真沒想到婚後的生活是這樣的溫馨，可好景不長。太安逸了我就想做點什麼，我也老大不小了，不能荒度光陰。J不讓我出去幹アルバイト（打工），找份白領工可以考慮，幹藍領工則不允許。可是這不現實呀我還沒有過語言關呢。當然生兒育女也行，奈何他還沒打算要孩子，納悶西方人怎麼不把傳宗接代當回事。
 |
| 小時候看到小寶寶坐在花生殼裡的宣傳畫，就以為寶寶是從花生殼裡生出來的 When I was little, I saw a propaganda poster of a baby sitting inside a peanut shell, so I genuinely believed that babies were born out of peanut shells. |
那麼進大學繼續深造怎麼樣？不行，根據J的收入，我在日本大學很難申請到獎學金。學費又高他不想把剛賺來的錢，又都交了回去。對此我很理解但也鬱悶。
別科日語班裡大陸的同學不少，大都在伊藤堂超市肉類加工廠裡打工。一天課間休息，聽他們說起昨晚上班時有個在生肉包裝組的女留學生跟日本歐巴桑爭吵起來，竟然將肉甩在了地上。說這女生肯定會被開除，聽說廠裡有嚴格的衛生制度。進廠時都要換衣服換鞋，進加工室要經過一間吸塵室，人站在裡面被強力吸塵器吸一下，手指甲都要剪乾淨，不可塗指甲油，頭髮都要掖在髮罩裡面。
這個小故事又勾起了我出去找工作的念頭，回到家我又跟J商量。我說「出去工作我的語言也會有很快的提高的，同學們的口語都說得很溜」，結果他同意了。同學帶我去了伊藤堂面試，因為不是學生簽證還被拒絕了。
第一個工作是一位台灣女生帶我去的，在一家小型電子加工株式會社裡幹。那女生20歲還不滿，但是很懂金融投資。她說如果看好了某地段有發展前途，比如會是醫院學校或是廠家擴建，就買一小塊緊挨著的地：「等它們擴張時，你的地就升值了，你就發財了。」我當時聽了很驚訝，納悶兒她小小年紀腦子怎麼那麼靈。而當時我對金融呀投資根本沒概念。
我們每星期工作20小時，白天日本人多，歐巴桑們都比較和善。晚上6點到12點是由一個日本大叔おじさん和一個日本男青年帶著十來個學生幹。他倆都不多說話，認真工作。我們則圍著長桌坐著邊工作邊說說笑笑。
下班時間還差幾分鐘，大家都急忙下樓等在打卡機旁，時間一到紛紛將工卡插入打卡機。然後騎上scooter（小型摩托车）飛速趕回家去，也有騎自行車的，不騎車的則要走到地鐵站趕末班車。
我們的工作是用鑷子夾住薄薄的半寸左右長的小銅條兒，往一個扁扁的深褐色的比巴掌大點兒的長方形模子裡放，模子裡有槽，先放進一個梳子狀的銅片，再八字形放四對小條。小條一端與銅片重疊。重疊處壓上一顆深褐色的與模子同樣材料的小彈珠。然後一個個放在水平滾動輸送金屬網上送進烤爐，烘烤20分鐘，冷卻後取出鑲著8隻腳的銅片就算成品了。此工作就是要小心仔細，接觸點要牢固。有時在搬運過程中，不小心碰了模子，震歪了的要重新放。當然烘烤出爐後再檢查到接觸歪了或接觸太少等就是廢品了。後來據說是我們晚上出的次品太多就全不讓幹了。
第二個工作是在另一家大一點的電子株式會社。在流水線上插電路板，我手腳麻利插好的板子很快就堆積上了。惹得下家那個小胖胖日本中年女工紅著臉低著頭很尷尬很生氣。我確實不是故意的，就是慢不下來。
組長將我換到他們僅有的一台自動升降供貨機上幹。工作台的前方有個一排六組光控小升降機。電子原件分別放在一個個小盒子裡，只要手伸過去取出一個原件，光控啟動，下一個盒子就會升上來。這樣既避免了流水線下家的不愉快，又由於整塊板子的所有元件都由我一個人插了，工作效率大大加快了。幹練的組長每次來搬走一摞摞我插的板子時，臉上都掛著強忍著的發自內心的笑意。我不是在賣力討好，只是我性子急、手腳快、幹事慢不下來。
