Roppongi Nights

Everyone Comes to Festas

One hundred days into my eventual 1095 spent in Odawara and I was climbing the walls. My classroom had a view of the station. The sight of all those people boarding trains bound for locations other than Odawara drove me to depraved depths of jealousy. Somewhere someone was having fun. He or she was having fun in a way that wouldn't come back and bite them on the ass later. He or she was meeting new people, going to new places, doing the whole "life" thing. I lived in Odawara.

At that time, the only place to find action in Odawara was a place called John Festa's. Festa's was famous amongst the locals for it's American decor and menu. Most of the staff spoke English and were fine people. The patrons ranged from bitter Brits, sitting off to the side keeping to themselves, to cheerful Japanese-Brazilian construction workers trying to meet everyone.

All the local eikaiwa joints were well represented at Festa's, except AEON. All it's teachers in Odawara were Mormons and wouldn't be caught dead in a place like that. Besides, they were busy with their missions.

The NOVA teachers changed every few weeks, it seemed. There were a couple of veterans, though. Tom was one of them. Originally from Wisconsin, he was the first American I ever met who said, "Eh."
"You see, the way to do it is this, eh: When NOVA opens a new school, I apply for a transfer there." Tom said.
"Why would you do that?" I asked.
"They open these fucking things every 10 minutes at different stations. The thing is, when they open the new school there aren't as many students as there are at the older schools. So, I spend a lot of my time just doing nothing and getting paid for it. Pretty good, eh?"
"I guess so."
"Hey, check out the tits on that one, eh! Talk to you later."
And with that, Tom was off. You had to admire his honesty.

My own experiences at Festa's had been too goddamned freaky too many times for my liking. One night I met a cute girl and spent a considerable bit of time chatting her up. No luck, though. The next day at work, one of my Japanese co-workers came up to me and said,
"Have a good time last night, Chris?"
"Uh, yeah, sure. Nice quiet evening reading some "How To Ikebana" books in the old apartment, why?"
"That girl you were with is my cousin."
"*cough* *cough* Beg pardon?"
"She's my cousin. Were you thinking of seeing her again?"
"I, uh, well,..."
"Because my mother and her mother would like to meet you."
Oh Jesus Christ! I'm almost family! I've got to find a new place to get some fun.

The Brits at Festa's were always talking about Roppongi. "I been there!" was usually how the conversation started about some bar in Roppongi.
"Yeah! I been there! The place is mad. Birds everywhere. Just upstairs from that place, you know the one?"
"Yeah! Cor, what a night. Birds lining up to empty the sugar stick, if you know what I mean."
"Huh. Sounds interesting," I said.
"'Interesting'? Listen mate, it's fucking un-be-fucking-lievable! The birds there are looking for foreigners. All you've got to do is show up with functioning equipment! Fuck. Every night, I'd make out like a bandit. Wax the dolphin. Wax it every night, mate."

In my mind, Roppongi became synonymous with unrestrained hedonism. Bodies tangled together like some kind of snake documentary on PBS. All of it fueled with hefty doses of alcohol and K.Y. I had to go. I had to be a part of it. If not to slather about in the primordial stew of sticky human gratification, then to at least see it. To be able to say that I saw the equivalent of a human grunyon run made the trip into Tokyo seem worthwhile. I started making plans to go when I got a fax.

It came in and was quickly read by everyone in the office:

"Chris, meet us in Roppongi at the Hard Rock on the 17th"
At last! My chance had come. My friends from hiring days in Vancouver invited me to the swirling vortex of enmeshed, humping bodies: Roppongi. My luck was about to change. I just knew I'd find some kicks there.

My preparations for the big night began the morning of the 17th. Saturday was my busiest day at the Geos sweatshop. My first class started at 10. This was two hours before the contracted time of 12 but I really had no choice. In the short time I had lived in Japan and worked for Geos, I learned that a Geos contract is worthy only of three things: wrapping fish, lining the bottoms of bird cages, and the cleaning of a certain orifice.

