Super busy

The last three months have been truly hectic. In April I went from having barely any work, after a nasty falling out with my now ex-boss, to picking up an extra fifteen hours of very well paid work at the Mitoyoshi International Exchange Centre. I got to choose my own hours, the pay increase was significant, the classrooms have real whiteboards and air conditioning and I’m 100% responsible for curriculum; a true luxury. I’m also teaching a really nice mix of adults and kids. For the first time in my teaching career I don’t have any classes that I don’t like.

Then my boss at Mitoyoshi started freaking out about my visa, which incidentally runs out in three weeks. Generally one has their company sponsor their working visa. But I was in the unusual position of working part time for two places, plus a bunch of privates which it’s better that immigration and the tax department don’t know about.

Aya San started pushing me to work full time, so that Mitoyoshi could sponsor my visa. I was dead against this as it means 40hrs in an office. Aarghh. I’d heard of self sponsored visas and started trying to get some information. I went into the immigration office and met with a very unhelpful lady who only served to increase my confusion. I researched the web and was presented with a plethora of theories on how I could get my own working visa. The pressure was beginning to mount. Aya pushed harder and scheduled a meeting to discuss my as yet unsigned part time contract.

At the same time the registration on my car was due to run out, as was my international driving licence. If I didn’t get a visa I’d be looking for a job in a different country. It was all looking very shaky and I was loath to pay out a small fortune getting my car registered if I was to be on the next plane home. However, no car, no job. I had no choice but to gamble on my visa and fork out the necessary cash to get my car inspected and registered. The garage gave me a loan car and apologized because it was a bigger car than mine. Shucks. I had to spend a couple of days driving around in a much nicer car.

For the meeting with Aya San, he brought in an American colleague to interpret. Thad San explained that Mitoyoshi had two major concerns. One was that I didn’t have a sponsor for my visa and might suddenly find myself without right of residence, the other was that they really wanted a full time teacher from September. I was their first choice, but if I declined the offer they would find someone else and couldn’t guarantee my hours. They were playing me and I felt like I was completely backed into a corner. I explained that I had already signed a contract with Fuzuoka elementary school, and it would be a breach of faith I wasn’t prepared to make, to go back on that agreement after they had been so good to me. This was something Aya was aware of and intimated that I might be allowed to keep working there. A compromise was in the making. Thad suggested I go away and write down a list of requirements and we would reconvene.

Next hurdle: driving licence. First I had to go into Takamatsu, almost an hour away, to get my Australian licence translated. I finally found the place after driving around forever in the early monsoon rains; it only took 10 minutes to do, but they charged me the equivalent of $35 for the privilege. And I thought I was making good money! Then I had to book an appointment with a translator at the driving licence centre. They didn’t have any translators available so I would have to take a colleague with me to translate.


I re-met with Thad and Aya, and to my surprise, they agreed to all my requests. I asked for more money than they had originally offered, tuesday and thursday evenings free and I would get to keep working at Fuzuoka. I left on cloud nine. I felt appreciated as a teacher for the first time in a long time and released from the visa stress that had been quietly eating away at my general contentment.

Kumiko and I had an appointment for one pm at the driver’s licence centre, and duly rocked up twenty minutes early, not wanting to be late. When we arrived the receptionist woke the guy from his lunchtime nap to report our arrival, so in retaliation he made us wait until 20 minutes after our appointment time. I had heard that it was relatively easy for Australians and Canadians to obtain a Japanese driving licence. In contrast, Americans are made to do a physical driving test and then drive around on the equivalent of a provisional licence for a year.

I was forewarned to expect lots of questions about the process involved in getting an Australian driver’s licence, but was totally unprepared for everything else. First I was asked for my passport, and then asked if I had a second. I lied and said I didn’t; partially because I hadn’t brought it with me, and secondly, because I don’t want Japanese immigration to know about it. Just in case!!! The we went through my passport in detail. He wanted to know every country I’d ever been to, since getting my licence 15 years ago. Plus he wanted the exact dates of entrance and exit of every country and the duration there stayed. Was this really necessary???? This alone took half an hour. I was glad I hadn’t ‘fessed to my second passport! He took all my documents off to be photocopied and sent us out into the hallway to wait. During this time he also had a second elevenses, lunch and afternoon tea. Then came questions about my medical health. Did I have to have a health check to get a driver’s licence he asked. No. Only an eye test. Why not? Because we don’t go to the hospital every time our foot itches, I wanted to testily reply, but managed to hold my tongue.