估計我的工作效率是她從未見過的。那是，我早些年在華師大讀中專班的時候，電子實驗課上組裝過7管半導體收音機，我是第一個完成任務的。我們還組裝過12英吋的黑白電視機，插板子的活，我是得心應手。日本組長和車間頭頭們都很高興，一有外來參觀的人，就會被帶到我這裡來看我的操作，並介紹一番。但是自動機也會因為我的動作太快而出故障。比如我剛取出一個原件對號入座插進線路板，頭都沒抬就伸手去取下一個原件。可是光控才啟動，下一個盒子還沒到位我的手就伸過去了，造成光控一時的紊亂以至卡機、宕機。幹活麻利心情好就不覺得累，小小的鶴立雞群感，令人滿足。
但是她們也有一件令我佩服的事兒，午飯後盥洗室內，長長的洗漱水池邊站滿了正在刷牙的女工，這可真是個良好的衛生習慣。
見學回來後，就跟班上的同學去派金宮打工了。派金宮就是在日本到處都有的一家家裝飾華麗的遊戲場，其實就是變相的賭場。因為據說在日本賭博是違法的。所以場內櫃檯上沒有現金轉換。賭客的籌碼想換成現金的話，要到賭場外邊的一個小屋去換。往往這小屋在賭場百米開外。從表面上看這小屋和派金宮沒關係。而且換錢的小窗口開在封閉的牆上，裡面的人看不見來者的臉，以保護顧客的隱私。
這種遊戲場裡只有兩種遊戲機。店鋪大廳裡一排排的老虎機和彈珠機。工資給得高，每小時八百日元，但是要忍受刺眼的燈光、震耳的噪音和嗆鼻的香菸味兒。那時還沒有健康意識，其實這噪音和二手菸對人體的傷害絕不是八百日元能補回來的。
多數時候我是站在一個小櫃檯後邊，給客人手裡的籌碼換取小禮物。有時我也下場子，手拿開機器的鑰匙，站在大廳某兩長排機器的過道口。等著做的有兩件事：一旦在我的管轄內的某部機器開過，也就是開獎、客人大贏一筆，馬上走過去重新啟動該機器，翻一下計數牌，表明當天這台機器開獎過的次數。再就是，注意每台機器上的指示燈，如果有人的機器卡住了，出現小故障等，馬上過去幫助解決，大事故向上匯報。按規定解決彈子卡機後要將兩顆珠子放進孔裡，它們會帶出十來個珠子，以示補償。這時，我往往就抓上一把多放一些，客人們當然就很高興，但是這絕對不能讓老闆知道。
還有老虎機快要開獎時，也就是三個七要對齊時，有些顧客就會讓我來摁第三個鍵。每個按鍵對應裡面的一個輪子，輪子外圍是一圈畫有各種圖案的紙，例如櫻桃等。三個七要是對齊的話，就是要開獎了。此時第三個七停的位置至關重要，都在一行裡才行，不論是橫向的還是對角的。往往這時顧客心比較忐忑，好不容易對齊了兩個，第三個不小心就會滑走。他們要我按，似乎我的手氣還真不錯，十有八九是摁準的。摁的時候眼睛要盯住那個七出現的節奏，看幾圈，心裡跟上頻率，待到七再次出現的那一剎那立刻摁下去。當然機器真的要開獎的時候，總是會自動對齊的，只是你還要不斷下籌碼餵牠，三個鋼幣、三個鋼幣地餵，也要花費不少。我的動作是減少了他們的不必要的花費。
還有，有兩個年輕顧客，每次都是晚上來，專挑開獎次數多的台子下手。不一會兒那台機子就又開了獎。一般人是不敢找已經開過多次獎的機器玩的。一排排望去，有的只開過一兩次，有的幾乎沒開過，高頻的會達到十幾次。一般人想，沒出過獎的幾率高，畢竟裡面都吃飽了珠子或鋼幣總要出一次的吧。結果，是越開獎的越開，越不吐骨頭的越不吐。據說是跟趨勢有關，趨勢來了擋都擋不住。
每天開門前店裡都會調整機器，最簡單的做法是將小孔上方的兩根釘子敲一敲，使之開口變寬或窄一點，寬，鋼珠就會容易落進小孔去，帶出多個鋼珠。反之鋼珠碰到釘子就彈開不容易進下面的小孔。
在派金宮打工時遇到一個女生也在店裡打工，福建來的還不到20歲，大方得體。只是一張口說話露出的牙齒間縫上，有大片黑黃污垢。沒人的時候我跟她說「去診所花4千日圓就能洗乾淨牙齒」。她很驚訝說「自己怎麼刷也沒用」。我以前牙齒內側也有些發黃，來日本後J帶我去洗牙。在國內時還沒有洗牙意識，好像那時牙科也沒這項服務。過了幾天在店裡再看到她時，她笑靨如花一口白牙，還挺靦腆地說了「謝謝」。同學中有個文靜的女生也是二十上下不與人扎堆兒說笑，不得已與同學在一起時她總是坐在下風。我發覺她腋下有異味。沒人時我悄悄拿出一個J用得只剩一點了的腋下除臭劑deodorant給她。說「西方人腋下都有異味的，每天完洗澡在腋下抹一下就行了」。僅管我說的時候語氣很委婉，但小姑娘還是紅著臉。以後也沒再提起這事兒。我想我的善意應該是幫了這兩位花季女生的。估計西方人是不知道我們東方人大多數是沒有狐臭的，幾年後我在美國超市麵包房裡打工時，遇到一位中年白女人，問我「deodorant 在哪條過道賣」，我還真不知到，便搖了搖頭。她卻睜大了眼睛像看怪物一樣看著我，以為我沒聽懂，一邊用手在腋下比劃著，一邊說「deodorant deodorant」。那意思是「你怎麼不知道 deodorant？你不用嗎」。