I packed my git down clothes in a travel bag to take to the school. I thought I'd better change out of my suit before going to Roppongi lest I be mistaken for a fop, either that or someone peddling passports to heaven. Other essentials for the love circus included snake skin cowboy boots, two packs of rum flavoured wine dipped Colts, topped up Zippo, six pack of lager tall cans for the ride in, lubed frog skins, and a stethoscope.

I stopped at a local supermarket to buy my breakfast and something for lunch. I also needed to pick up the diving suits.

I can only imagine what the check out girl thought at the sight of this tall gaijin standing in line with a bunch of bananas and a box of condoms. No doubt scenes of all sorts of human depravity flashed across her mind as she imagined what foreigners do in the privacy of their homes. With any luck, the thoughts would haunt her until she gave in to her curiosity, snared a foreign boyfriend and demanded to know what the bananas were for.

Gang Raped!!

Ten classes later, 9:01pm finally arrived. Mercifully, I have never been gang raped. If it is possible to describe the feeling of having taught 11 classes in 11 hours as being conversationally gang raped, then that's how I felt. Conversationally gang raped by Cossacks.

Nevertheless, the sound of the punch clock reluctantly giving all the tired edu-tainers of Japan 9:01pm revitalized me.

I changed into my man about town clothes, checked my inventory, then dashed for the station. I had to catch the mighty Tokkaido line for Shinagawa, transfer to the Yamanote line to Ebisu, then change over to the Hibiya line for Roppongi. Easy enough.

The ride into Tokyo was unremarkable except for the dirty manga I found on the seat next to me. A mosaic on a cartoon? Jesus, what for? Are the artist's renderings that good? Fuck, the guy should work for the Mint.

When I got to Ebisu, things started getting exciting. Some Mediterranean types were beating the Christ out of each other. At last, people acting on their impulses. Beautiful. Real live humanity in all it's glory. Things were looking up. Spend all day talking about life in theory in a classroom in Odawara and you start to forget that some people actually act and react. Some people's reactions don't fit into the neat conversational patterns taught in eikiawa textbooks. Life: dirtier than they said you are, I love you.

I asked a guy standing near me if he knew what the fight was all about. The best I could learn was that one guy swiped the other guy's bike or girl. Or maybe it was both.

One guy would toss the other into the shutters of a closed store, then the tossee would shove the tosser into another closed store front. Curses were shouted and gestures made with just the right amount of facial wrath to make it interesting enough to miss a train.

As I walked into Ebisu Hibiya station I tried to imagine what an eikaiwa text conversation would sound like between the two combatants:

Carlos: Hi Giuseppe. How are you?
Giuseppe: Hi Carlos. I'm fine, thank you, and you?
Carlos: Fine, thanks. By the way, did you steal my bicycle and girlfriend?
Giuseppe: Yes. Well, let's face it. You weren't taking care of either of them.
Carlos: What?! You son of a bitch! I'll wring your neck you treacherous fuck!

Somehow, I just couldn't see it. Not unless the publishers started a new series of textbook titled "Awful Situations You Might Find Yourself In Abroad."

As I got closer to Roppongi, the number of foreigners increased exponentially. I was getting closer to the pulsing heart, or maybe it was the throbbing penis, of the city; the place that justified many peoples' existence; the promise,  the dream, the goal.

In the train with me were about a dozen guys from the base in Yokosuka. I knew they were navy guys because they repeated it often and loudly.

"USA! USA! Who's the Man?! Uncle Sam!"

They were decked out in the latest JC Penny's had to offer. Aggressively casual stuff. To me, 21 year old guys wearing polo shirts with sweaters wrapped around their shoulders just doesn't look casual. It looks more like a feeding frenzy about to happen. Dorsal fins breaking the waters' surface, sorority girls throwing their heads back and laughing with delight.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna nut me some Jap bitch tonight. I can feel it in my bone, dude."
"Fuckin' yeah, Chet. Give her the high hard one for me, man."
Beer cans rolled up and down the floor of the train car.
"I can smell it. We're getting closer. Getting closer. I'm getting some of that, man. Some of that," Chet said.
"Pretty little bitch gonna swing from my hook is right," another said.

Good men. Fine, decent characters all of them. I know I would never volunteer to catch a bullet for any cause. Yet, all these young men in the prime of their lives had seriously considered that and had made peace with it. God bless them. God bless all of them.