Then I was interrogated about the procedure of getting a licence; why Australia doesn’t have a national driving school and it’s okay for your parents to teach you to drive. I was made to feel that the Australian system was sorely inadequate and it took all my will power not to launch into a full scale attack of Japanese drivers and their completely inconsiderate and dangerous driving habits. It fine to stop your car in the middle of a main road whilst you jump out to go and do your week’s shopping, park in the middle of a blind corner; orange lights mean speed up; indicators are there to look pretty and best used in the middle of a turn; and it’s safer to drive much faster in the middle of monsoon rain because the less time you spend on the road the smaller the chance of having an accident. However I didn’t.

Somewhere deep within I mustered a patience I didn’t know before had existed. I tried to explain that we have red light and speed cameras everywhere and the government uses driving fines as a major source of income. I really wanted to, but didn’t mention that most Japanese drivers would lose their licence within a week in Australia.

Then came the punch line. He looked at my licence and asked about the picture on it. That’s me I said. No the motif in the background. Oh, I don’t know – wakaranai – I guess its a plant. He wanted to know what sort of plant, why it was there, the Latin name, what the plant had for breakfast every morning. GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!! We were released and told to come back in a week.

A week later and they had invented a different kind of bureaucracy. This time it involved filling in forms, going to different places to pay different monies, a tedious treasure hunt cum wild goose chase around the building. The eye test was both interesting and harrowing. I realised on the way up the stairs to the eye test line that it was hardly likely to be in roman characters. I decided they probably wouldn’t have it in kanji either, but one of the syllabic alphabets: hiragana or katakana. I still get them mixed up and was freaking out that a reading mistake would be taken as a seeing mistake. Instead they had 3 sided squares; one has to state which side is open: ue (top) shita (bottom) hidari (left) or migi (right). In Japanese I’m hidari-migi dyslexic and was sweating throughout the ordeal, pointing the direction, even though the tester was behind a screen and couldn’t see me.

When I was finally sent off with my brand new licence I was reassured to note that driving licence pictures are equally bad the world over!!

By this time I was feeling much more confident about my chances of extending my stay in Japan. Aya San sent me off to immigration with my visa extension form already filled out and a preliminary version of my contract, some last minutes details still under negotiation. I had a list of everything I needed to take and ironed a shirt especially. It was decided they couldn’t spare a translator and that I would be okay by myself. When I got there I found myself talking to the friendly guy who can speak really good English, who handled my original application twelve months earlier, as opposed to the unhelpful woman whose English is worse than my Japanese. This time however, his English ability seemed to have waned considerably. I decided this must be the first unofficial test. I was applying for a three year visa so i wouldn’t have to go through all this stress again, and I figured they make sure you’re making an effort to learn the language before handing out such a privilege. I think I did okay. My Japanese isn’t good, but it’s passable for the twelve month mark.

We went through all the forms and I was sent of to the big desk to submit my collection of documents. So far so good. Then I struck the iceberg. Aya San had forgotten to date the contract. On top of which I had been forgetting to take my little smiley helpers. This guy didn’t speak a word of English and didn’t seem inclined to get someone who did. He kept repeating the same sentence over and over again and I kept saying I didn’t understand. He was saying something about bringing or taking or returning by I wasn’t sure which and what it was I was supposed to be doing this to. I didn’t have the office phone number with me – that hadn’t been on the list – and I’m ashamed to say I kinda panicked and freaked out. Later that day I had a huge fight with Aya over pay/contractual discrepancies and walked into my adult evening classes in tears. I went home and got very drunk by myself whilst Italy toyed with Australia and I chatted on the net. The next day my liver fell over.

I tried to explain to my students that bad things always happen in threes, but they don’t believe me.