1991年，我在日本的Amada（天田株式會社）擔任過臨時日語-英語的口譯。Amada是生產各種金屬板材成形加工機床、鋸切機等的大型跨國公司。許多國家買了他們的加工機床（沖床、彎板機、剪板機和雷射切割機等），就會派工程師前來日本培訓。我的工作是他們在上課時候把日本講師的講課翻成英語。其實，我當時的日語很爛，英語水平也不咋地，奈不過朋友的極力推薦（有日語-漢語的翻譯他們自己做），趕鴨子上架接了這活兒。
好在他們上課內容是Amada數控沖床編程，編程術語也基本上用的是英文字，我的壓力不大。坐在課堂裡不一會兒我就掌握了數控沖床的編程，根據設計好的圖樣數據，用電腦語言編指令，讓大型機床的沖頭在金屬板上依照座標軸的（x、y）定點、有序、有效地鑽孔切割。
我過去在中專班裡學過電腦CPU（中央處理器）的工作原理、與非門邏輯電路、學過Basic和C計算機語言…… 而且成績相當不錯，可以說是非常好。
在Amada用的什麼計算機語言記不起來了，多年後聽賽博空間高人（大青蛙）說是G代碼（G-code）。程序編好後打印在穿孔紙帶上。結果是那些來聽課的工程師都沒有我邏輯清晰，連日本講師也驚嘆我的編程能力與速度。有三個從伊朗來的工程師，其中帶頭的總工說我比他手下的人都強，問我「是否願意去伊朗，在他的手下工作」，說是會給我高薪水。
這話在後來SU雪城大學計算機課程的三人小組裡的印度女人的丈夫也曾說過。當時，我、一個印度女人和另外一個中國留學生，三人一組用電腦語言C++編程做課題。他們倆都是在讀碩士學位。
印度女人編程能力相對來說比我們差一點，但用英語寫實驗報告的能力比我們強得多了，所以我們相輔相成、各盡所能一起討論、做功課很得力、很和諧。
她的丈夫是SU的Information Science and Technology（信息科學和技術）的教授。聽了老婆的描述發出了這樣感嘆：「要是能讓fen做我的下屬就好了，一個策劃設計、一個迅速執行，一定個是絕好搭檔。」
這照片是Amada公司的休息大廳，課間休息時我喜歡玩電腦遊戲，連平時很一本正經的講師都會忍不住過來玩一會兒，三人中間的是伊朗人總工的下屬，他的頭兒還要帥氣些、矜持些。
那三位伊朗工程師在結束培訓快要離開日本的時候，我們幾個在大廳休息室裡聚了聚，喝點飲料。他們還拿出了幾個塑料袋裝著的食物，看來是他們來日本前妻子給準備的家鄉酥餅。那時已經吃得差不多了，塑料袋裡只剩下不到半袋的碎渣，但他們還是非常善意地拿出來與大家分享，大家都是用手抓著吃。我出於禮貌，也用手抓了一小撮放進嘴裡，味道還真不錯！
然而，當時旁邊還有兩個日本男青年，一臉鄙夷地用日語低聲說：「Kitanai！Kitanai！（髒死了！髒死了！）」。可是在我看來，伊朗工程師們完全是出於好心，想分享自己家鄉的美味。我當時心裡根本就沒去想什麼髒不髒的問題。
1991年暑假，J要帶我去歐洲旅行，有了辦理泰國簽證艱難的前車之鑑，我放棄了。歐洲那麼多要去的國家簽證，我持的中國護照肯定在短時間裡辦不下來。再說這幾年裡已經去了美國4次（1988年暑假、1988年寒假、1989年暑假、1990年暑假），夠忙活的了，再則我有點怕坐飛機。
結果是J一個人去的歐洲。這以後我悔得呀，腸子都青了。直到1999年才自己一個人去了歐洲。整整八年啊，多大的變化呀，這要是擱在過去抗戰都結束了。
言歸正傳，在J赴歐洲之前，我向J徵求意見，是否能讓我去一家我們都熟悉的斯納庫SNAKU（日式酒吧）裡面做一個月。
當時有個我在上海工作時就認識的女友在那個裡幹。我和J都去過，漂亮的店主媽媽桑很和藹，我朋友在裡面頂個二當家的，口語順溜得讓人羨慕，她比我晚一年才來的日本。除了她倆還有一個年輕的日本服務生，她白天有份白領工作。
