Home > Gaijin Smash > 3 Year Profile – Watson’s School

3 Year Profile – Watson’s School

In my three years here, I never actually came up with a nickname for the third school.

Nicknames weren’t just for you guys’ benefit. I sometimes thought of the schools as “Ghetto School” or “School of Peace”, and often times used the nicknames with friends. The third school managed to elude a re-christening though. The Ghetto School and the School of Peace were two ends of an extreme – harmony and chaos as it were. The third school simply fell somewhere in the middle. Things were, for the most part, good. While the kids were not as angelic as the School of Peace kids, they were nowhere even near the level of Professional Hellbringer than the Ghetto School kids were. In fact, the only real thing that stands out about the school are Watson’s antics.

This school also gets the honor of being the one school of my three that really didn’t change much over the years. The faculty, for the most part, stayed constant, and though there were many interesting personalities among the students over the years, no one group of kids really stood out over the others.

If I were to give the school a nickname, it’d be something along the lines of “The OC” or “Kyoto 90210”. This school happens to be in the good part of town. I mean, the really good part of town. There’s a big Kansai Science City down here, and as a result the area is rapidly growing. Everything, including the school itself, is relatively new. And the people who live in this area are fairly well-off. So most of the kids live in pretty nice houses, and never have to worry about money or anything like that. In school, the vast majority of them seemed to play it straight – skipping class was rare, most everybody did their work, rarely did anyone ever talk back to a teacher.

Year 1

I started out with 4 English teachers. The head teacher was Mr. W, a sweetheart of an old guy who I came to view as a grandfather figure. There was another guy in his thirties, Mr. S. Mr. S simply always smelled like cigarettes. If you got within 5 feet of him, it was like you’d personally smoked half a pack. I don’t even think it was a matter of the smoke permeating his clothes – I think tobacco had just bonded with his DNA structure. There were two young girls as well, Ms. N (who I would later come to know as Ms. Americanized 2), and Ms. T. …Well, I considered them to be young as they were both in their late 20’s, but according to Japanese society since they were both unmarried and without boyfriends they were already old maids. Ms. N had done a lot of traveling, and spent some time in America (So.Cal no less) on a homestay. She was one of many girls who, after leaving Japan, found it to be too restrictive and rigid, especially towards women. Ms. N recognized that she probably wouldn’t be able to successfully date a Japanese man, and longed to one day return to America. I’m honestly not sure why Ms. T was still single – she was really cute. I told her so, and this lead to a running gag about our “Secret Relationship”. If the students teased her in class about being single, I’d go over and give her a hug or a pat on the back, and she’d say something loaded with innuendo like “Oh, save that for later!” The students heads would light on fire at the concept, but Ms. T was probably the most chill out of all the teachers I worked with, so she didn’t care.

Halfway through the first year, my desk was moved next to Noisy Fucker’s. This would begin a long campaign of complete and utter acoustical torment.

The students were, well, students. With no Ghetto School/School of Peace extremes, it’s hard to remember classes as a whole. I did run into an ichinensei kid who stole my superhero cape after my self-introduction. After I tried to take it back, he ran away, with the cape majestically flapping behind him. As he would eventually launch a 3-year campaign to either grab my Garguantuan Cock of African Descent, or kancho me all to hell as a consolation prize, I would come to nickname this kid Watson.

Unfortunately, I just don’t remember the sannensei at all. A few random faces sure, but with our short time together, nothing really left an impression.

…Except for one girl.

I want to reinforce the fact that I am in no way a pedophile. Not even a percentage of a percentage point. So, trust me when I tell you that this 15-year old girl had, without a doubt, the largest breasts I have ever seen on a Japanese woman. …EVER.

It also didn’t help matters that she wore her shirt WIDE OPEN. Kids in this school determined their coolness by how many buttons they opened on their polo shirt uniforms*. Most kids had at least one undone – most everyone else would un-do two or three, and those trying to be The Shit would leave all 4 buttons open. Girls included. Most girls, being as flat as Idaho, could actually get away with it (…what? They’re Japanese!). This girl couldn’t, yet she left all four buttons open anyway. What this meant, is that depending on where one stood, there were plenty of angles where you could see right into her shirt. Not even “down” her shirt, “into”. This, especially to a dedicated Breast Man such as myself, is the very definition of “Forbidden Temptation”.