The train pulled in to Roppongi station. Most everyone got out. As we were walking towards the ticket taker at the gate, the navy guys started to run. They jumped past/over/under/by/through the ticket-taker guy's little booth. The man working there started screaming and tried grabbing a few of them. They wrenched themselves free and continued running out of the station.

As I approached, the ticket taker saw me. He squinted hard at me and grabbed my arm. He dug his fingernails into my left forearm and started to scream,
"You must pay! You must pay!"
"I've got my ticket! Look! I've got my ticket! Look! Here is my ticket! I paid! I paid! I'm a Canadian, for the love of god!"
He grabbed my ticket, threw it down and pushed me back. He stood scowling at me. I looked at him. What next? He walked back into his little booth and sat on the stool. I stood looking at him. He looked down, rubbed his forehead, and looked very tired. I walked passed.

Poor bastard.

Oh well, no time to mourn the dead.

I walked into the Hard Rock Cafe at 11:15pm, looked about and spotted Paul and Len on the upper level. I went up to meet them.

"Hey hey! Look what the cat dragged in!" Paul said.
"Long time no see, dude. How's it going? Glad you could make it!" Len said.
"Hi. Fine. Yes. Thanks. I'm glad I could make it. What're you guys drinking? Order me a couple."

We sat at our little table and bullshitted for a while.

"Geos is great, isn't it?" Paul asked. "I've got a furnished apartment, a visa, a train pass, and all the support I need. I even convinced the dumb manager to buy me a phone line!"

These are the words that can only be spoken by someone a few months into a contract.

"Well, I'm getting out of it," Len said.
"What?! We just joined! How can you be getting out of it?" Paul asked.
"I have nothing to do till 7 o'clock at night most nights but I've got to be there at 11am. That's not right, is it?" Len said.

"I agree, Len. But think of all the stupid things you could be doing from 11 in the morning till 7 at night. At least at GEOS you're just sleeping on the table in your classroom," I said.

"No, man. It's bullshit. I've got to get out. My girlfriend left me this morning."
"Paul, how'd you manage to get a free phone line out of your manager? Jesus, I dropped 70 thousand yen for mine..."
Just then, Black Sabbath came on.

"Alright! Black Sabbath! You know when the last time I heard this song was? I was in a Hyundai Pony. Fuck, this is a funny story, listen to this-" I said.
"C'mon, don't be an idiot." Paul said. "Nobody likes Black Sabbath. This whole heavy metal revival is going nowhere..."
"Revival?"

Sabbath faded away and a new tune came on.
"...now here's a song! Listen to these guys. They've got it. You'll be hearing a lot from these guys in the future, that's for sure."
"One, two, princes kneel before you,
That's what I said now,
Princes, princes who adore you,
Just go ahead now
One has diamonds in his pockets..."
"You hear that? These guys are hot." Paul said. "They've got the words that all the chicks wanna hear. These guys'll be around forever."
"Well, I don't know, Paul. Black Sabbath can be pretty cool at times..." I said.
"Let's get out of here." Len said as Paul cringed in pain at my obvious lack of foresight and taste.
"Strangers in the Night...
Exchanging fluids...
Who built Stonehenge?
Maybe druids..."

We pushed and shoved our way into the first bar up a flight of steps. The place was jammed. I felt like I was in a mosh pit. I was quickly separated from my friends. Jackson Five music blared from the speakers. It was so loud I quickly abandoned my sense of hearing as a trustworthy source of information.

I managed to squirm over to the bar and lift a bottle of Corona off the counter. Before I could pay for it I was swept away to a wall where I could manage to steady myself. Luckily nobody seemed to notice or care that I was drinking a bottle of beer gratis.

I made eye contact with a redhead in the centre of the room. We were exchanging meaningful looks when two guys swooped in on her and started talking to her. She ignored them and kept looking at me.

My God! What they said was true! Just show up at any stinking bar in this part of town and you'll score. No effort necessary! Just make eye contact with any drunken floozy and you're in like Flynn! How about that?!

Red and I were still staring at each other when the two guys trying to talk to her looked over at me then started pulling her away to another part of the bar where she couldn't see me.