一提到SNAKU，就容易讓人想入非非。在那兒工作的20天裡，我根本就沒見過客人有過過分的、不雅的舉動。女友也舉止大方，很會周旋，台前桌後忙著招呼客人，給客人添酒還要到小灶上做炸雞腿等食物給客人吃。雖然有時看她也跟熟客說說笑笑，但並沒看出任何夾帶的色情成分。
這家店在本厚木靠近車站附近的一條小街上，叫「Princess」。店面很小，呈長方形，進門處右手邊有一張不大的吧台，吧台後面是酒架，上面有許多滿的、不滿的酒瓶。酒瓶脖子上都掛著個牌子，上面寫著客人的名字。客人每次來就給他們喝存放在那裡屬於他們自己的酒。或加冰塊兒或加什麼其他飲料。當然也可以開別的新瓶酒喝。我那朋友幾乎都能一看見人進來就馬上能取出他的酒瓶子。
屋裡能容納四五張桌子，每個桌子能坐四五個人。客人進來喝酒，也有人唱卡拉OK，不論誰唱了，唱得好壞，在坐的都會鼓掌，但好像日本人都唱得不錯。
這樣的SNAKU我和J不止去過一家，有時我們自己去、有時跟J的同事朋友一起去。每次都是很輕鬆愉快。
晚上8點到12點，每小時掙2500日元。我們每天幹的是：先開門換空氣、打掃屋子和最裡面的廁所（只有一小間）。然後把一摞外面洗衣店送來的小白毛巾卷成卷兒放進像微波爐一樣大小的恆溫箱裡，一旦客人進屋就取出一卷給客人。
客人一進來，先要喊：「いらっしゃいませ（歡迎光臨）」。然後帶他們入座，遞上熱氣騰騰的小毛巾卷兒。這時我朋友就會拿了客人的酒瓶過去噓寒問暖一番，手裡便麻利地給客人調酒。客人會問她喝點兒什麼，她就會要一瓶啤酒、或是一聽番茄汁、或是什麼其他的軟飲料、或者就用客人的酒調上一杯給自己。
這就是媽媽桑掙錢的地方，那飲料都是1000日元一聽或一杯。所以不言而喻的要求是我們服務生能喝，我只喝番茄汁。那朋友的啤酒量真大，三個小時喝下來是臉不改色心不跳。有時媽媽桑只來一會兒跟老顧客說上幾句就走了，屋裡就我們三個服務生。
 |
| 媽媽桑和我 Mama-san and me |
 |
| 我第一次打保齡球，沒想到竟然拿了個全倒！ My very first time bowling. unbelievably, it turned out to be a strike! |
一次媽媽桑請我們出去打保齡球。照片中一個女生只是過來玩兒的。我是第一次玩兒保齡球，這第一次投球就將所有球瓶擊倒了，全倒！媽媽桑還趕緊幫我拍了下來。
我們還在附近的商場裡轉了轉，那天還下了點小雨。後來媽媽桑還請我們吃燒烤，她點的生牛肝我們都不敢碰。
我的口語直到這次打工才有了個小小的飛躍。第一句從我嘴巴裡喊出來的「いらっしゃいませ（歡迎光臨）」真不知道別人聽見沒有，反正我自己都差點兒沒聽見。
客人有獨自一人來的，有公司會社下班後幾個人一起來的。有低頭喝悶酒的，有喜歡嘮嗑的。一次，五六個同夥坐那喝酒聊天兒，還真有一個日本人在捧著一本書看得津津有味。問是什麼書，他翻過封面給我看，是日文版的三國演義。可惜我沒怎麼仔細看過三國，但知道裡面幾個最有名的人物，就跟他瞎聊了一會兒，他被我那破日語加點破英語侃得眉飛色舞（日本人對會說英語的刮目相看），我喝了他們兩聽番茄汁。不好意思多喝人家的，要按她們幾個一定會宰得客人心疼。他們走時有人給了我一張名片，跟我說他們的社長希望跟我交朋友，讓我第二天去會社一次。我當時也是傻乎乎地，既然交朋友，那就去看看，多個朋友多條路嘛。我還真去了。那個社長四五十歲的樣子，一副文人類型，很寡言少語，昨晚在喝酒時他也沒多說話。我到了他的辦公室他也沒說什麼，坐了一會兒我就告辭了。
我們不用固定坐在哪個桌子旁，要眼觀六路耳聽八方。走來走去給各個桌子的客人添酒、能搭上話兒更好，但我這拙嘴笨舌的臨時工就免了。做點心、小吃、端盤子、客人走後擦桌子麻利點兒就行了。媽媽桑對我們都很客氣，也主要是我那朋友很能干。
