Canon's Diary

May 22nd. The sky is lightly overcast, but now and then, rays of the setting sun break through. I was working remotely today. I currently work in project management for a pump manufacturer. It’s a position I requested and was fortunate to transfer into last year. My job involves coordinating between clients and internal departments, playing the role of a facilitator to keep projects moving smoothly. In a sense, I serve as a bridge for information flow, and the work suits my nature well. Perhaps this is heavily influenced by a part-time job I had during my university years. Today, I’d like to share a story from that time.

I believe I got my motorcycle license not long after entering university—so I must’ve been around 19. I sold the 50cc moped I had been using and bought a 400cc bike. It was a used VFR400R (NC21), and if I remember correctly, it cost about 400,000 yen. To pay off the loan, I had to start working a part-time job. Back then, there was a magazine called Nikkan Arubaito News (Daily Part-Time Job News). With the economy booming during the bubble era, there were plenty of job opportunities, and choosing one was actually fun. I had heard that my cousin, who was two years older than me, was working as a bartender, so following a similar vibe, I decided to become a restaurant waiter.

The location was right by the East Exit of Odakyu Machida Station, in a building surrounding the main plaza. On the ground floor was the Kumido Bookstore, and in the basement was a newly opening restaurant with a cake shop attached. They were recruiting opening staff. For some reason, the phrase “opening staff” had a nice ring to it back then. It gave me a sense of excitement, like maybe I’d make new friends. However, the restaurant was still under construction, so I had to work at another location for two weeks as part of my training. That place was the Kabukicho branch. I was 19, and just hearing the name “Kabukicho” made me feel uneasy.

On my first day, I did customer service for the very first time. The customers included intimidating-looking men and women with overly thick makeup—honestly, I was scared stiff. The supervisor told me, “Go take that table’s order,” and when I approached the customer—very much the “stereotypical” type of tough guy—I asked, “May I take your order?” He simply said, “Reikō.” There didn’t seem to be anything by that name on the menu, so I hesitantly asked, “Um… what’s reikō?” He flared up and shouted, “When I say reikō, I mean iced coffee, you idiot!!” I remember bowing and apologizing over and over, totally flustered. That moment became a kind of trauma for me, and I was afraid to take orders after that. But there were normal customers too, so I somehow managed to get by.

Still, talking with customers was hard for me, so I remember focusing desperately on refilling water for tables—something I could do without speaking. I also delivered cakes. The Kabukicho streets at night were truly terrifying for me at the time, and delivering cakes to hostesses’ apartments felt like stepping into an entirely different world. All I felt back then was fear. But one time, a cigarette-in-mouth, hostess-type woman said to me, “Thanks for coming all this way,” and from deep within, I felt a strange new sense of fulfillment. Looking back, that may have been my first real experience of participating in society. Even though it was scary, there was an undeniable thrill.

Now that I reflect on it, I was just a clueless kid. But those two weeks of training in Kabukicho breathed into me a first taste of the real world. And then, finally, the Machida restaurant was completed. The real work was about to begin—(To be continued.)