Az’s Penis: Man, those are some of the nicest MELON TITS on this entire PLANET. C’mon you gotta look.
Az’s Heart: Eyes, belay that order!
Az’s Eyes: What’s going on?
Az’s Heart: This girl is fifteen years old. Fif-fucking-teen. It’s wrong.
Az’s Penis: It’s MELON TITS! A wonderful set of jugs are a wonderful set of jugs no matter what the age.
Az’s Anxiety: We shouldn’t look. What if we liked it? That would make us a pedo-bear.
Az’s Penis: I’m not asking you to use me on her, I’m just asking to you take a look. I mean, it’s MELON TITS! And her shirt is WIDE OPEN. It’s like 1000 “Best Christmases Ever!”, all rolled into one!
Az’s Heart: You know its wrong, and we’re not doing it.
Az’s Penis: Brain! Ignore Heart. Give the order to Eyes.
Az’s Brain: Oh, I’m so confused…
Az’s Legs: I say we should look.
Az’s Heart: …Hey! You’re not even involved in this!
Az’s Legs: Just thought I would chime in.
Az’s Penis: Thanks Legs! Brain, ignore those Heart and Anxiety pussies and tell Eyes to look!

*The interesting thing about this is that the male teachers would often chew out students for improperly wearing their uniforms…but they would only come down on the boys.

(Male student walks by with 2 buttons open)
Teacher: Hey! What do you think you’re doing! Are you trying to be a yakuza or something!
Boy: No.
Teacher: Then button up your shirt! Now!
Boy: Fine, fine. *grumbles*
(Female student walks by with all 4 buttons open)
Teacher: Good afternoon. Fine day, isn’t it?

It leads me to believe that Japanese men don’t have quite the internal struggle about this that I do.

Japanese Eyes: Hey, look at this.
Japanese Brain: Hmm. Her shirt is wide open. And, her skirt is a little high too.
Japanese Penis: See, what that means is we can see her small, budding little breasts and thighs without having to do too much work for it.
Japanese Heart: Sweet, I’m on board.
Japanese Anxiety: Me too.
Japanese Legs: I’ve been waiting all day.
Japanese Brain: Then let us peek at underaged schoolgirl with great vigor and excitement.
Japanese Penis: It’s like 1000 haiku about the beautiful sakura, all rolled up into one.

Year 2

Near the beginning of my second year, Mr. S began studying for some difficult English teacher qualification test he had to take. As a result, he started coming to school less and less, finally disappearing all-together in the second half of the year. Towards the end of the year, Mr. W was to retire – I was saddened by this, as I really liked working with him. His replacement was a woman I christened Pirate Blacktooth, but as she had just recently gotten married, naturally she was pregnant and left the school after only a few weeks. I dunno what the deal is with Japanese/Asian men, but it seems like they don’t take long after marriage to put a little something in the oven. I have yet to go to a Japanese wedding, but I’m starting to wonder if the ordaining priest doesn’t say “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now impregnate the bride.” Anyhow, with her arrival and the school being short of teachers, Mr. W came back to help as a part-timer, and I was glad to have him back.

This was the year I choose to don the Matsuken Samba outfit for my self-introduction. Ms. T proved that she’s one of the coolest teachers ever by actually wearing it herself. I asked pretty much all of my teachers if they’d like to try it, but they all turned down the opportunity with the quickness. Ms. T was the only one willing to give it a try. We did a few classes with her in the shiny gold kimono, while the kids just kind of gave her a “WTF are you doing?” look.