I wasn't devastated. Easy come, easy go. The night was still young.

I managed to squirm over the bar again. This time I steadied myself near the bar and shouted out an order of three shots of Sauza and two bottles of Corona. I figured I wouldn't be able to wiggle back to the bar for a while so I might as well stock up. Maybe I'd meet someone along the way?

The crowd pushed me and my drinks along as I let go of the bar. I soon found myself close to a beautiful blonde. She was sitting alone and didn't seem too happy about it. I made my move.

"Hi. Hey. So how are you? What's your game?"
"What?" she asked. She sounded awfully British.
"What's your game? What do you do?"
"I'm a model." she replied icily with one eyebrow arched.
"Oh, great. That's just great. The world needs more models. God knows that."
My mind reeled at the possibilities. I imagined the two of us sitting in a hot tub on the roof of some building at night admiring the skyline. Our champagne glasses clinking together as the steam gathered on my monocle. A long cigarette holder with a Benson and Hedges clamped at a jaunty angle between my teeth, our conversation was luxuriously measured and slow:

"Oh Chris, you are so fucking witty, really you are! I dare say my life was lacking so much wit before I met you!"
"Yes. Yes. Yes, I am very fucking witty, aren't I, darling?"
A shove from some drunk whirling near me brought me back.
"What do you do?" she asked curtly over the blare of the music.
"I'm an English teacher. Work for GEOS."
"Fuck off." She said as she turned away from me.
"Uuuhhh, yeah, OK, I'll do that..." I allowed myself to be pushed away by the crowd.

"Hey, we saw that! Did you get her number?" Paul asked.
"I've got some advice for you guys. If they ask you what you do? Tell them you're computer engineers or pilots or Peruvian sombrero weavers. "English teacher" doesn't seem to be high on the list of desirable sperm donors."

"Let's get out of here. You know, my girlfriend left me today," Len said as Paul cringed.

The Scream of the Butterfly

We staggered out into the street.
"I wanna go somewhere different!" Paul said. "I wanna go someplace that isn't like anything they've got back home!"
Paul was from Saskatchewan, poor devil. I've never been there and I thank god every day for the fact. It just seems to me that every time I'm stuck behind some slow poke in the fast lane, the plates will say "Saskatchewan."

We wandered about. By that time the Sauza was hitting me. I could still hold it together. I could still steer myself straight. I felt like the village idiot, though: "I'm not stupid! I just walk funny if I don't concentrate!"

"Hey! Here's something! C'mon, let's give it a try!" Paul shouted.
The sign outside was a purple neon heel that was intermittently being driven into a pink neon bum.

"Uhhhhhhh... OK. Why the hell not? Could be exciting, eh? Why not?" I said.
"Sure. Fun." Paul said.
"I'm going to quit Geos soon, you know...My girlfriend left me..." Len said.
I guess they had managed to get a few Sauzas in themselves, too.

We got up to the front door when we were confronted by a voice. It was a loud voice that demanded in Japanese that we each pay 5,000 yen to enter. We stood around, thunder struck.

Where was the voice coming from? I thought.

We stood there looking at each other until the request was repeated. I looked around and noticed a tiny slot in the wall. Above the slot was a speaker/microphone. We were supposed to put the money into the slot, thank the microphone, then enter the bar. Fair enough.

We must have sounded like a dozen hooligans bursting through the door of the place. We were quickly silenced by the bizarre site that greeted our eyes. The room was deathly silent yet sixty or seventy guys crowded around a stage in the middle of the room. Nobody spoke. The only sound in the dark room was the sound of the rotating stage groaning as it made a slow circle. On the stage was a Japanese woman dressed up in kinky black bondage gear, a whip in one hand. She stood over a fat, nude, balding middle aged salary man type who was bound to an over turned chair. His ass was conspicuously vulnerable. She pulled her arm back and let him have a soft whip. His groan mingled with the sound coming from the stage.

"Dear sweet baby Jesus!" I said. "What in the hell have we walked into?"
"Holy shit!" Len said.
"I've never seen anything like that before!" Paul said.
"I should think not, Paul. And thank god, too." I said. The thought of farmers getting it on decked out in bondage gear and "John Deere" caps was too much for me to handle. I started giggling. I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud. Most of the room turned to look at me, perplexed as to what this foreigner would think so funny. Len and Paul looked at me incredulously. How did it ever get past them that I was a madman?