一個月下來掙了20幾萬，第一次掙大錢，就都花了，買了一輛嶄新黑色的Yamaha（雅馬哈）scooter給J。J從歐洲度假回來，看到我為他買了新車，很吃驚，當然很高興。問為什麼我會給他買scooter。我說「你的那輛 scooter 已經舊了」。我們當時有兩輛紅色的Honda（本田）scooter，他開的那輛比較舊，是住我們二樓樓梯口那家的鄰居，美籍白人女教師離開日本時，以1萬日元賣給我們的。他從歐洲給我帶了一個紅寶石掛件。
最後的一次打工是在我們家附近新開的一家叫做三和スーパーマーケット（超市）裡做，在早上店家還沒開門前，10點開門，把所需貨物搬運到貨架旁，打開紙板箱，把物品，我管的是豆製品和醃菜類，補充到空缺的貨架上，按嘗味期排前後，過期的取下來。把剛過保質期的食物扔掉太浪費了，打工的歐巴桑們會在休息室裡用爐子燒一燒吃掉，趕巧時，我也會被分一份吃。
一切就緒等開門前，所有人都會拿一把拖把，拖本來就已經很乾淨的地，所有的拖把當然也都是很乾淨的白色。
這裡插一句，日本街上的垃圾車都是簇新、乾淨、沒有一點污跡的。垃圾工人都穿著整潔的制服。不像美國的垃圾車陳舊、污點斑駁、垃圾裝卸口大敞開著、髒不忍睹。
雖然工作幹得不錯，但出過一次小小的尷尬。第一次上他們的廁所，進去後卻出不來、打不開門！看到烘乾機旁，牆上還安了一個東西，也沒去研究它。等吧，等別人來用廁所，好在廁所裡相當乾淨，不僅無臭還有空氣淨化器噴出的淡香。感覺好長時間過去了，還沒人來，沒辦法只能按了緊急呼救按鈕。等到別人從外邊開了門把我救出來，才被告知，「要出門只要把手在牆上的那個裝置前伸一下，門就自動開了」。那個是光感裝置，還帶消毒功能。
**********************************
Memoirs of My Part-Time Jobs in Japan: From Factory Lines to Snaku Bar
I never imagined married life would be so warm and cozy, but the good times didn’t last long. Life became too comfortable, and I felt the urge to do something. I wasn't getting any younger, and I couldn't just waste my time away. J wouldn't let me do just any "arubaito" (part-time job). A white-collar position was open for consideration, but blue-collar work was strictly off-limits. However, that wasn’t realistic because I hadn't passed the language barrier yet. Of course, having children was an option, but unfortunately, he had no plans for a baby yet. I wondered why Westerners didn't seem to take the continuation of the family line seriously. What about entering a university for further studies? No, based on J's income, it would be very difficult for me to apply for a scholarship at a Japanese university. The tuition was high, and he didn't want to hand back all the money he had just earned. I understood his point, but I still felt depressed.