Midway through the year, the teachers changed their desks around. Homeroom teachers, if possible, stick with a class until graduation. Within the teachers room, there are four desk groupings – administrative, ichinensei, ninensei, and sannensei. As the sannensei graduated and a new class of ichinensei entered the school, the teachers homerooms would switch accordingly – ichinensei teachers would become ninensei teachers, nisennsei teacher to sannensei, and sannensei teachers would loop back and become ichinensei teachers. To me, it would make MUCH more sense to just re-label the desk groupings accordingly, but since this is Japan, where things like sense and praticality and neatly folded up and thrown right out the nearest window, what they did instead was MOVE all the ichinensei teachers to the ninensei desks, and so on. Exact same grouping of people, just now sitting at a different cluster of desks.

Anyway, whatever. I hoped the move would grant me a pardon from Noisy Fucker. I’d been moved to the administrative desk cluster for some reason – I hoped that either I or Noisy Fucker would be moved elsewhere. …Nope, didn’t happen. I’d be stuck with the Master of His Own Vocal Chords for at least another year. It’s nice to see that I’m hated not only by God, but by Budda as well. Equal opportunity deity hate.

And I did see Melon Tits once more after she’d graduated. I was walking to the train station, and in the distance I could see a girl wearing a brown dress. Since she was still a ways away, I didn’t know who it was, all I could see with a Japanese girl with nice legs and massive tits. As I approached, naturally my mind was thinking of all sorts of perverse and corrupted things, but when I got close enough to see that it was my former student, my heart sank.

All I know is that some Japanese high school boy is going to be one extremely lucky bastard.

Year 3

Year 3 brought little to no changes in the faculty. With Pirate Blacktooth’s pregnancy and subsequent maternity leave, Mr. W stayed on as a part-time teacher. Ms. N began to talk more liberally, and it was around this time when I started to think of her as Ms. Americanized 2. And, oh! Ms. T got married.

Appparently, Ms. T had started a secret relationship with one of the P.E. teachers. They both did a wonderful job of hiding it, as I had no idea. Mr. W only told me after the engagement had been decided, at which point Ms. T told him. The rest of the faculty and the students had been completely clueless to it. Ms. T was married sometime around the middle of my third year, then becoming Ms. I (though I and many of the students often slipped up and called her Ms. T by habit). By the time I left the school, she wasn’t pregnant…yet.

I later tried to apologize to Ms. T for having had so many sexual-innuendo loaded conversations while she was dating her future husband in year 2, but she wasn’t having it. “You think I didn’t enjoy that? Besides, who says we have to stop? You can be my pool-boy. …I don’t have a pool, but we don’t have to tell my husband that.”

On the student side, there was an ichinensei girl who I noticed had really, really good English pronounciation. I’m not talking about good for an ichinensei – I mean better than the English teachers, and on certain days, better than mine. I noticed it, but chalked it up to perhaps a good study efforts. However, one day near the end of the third year, I was walking down the halls when I ran into this girl and two of her friends, now ninensei. The friends were giggling and whispering something into her ear.

Me: (Japanese) Hey, what’s up?
Girl: (English) Yeah, so, these girls want me to ask you if you have a girlfriend?
Me: (English) Why didn’t they just ask me in Japanese?
Girl: That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them! (to the girls, in Japanese) Why don’t you ask him?
Other Girls: (Japanese) …Did he answer the question?
Girl: (English) Geez, Japanese people can be so stupid sometimes!
Me: Yeah. ….Wait, WTF?! You’re speaking English!
Girl: Psah, yeah!
Me: …You’re speaking *good* English. …How?
Girl: My family and I lived in America for a few years when I was younger.
Me: Really? Where?
Girl: …Alabama.
Me: …Oh my God, I’m so sorry.
Girl: Thank you GOD for understanding! (She said it exactly like this too.)

No offense to you Alabamians, but I just don’t think its a suitable environment for too many native Japanese. Kind of like the Mojave Desert to a goldfish. Or, the surface of the sun.

Me: Wow, so then English class must be really boring for you.
Girl: Ya. But your classes are totally fun, so I always look forward to that!
Me: Thanks! You know, I always thought your prounciation was exceptionally good. But, why didn’t you tell me you could speak English sooner?
Girl: (shrugs) Iono.