"Let's get out of here," Len whispered.
"No. If we go now it'll only attract attention to us," I said between giggles.
"Oh like we haven't gotten all their attention now, eh?" Paul said quietly looking down.
"No, no! C'mon. We've got to see a little more of this. This will make great material for letters home: "Saw a lovely temple, tried some sushi, bought a camera, witnessed a public flogging."
"You are bent, man. Seriously bent," Len said.

The woman on stage started beating the salary slug with all her might.
"Ata girl, Keiko! Go to town on his ass!" I shouted.

She was probably a shy, sweet, unassuming office worker by day. She probably had to make tea and photocopies for salarymen similar to the chubby bastard taking the beating on the stage right there. She probably had to endure all sorts of sexual harassment from those same salarymen, too. I can just imagine her eyes lighting up when told she could be paid to beat the shit out of her tormentors. Then a mystified look would come over her face. The guy who arranges mortgages and loans, the happily married father of two, the late night working pillar of the company would want to be, nay, pay to be whipped and spurred in public? Check under the hood, Hiroshi, there are some strange sounds coming from Japan Inc.'s engine.

The woman looked at me and made an OK sign with her black, shiny, beleathered left hand.

"Great. You're next." Paul said.
"No thanks. Not today. Busy. Gotta go."

We tore down the stairs into the street laughing all the way. Once outside we paused to light up the Colts.

"Where to next?" I asked.
"We've got to go someplace where we can meet girls," Paul said.
"And not get saddled and branded while we're at it," Len said.
"I'm for that, too." I said, "And no more of this wide eyed country boy crap, either, Paul. If you want to see some more unutterably grotesque human behavior, do it on your own time, damn it!"
"Shut up! You wanted to go in there, too." Paul protested.
"Well...yes, you've got me there. But you planted the seed, farm boy! And if I turn into some kind of whip loving Igor of the dungeons, my family will blame you, bastard."
"OK OK, shut up the both of you. I know about a club just over there. Lots of action. I've heard it's great for nampa," Len said.
"Well then lead on, my boy, lead on," I said.

We pushed through the line up to get to the front door. The bouncer, a huge black guy, blocked the entrance with his arms folded across his chest. This is where Len came in. He was supposed to be a smooth talking bullshit artist from way back.
"We want to get in!" he shouted over the din from the club.
"Yeah? So get in line," The bouncer answered firmly.
"We want to get in now!" Len continued.
I looked at Paul, "This is going to get us in? He sounds pathetic."
"Just give him some time. He's smooth. Real smooth," Paul replied.
"Smooth? When does he start to pout and stomp his foot?" I asked.
"We've got money!" Len shouted. "Lots of it. We wanna spend it in there. C'mon, let us buy you drinks all night!"
"Let me see your money," the bouncer said.

Len turned to us, "OK guys, open your wallets for him."
"What!? That's fucked up! I'm not opening anything for him!" I shouted.
"Do you want action?" Len asked.
"Yes..."
"Then open your wallet and let him see how much money you've got."
I meekly produced my wallet and flashed the paltry contents. The bouncer looked annoyed and waved us through. He took pity on us. Pity, sweet pity, how come I never seem to be able to get you out of my life?

The club was jammed and pitch black. The only light was the strobe light flashing to the beat of the music. We fumbled our way over the bar and ordered four shots of tequila and two bottles of Heineken each. Once our eyes adjusted to the retinal shit stomping we were receiving we looked about.

"Do you guys notice something?!" I asked.
"What?!" Paul asked.
"For every girl in here there must be ten guys!" I shouted over the music.

It was true, the place was jammed with almost every soldier, sailor, airman, embassy staffer, mime, leafleteer, exchange student, eikaiwa teacher, and his father from all over the Kanto region. Some girls were dancing on the counter of the bar. Apparently they still felt unnoticed.