In my preparatory Japanese class, there were quite a few mainland Chinese students, most of whom worked at the meat processing plant of Ithoyokado Supermarket. One day during recess, I heard them talking about a female international student in the raw meat packaging section. The night before, she had gotten into an argument with a Japanese "obasan" (middle-aged woman) and actually threw the meat onto the floor. They said she would definitely be fired because the factory had strict hygiene regulations. Employees had to change clothes and shoes upon entering, and go through a dust-removal room before entering the processing area. You had to stand inside while a powerful vacuum blew off dust. Fingernails had to be trimmed perfectly clean, no nail polish was allowed, and all hair had to be tucked inside a hairnet.
This little story rekindled my desire to find a job. When I got home, I discussed it with J again. I said, "If I go out to work, my language skills will improve very quickly. My classmates all speak very fluently." In the end, he agreed. A classmate took me to Ithoyokado for an interview, but I was rejected because I didn't hold a student visa.
My very first job was introduced by a Taiwanese girl, working at a small electronic processing corporation. She was not even 20 years old, but she was very knowledgeable about financial investments. She told me that if she saw a piece of land with a promising future—for instance, if a hospital, a school, or a factory was going to expand nearby—she would buy a tiny plot right adjacent to it: "When they expand, your land will appreciate, and you'll make a fortune." I was astonished to hear this, wondering how such a young mind could be so clever. At that time, I had absolutely no concept of finance or investment.
We worked 20 hours a week. During the day, there were many Japanese workers, and the "obasans" were generally quite kind. From 6:00 PM to midnight, a Japanese gentleman and a young Japanese man led a group of about ten students. Neither of them spoke much; they just focused seriously on their work. The rest of us sat around a long table, working while chatting and laughing. A few minutes before clock-out time, everyone rushed downstairs to queue by the time clock. The moment the clock struck, we slipped our cards into the machine one after another. Then, people would speed off home on their scooters, while some rode bicycles. Those without rides walked to the subway station to catch the last train.
Our job required using tweezers to grip thin, copper strips about half an inch long and place them into a flat, dark-brown, rectangular mold slightly larger than a palm. There were grooves in the mold. First, we placed a comb-shaped copper piece inside, and then arranged four pairs of small strips in a V-shape. One end of the small strips overlapped with the copper piece. At the overlapping point, we pressed down a small, dark-brown marble made of the same material as the mold. Then, one by one, they were placed on a horizontally rolling conveyor wire mesh and sent into an oven to bake for 20 minutes. After cooling down, the finished product was a copper piece embedded with eight pins. This job required extreme care and patience; the contact points had to be solid. Sometimes during transit, if the mold was accidentally bumped, the pieces would get shaken out of alignment and had to be rearranged. Of course, if they were inspected after baking and found to be crooked or lacking contact, they became defective scraps. Later, it was said that we produced too many defects during the night shift, so they stopped letting us do it altogether.
My second job was at another, slightly larger electronics corporation. My task was inserting components onto circuit boards on an assembly line. Because my hands and feet were nimble, the boards I finished quickly piled up. This left the next worker in line—a chubby, middle-aged Japanese woman—blushing, lowering her head in deep embarrassment and anger. I really didn't mean to do it; I just couldn't slow down. The supervisor moved me to their only automatic lifting supply machine. In front of the workstation, there was a row of six sets of light-controlled mini-elevators. Electronic components were placed in individual small boxes. As long as my hand reached out to take a component, the light sensor would trigger, and the next box would rise up. This not only avoided causing unpleasantness for the next person on the assembly line, but since I ended up inserting all the components for an entire board by myself, my work efficiency increased dramatically. Every time the capable team leader came to carry away the stacks of boards I had populated, a genuine smile was suppressed on her face. I wasn't trying hard to please anyone; I am just naturally impatient, quick-handed, and unable to do things slowly.