One thing about this school that sort of bugged me throughout my time was that something just seemed off. The students were all good for the most part – no real problem kids or anything like that. It’s hard to describe, but it seemed like there was a lot more to the story than that – a random comment here and there, some kids seeming to know more about certain subjects than they really should have. It always led me to wonder what went on outside of classes – what these kids did when the adults were watching. However, as I was an adult now (fuck, I’m not a Toys’R’Us kid anymore…), all I could do was speculate. One day late into my third year, one sannensei girl helped give me a window into this hidden world.

High school entrance exams were coming up. This girl was trying to get into a school which is well known for its international programs. She figured English was going to be a big part of the exams, and by her own admission she’d spaced out a lot in English class, so she wisely sought out my council for afterschool English lessons. Before I was to meet her one day, as I was planning to meet up with friends the next day, I’d bought some alcohol from the store. I had meant to put it away before meeting her, but I ran into her early. “Wow, that’s a lot of alcohol you’ve got there!” she points out. Embarrasedly, I tell her that it’s for friends, not all for me, but to pretend she never saw this from me. This student is unfazed. “Oh, don’t worry about trying to hide it or anything. I see this stuff all the time.” I thought she was referring to her parents perhaps, but she corrected me – “No, my friends. They drink all the time.”

She then told me about some of the afterschool habits of students from this school. Many of them drank. Heavily. “Like, you wouldn’t believe!” she says. A lot of them stole stuff. A lot were having sexual relationships/casual sex. Many people stayed up late, past 2 or 3 AM, chatting with friends or just wandering around the town. “And it’s not just the kids you might think it would be,” she says, “you’d be surprised. Like, you see the nicest, most polite girl in class, but really, she drinks every night and has had sex with over half the boys in the class.”

I wondered how any of these things were possible. This student, however, filled me in on this as well – “Easy. Our parents are never home. Or, they just don’t care. All we have to say is “I’m going out” and as long as we come home at a reasonable time, they don’t ask questions. But mostly, they’re just not home. Working all the time.” As for the alcohol – “C’mon – you know we can buy it fron vending machines, right? A lot of people just take it from home though. Or, steal it.” And while it was hard to try and picture these students partaking in the activities she said they were, it was all to easy to see how they would be able to do it if they were so inclined.

This particular student swore that she didn’t do any of these things though. And I know you’re thinking “sure – everyone except her, right?” But I believe her. On the contrary, she seemed to lament much of it. “It’s like – we’re doing things adults do, but we’re still just kids. We’re growing up too fast.” The fact that this student actually went through the extra effort on her own to further study English afterschool is proof enough that she wasn’t quite like the rest of the crowd.

Similar to the unseen chaos going on among the students, sometimes it seemed like all wasn’t well in the teacher’s room either. Sure, on the surface, everything looked fine – the teacher all worked together, no arguments or fights, no one quitting due to nervous breakdowns. But again, there were times when cracks in the armor could be seen. Ms. Americanized 2 often would tell me that the teachers actually didn’t like each other at all – they just kept it civil at work. One male teacher from this school was transferred during my second year to the School of Peace – I’d talk to him occasionally, and once he said – “I like it better here. Better teachers.” Ms. S of the School of Peace also once made a comment about unseen hatred in the teachers room.

So, if anything, this school seemed to be a perfect representation of Japanese society – where everything looks good and neat and clean on the outside, but really there are massive problems underneath the shiny polish. However, as long as everything looks good, then you can believe in the image and ignore the ugly reality. Japan truly is like The Matrix.

At any rate, no matter how ugly the reality was, or no matter how many times I had to keep Watson from trying to molest me at one end or another, trips to this school were usually always good. Though the kids weren’t as good as the School of Peace kids, they were more energetic and had more personality. Mr. W was like a grandfather to me, Ms. I (The Teacher Formerly Known as Ms. T) was one of the best English teachers I ever worked with, and Ms. Americanized 2 was also a lot of fun. Since I got to create my own schedule, I chose this school to be my last – it seemed like it would be fitting to end my journey on this assignment here.

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