"I can't believe they charge you to get into this place!" I shouted over the din to my cohorts.
"We might as well get drunk!" Len shouted back.
"Yeah. Why not," Paul shouted.
I made it unanimous.
"You know, my girlfriend left me..." Len said.
"Yes. You said that. Maybe you can find a replacement tonight, huh?" I said.

We stood and drank tequila shots and beers for a little while before I felt the urge to take a squirt. I staggered over to the pissoire and felt saddened by what I saw. A long line formed in front of the door to the men's room. I joined the line and soon found myself in the room. The line had moved quickly for a reason. Guys were whizzing in the sinks instead of waiting for a toilet or urinal to become available. There were two or three guys for each sink. Well, when in Rome...

I got out of there and started heading back to my buddies when I heard a loud voice,
"New Zealand ruuuuules! New Zealand ruuuuuuuuules! We're number ooooooone! Fuck America, maaaaaaate! All them Yanks should have their asses...kicked!"
"Ahhhh yes, New Zealand. Where the men are men and the sheep are nervous." Someone said.

"What!? Who said that?! Who said that?!" the Kiwi shouted.
The Kiwi was six sheets to the wind. He couldn't even focus his eyes. He had a bad cut on his forehead that he held a bar towel to. He saw me.
"You! You! Where are you from?" he asked as he pushed his way towards me.
"Canada." I replied.
"What's the difference between that and America?"
"I say 'Thank you' to the cop when I get a speeding ticket."
"You're the same shit as an American."
"You think?"
"Same shit different pile, mate. Same shit different pile!"
And with that he raised a broken beer bottle in his right hand from a nearby table and brandished it at me. His friends jumped at him and held his arm back.

The brotherhood of man. I stood there smiling at him and this seemed to irritate him further. I admired his friends' determination to hold him back. I felt good. Pleasantly buzzed. Happy and warm.

Madness Takes It's Toll

I got back to Paul and ordered another two shots of Cuervo for me and two for him.
"Where's Len?!" I shouted.
"I don't know. I thought he went to the can with you!" Paul screamed back.
"No. I didn't see him!"
"You know. I think he took off!"
"Really?"
"Yeah. He's really upset about his girl!"
"Oh. Is he going to be alright?!"
"Yeah. He knows his way about. He'll be alright."

Someone near us started throwing up. To a man teetering on the verge of nauseated spastic knee crawling madness, there is nothing worse than the sight, sound or smell of another heartily engaged in the liquid giggle. Soon a couple of others joined the first in this convulsive pancreatic opera.

Suddenly the music stopped, the lights switched on and a loud voice told us to, "Get out. We're closed."

The doors burst open and the room was flooded with sunlight.

"Jesus! Let's get out of here before we get splashed!" I shouted as I made for the door.

The streets were busy with people dressed in suits going to work. Partiers were leaning against parked cars and sitting on the curbs. Some held their heads in their hands. I could just imagine the headline in the paper: "Chasm of Hell Opens In Roppongi: Thousands of Nauseated Foreigners Flood City Streets"

A couple of guys were fighting in a side alley attracting a small crowd. Violence: the consolation prize of the sexually unsatisfied.

Paul and I staggered over to the subway. We were going to catch the third or fourth train of the morning. The platform was crowded with fellow Roppongi refugees. Across the tracks were more people waiting for the train going in the opposite direction.

"Well, hello there..." Paul said quietly.
"Wha.. what are you looking at?" I asked feeling slightly cottonbrained.
"She's kinda cute."
Across the way stood a tall brunette wearing a sparkling mini skirt and sparkling jacket. She smiled at Paul coyly.
"Chris, I'm going over there. Later, man. Bye." Paul ran for the stairs.
Whoa. That was easy. Seemed a little too easy. Hmmm... I guess that's how Roppongi works. One guy freaks out and runs off lamenting the loss of his girlfriend, one guy meets a chick in the station on the way home, and the last guy goes home with what he came to Roppongi with: nothing.

I looked across the platform and saw Paul start necking with the girl he just met.

The train pulled in and I got on. As the doors closed I saw Paul pull quickly away from his new friend, spit, and start walking away.

I called Paul later in the day to find out what that was all about and he very bravely admitted to me that the girl he was necking with was a guy.

That was one of my visits to Roppongi.