I guess my efficiency was something she had never seen before. Well, years earlier when I was in the vocational class at East China Normal University, I had assembled a 7-transistor semiconductor radio in our electronics lab class, and I was the first to finish the task. We also assembled 12-inch black-and-white televisions. Populating circuit boards was something I could do with my eyes closed. The Japanese supervisor and the workshop bosses were all very pleased. Whenever outside visitors came for a tour, they would be brought to my station to watch me operate, accompanied by an introduction. However, the automated machine would also malfunction because my movements were too fast. For instance, right after I took out a component, matched its position, and inserted it into the circuit board, I would reach for the next component without even lifting my head. But the light control had just been initiated, and before the next box was in place, my hand had already reached over, causing temporary confusion in the optical sensor, which led to jams and system crashes. Working efficiently and being in a good mood kept me from feeling tired; that slight feeling of standing out from the crowd was quite satisfying. However, there was one thing they did that I truly admired: after lunch, the long sink in the restroom was packed with female workers brushing their teeth. This was truly an excellent hygiene habit.
After returning from a field trip, I went to work at a Pachinko parlor with my classmates. Pachinko parlors are gorgeously decorated amusement halls found everywhere in Japan, but in reality, they are casinos in disguise. Since gambling is said to be illegal in Japan, there are no cash exchanges at the counters inside the parlor. If players want to exchange their chips or tokens for cash, they have to go to a small booth outside the parlor. Often, this booth is located about a hundred meters away. On the surface, the booth has no connection to the Pachinko parlor. Moreover, the small window for exchanging money is built into a solid wall; the person inside cannot see the face of the visitor, thereby protecting the customer's privacy.
This kind of amusement hall featured only two types of gaming machines: rows upon rows of slot machines and Pachinko machines in the main hall. The wages were high, 800 yen per hour, but one had to endure the glaring lights, deafening noise, and choking smell of cigarette smoke. Back then, there was no health awareness. In fact, the damage done to the human body by that noise and secondhand smoke could never be compensated for by a mere 800 yen.
Most of the time, I stood behind a small counter, exchanging small gifts for the tokens in the customers' hands. Sometimes I would also go onto the floor, holding the key to unlock the machines. Standing at the aisle entrance of two long rows of machines in the hall, I waited to do two things. First, if a certain machine under my jurisdiction hit the jackpot—meaning the customer won big—I would immediately walk over to restart the machine and flip the counter board to show how many times that machine had paid out that day. Second, I had to watch the indicator lights on each machine. If someone's machine jammed or experienced a minor glitch, I would go over immediately to help resolve it; major incidents were reported upward. According to the rules, after fixing a jammed ball mechanism, two pinballs had to be dropped into the slot, which would automatically release about ten balls as compensation. At those times, I would often grab a handful and put in a few extra, which made the customers very happy. Of course, this could absolutely not be let known to the boss.
Also, when a slot machine was close to hitting the jackpot—meaning the three sevens were about to align—some customers would ask me to press the third button for them. Each button corresponded to a reel inside, and the outer edge of the reel was a strip of paper printed with various symbols, like cherries. If the three sevens aligned, it meant a jackpot. At this moment, where the third seven stopped was absolutely critical; they all had to be in a single line, whether horizontally or diagonally. Usually, customers felt quite anxious at this point; after managed to align two, the third one could easily slip away if they weren't careful. When they asked me to press it, it seemed my luck was actually quite good, as I nailed it eight or nine times out of ten. While pressing, my eyes had to lock onto the rhythm of that seven appearing. I would watch it for a few rotations, catch the frequency in my mind, and press the button instantly the very split second the seven appeared again. Of course, when the machine was truly programmed to pay out, it would always align automatically anyway; it’s just that you had to keep feeding tokens into it—three steel coins at a time, three steel coins at a time—which could cost quite a lot. What I did was save them from that unnecessary expense.
Also, there were two young customers who came in every single evening and specifically picked the machines that had already hit the jackpot the most times. Before long, that very machine would hit the jackpot yet again. Most average players wouldn't dare touch a machine that had already paid out multiple times. Looking down the rows, some machines had only paid out once or twice, some almost never, while the high-frequency ones would reach over a dozen times. The average person would think that a machine which hadn't paid out yet must have a higher probability—after all, it was already stuffed full of pinballs or steel coins, so it had to spit something out eventually, right? As it turned out, the ones hitting jackpots kept on hitting them, while the ones holding out kept swallowing everything without spitting out a bone. It was said to be related to the trend; once a trend arrived, there was simply no stopping it.
