They really do.

I confirmed it today when they forgot to tell me about the "lithium leak" drill scheduled in the office next door. What happens is, well, they simulate a spill of hazardous substances. So when a man in a white space suit stormed into our office, I naturally thought he was coming for me.

"You'll never catch me alive, copper!," I screamed, and brandished a stapler most menacingly. Well, no. Actually, I just sat there in amazement and stared. Nobody else around me seemed to react much at all, even when he shouted, "ALL CLEAR!," and stomped on down the hall.

Since no explanations were forthcoming from my coworkers, I have decided that it probably didn't really happen. Somebody must have spiked my bottled water with psilocybin or something. I guess they've learned how much I hate the first mind-numbing day back at work after an extended weekend. How sweet.

This week is marked by extraordinarily hot weather. I think the French heat wave that melted the cheese and boiled the wine in 2003 decided on a Japanese vacation this year. It's a wet, constant heat that makes me slow and irritable... My snapping at people is suffering from delayed reaction times; I'm nowhere near the top of my game, although the ear wax dribbling down my sideburns might make some killer organic candles.

Surfing around the expat blog scene, I've begun to notice that a lot of people are leaving Japan. Many already have. Is there something you should let me know? Is Rumsfield secretly planning a nuclear strike on the hospital where traitorboy Jenkins is being treated? Will Shoko Asahara pull a (stinky) remote detonator out of his butt and push the (red) button, awakening the 600 ft vibrating kokeshi monster that will stomp its way from Kamikuishiki-mura all the way to the Shibuya ward office? Please, please let me know. This "work" shit is getting B-O-R-I-N-G, quickly.

//

Update: I just had a flashback of Matilijah Junior High days, when I corrected our geography teacher's pronunciation of "Tierra del Fuego." Yeah, I got picked on after class for that one. Priceless: The teacher's name was Mrs. Pugh (pronounced "pee-you," not "pug"). Also, my history teacher was a white supremacist who taught us that Japanese-Americans who were interned during the war got "a free ride." Somehow that didn't jibe with tales of financial ruin and broken families I had heard from close relatives, so I got my parents involved. I got picked on after class for that one as well, but somehow I knew I had done the Right Thing.

NOW WILL ONE OF YOU ASSHOLE BUILDING MANAGERS TURN THE FUCKING AC ON "TURBO-MODE" OR DO I HAVE TO DAYDREAM ALL THE WAY BACK TO FUCKING KINDERGARTEN?

o shit i'm late for a meeting. lates.

Conversation between me and my boss 5 minutes ago:

///
Boss: Mr. Justin, what is deductive reasoning?

Me: [Heh] Well, let us start with what it isn't. It isn't a fish. It isn't a guitar. It isn't a beverage conveyance....

Boss: [blank look] Uh.

Me: ...nor is it the ozone layer, a rotary engine, or a tasty octopus...

Boss: [annoyed] Ah...

Me: ...ain't the Pope, the Queen, or anything in between...

Boss: NONONO MR. JUSTIN. I ask you, what is "deductive reasoning?"

Me: I was in the middle of telling you.

Boss: Oh. Sorry. Continue, please.

(30 seconds later)

Me: ...not with a fox, nor in a box...

Boss: STOP! I look up in dictionary! I hate the fucking English! (storms off)
///

I am only here to serve.

Sweat is dripping down from my scalp, running over the back of my neck, and soaking my uniform's collar. The sunlight is so intense today that it's hard to look out the windows. The lab next to our office is very nice and cool so everybody escapes there under the pretense of doing experiments. Please turn on the AC in our offices you cheapskate motherfuckers. Out of thirty five or so employees who work in this office, only myself and two others remain.

Our beloved manager must have Moroccan ancestry or something. The guy is sitting tall in his Enterprise chair and never seems to sweat at all, even in August when it gets crotchrottingly humid in Japan. The girl on phone duty looks like she has succumbed to heatstroke or dehydration, which would be bad for her but good for me since I could stop willing a heart attack on myself just to be able to ride in a nice, air-conditioned ambulance and sue the company for inhumane working conditions... Ah, who am I kidding, anyway? If that shit was possible, somebody would have done it by now, right? Right?

Update 1: I found my own "experiment" to run. Yay.
// Hypothesis: If you hook up enough batteries to a flashlight bulb, it will explode.
// Method: Hook up a shitload of batteries to a flashlight bulb.
// Observations: Very bright flash.
// Conclusion: The filament burns out, but the bulb does not break. Next time, try MORE POWER.

Update 2: The guy nest to me was using a heat gun and he (accidentally) singed the hairs on the back of his fingers, creating the most nauseating stench... I've cleared out of the lab for a while because the smell is recirculating.