organise. Wardrobe, sets, and models - excluding you, of course.” He was impatient. Ready to strike hot, unprepared to leave any irons on the fire.

Casting a glance around, my ignited inspiration had yet to smoulder. I had a more expedient solution. Snatching his phone, I hung up before his moshi-moshi was vocalised. “We already have everything on your list required to get us immediately underway. Snazzy outfits, models, location, too.” My finger guided his gaze between each respective article available to us, before I ended it on my face. “I’m sure if I pop over next door and ask nicely, we’ll have an affordable and authentic venue for our photoshoot. Maybe throw in a few freebies to sweeten the pot.”

His eyes darted around his skull as he calculated the potential cost, only to conclude that it was far cheaper than the alternative. There was a hitch, though. “We are crucially missing a photographer…”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry, my secretary can take care of that.” Shinpachi flinched as I carelessly tossed his cell over my shoulder. Fedex, predictably, caught it. I stuck my pinky and thumb out and wiggled them. “I know a guy.”

–

Barely a couple hours later, long enough for me to borrow metaphorical sugar from the neighbours in exchange for a PR photo-op of their own, our camera guy arrived.

“Michèl G-green-?” Whose name Shinpachi was thoroughly mangling while flipping through his portfolio.

“Oui! Grignon.”

“Just call him Migraine.” I helpfully supplied. “He’s liable to give you one, but he’s worth it.” Both of them had pleased responses to my fresh christening.

“Ohonhonhon!”

“Yes, it seems so. You have photographed for several prestigious luxury brands. Impressive. Will our humble motif satisfy you?” Pending title: ‘Uniqlo - Wear Yourself Out at Work.’

Migraine batted away Shinpachi’s concern with a flourish. “It is plenty risque for me. We can work out compensation after the shoot. My only non-negotiable rests with Bas.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ve already agreed to be your muse.” Three-way handshake done, I rose out of my chair and solicited a more appetising threesome while tugging my top off. “C’mon ladies, it’s our turn to rise and shine.”

–

It started off innocently enough. “Strut! Strut! Strut!” the walking headache commanded from behind his DSLR as the three of us cat-walked down the corridor in pencil skirts and pinstripe shirts. “You’re a tiger!”

Snap!

It became progressively more piquant. Returning to my earlier position at the same cubicle, I slanted at the threshold, while one girl tested the limits of the lumbar support of her chair. “Non, non, non! Flirt with each other, be more suggestive!” She leaned far enough back to show off her thick thighs and the hem of her stockings squashed between her crossed calves. Meanwhile, I twined my fingers saucily between the springy rings of the phone cord. 

Snap!

To provocative. My second lens-front companion snatched my branded belt buckle and threatened to untuck something other than my shirt. “Enforce the power dynamic. She’s ready to show you who’s boss, Bas!” I posed with halfway removed shoes and a blazer.

Snap!

Until it became downright erotic. Commandeering one of the managers’ desks, I propped my socked feet up on it. My ‘boss’, on the other foot, had her heel perched on my armrest, while my other colleague straddled herself on my lap. I had a firm grip on her lapel as I pretended to rip it apart, while my collar was conspicuously absent. Replaced instead by a knotted tie around my naked neck, taut and tangled within my boss’ grasp. “Oui, oui! Demonstrate what a real debriefing looks like, you three!” 

Snap!

Mercifully, that was about the ceiling. Any more threads hitting the floor would mean we’d somehow strayed into gravure. 

Shinpachi was elated. He and Migraine flicked through the shots on the digital screen. “Very attention grabbing. The Tokyo branch will remain busy tomorrow onwards. Our task is done, so in celebration we must drink to unwind. Come, we go to the bar.” Shinpachi fixed his posture, jerked his cuffs, straightened his specs, and shot me a sly wink. “I promised you the full corporate experience, did I not? Work hard, play hard, it is said.”

He suggested neither karaoke nor a massage parlour. Probably to protect their ears and my sensibilities, respectively. “Ah, this must be the infamous workday-nightlife balance I’ve heard so much about. Drinks are on you, then. And no changing out of our costumes. I want the full shebang!”

“Bon! I shall join. What greater opportunity to document you? Inflagranti!”

The team headed towards the lifts, but before I could join them, “shall I divert or follow?” Fedex scheduled a final clandestine meeting. 

“Nah. This crowd’s harmless. I’m overdue a bit of fun, anyway.” Especially the two models who giggled and beckoned me over when the lift chimed upon reaching out level. “Just watch my back, and I expect you to grab a drinky for yourself as well. I’d actually prefer if we go a little wild tonight. Plus, who knows, this brief excursion could turn into a business trip, if I so choose.”

As long as I was being a corporate monkey, I might as well employ some guerilla marketing of my own.