Every day before opening, the shop would adjust the machines. The simplest way was to tap the two nails above the small slot with a hammer to make the opening slightly wider or narrower. If it was wider, the steel balls would easily fall into the slot, releasing multiple balls. Conversely, if the steel balls hit the nails, they would bounce away and not easily enter the slot below.
While working at the Pachinko parlor, I met a girl who also worked there. She came from Fujian and was not yet 20 years old, carrying herself with poise and grace. However, the moment she opened her mouth to speak, large patches of dark-yellow stains were visible in the gaps between her teeth. When no one was around, I said to her, "You can get your teeth cleaned at a clinic for 4,000 yen." She was surprised and said, "I’ve tried brushing them myself, but it never works." The inner sides of my own teeth used to be a bit yellow, but after coming to Japan, J took me to get a dental cleaning. Back in China, there was no awareness of dental cleaning, and it seemed dental clinics didn't even offer that service at the time. A few days later, when I saw her in the shop again, her smile was like a blooming flower, revealing a row of white teeth, and she quite shyly said, "Thank you." Among my classmates, there was a quiet girl, also around twenty, who didn't mingle or joke with others. When forced to be with classmates, she always sat downwind. I noticed an odor coming from her underarms. When we were alone, I quietly gave her an underarm deodorant stick that J had used until only a little was left. I said, "Westerners all have underarm odors. Just rub it under your arms every day after taking a shower." Although I spoke in a very tactful tone, the young girl's face still turned red. She never brought it up again afterward. I believe my kindness must have helped these two girls in the bloom of their youth. I suppose Westerners don't know that the vast majority of us Easterners do not have body odor. Years later, when I was working in a supermarket bakery in the United States, I met a middle-aged white woman who asked me, "Which aisle is the deodorant sold in?" I really didn't know, so I shook my head. She widened her eyes and looked at me as if looking at a monster. Thinking I didn't understand, she gestured under her arms while saying, "Deodorant, deodorant." Her expression implied, "How could you not know what deodorant is? Don't you use it?"
In 1991, I served as a temporary Japanese-English interpreter at Amada (Amada Co., Ltd.) in Japan. Amada is a massive multinational corporation that produces various metal sheet forming machine tools, sawing machines, and so on. Many countries bought their processing machine tools (such as punches, bending machines, shearing machines, and laser cutters), and would send engineers to Japan for training. My job was to translate the Japanese instructors' lectures into English during class. In fact, my Japanese was terrible at the time, and my English level wasn't great either, but I couldn't resist a friend's strong recommendation (they handled the Japanese-Chinese translation themselves), so I took the job like a duck driven onto a perch.
Fortunately, the course content was Amada CNC punch press programming, and the programming terminology mostly used English words, so my pressure wasn't great. Before sitting in the classroom for long, I mastered the programming of the CNC punch press. Based on the designed blueprint data, I used computer language to code instructions, allowing the punch head of the large machine tool to drill and cut holes on the metal plate sequentially, effectively, and precisely according to the coordinate axes (x, y).
In the past, during my vocational class, I had learned the working principles of a computer CPU (Central Processing Unit), NAND gate logic circuits, and had studied Basic and C computer languages... and my grades were quite excellent—one could say very good.
I can't recall what computer language was used at Amada, but years later, I heard an expert from cyberspace (the Big Frog) say it was G-code. Once the program was coded, it was printed onto perforated paper tape. As it turned out, none of the engineers who came to attend the class had a clearer logic than I did; even the Japanese instructors were amazed by my programming capability and speed. There were three engineers from Iran, among whom the leading chief engineer said I was better than anyone under his command. He asked me, "Would you be willing to go to Iran to work under him?" saying he would give me a high salary.
These same words were later echoed by the husband of an Indian woman in a three-person project team during a computer course at SU (Syracuse University). At that time, I, the Indian woman, and another male Chinese international student formed a trio to do a project using C++ computer language. Both of them were pursuing their master's degrees.
The Indian woman's programming capability was relatively a bit weaker than ours, but her ability to write lab reports in English was much stronger than ours, so we complemented each other, did our best, and discussed and did homework together very effectively and harmoniously.
Her husband was a professor of Information Science and Technology at SU. After hearing his wife's description, he sighed with admiration: "If only I could have fen as my subordinate. One to plan and design, and one to execute swiftly—it would definitely be an absolute dream team."
This photo shows the classroom and the lounge hall of the Amada Company. During recess, I liked to play computer games. Even the instructors, who were usually very solemn, couldn't help but come over to play for a while. The person in the middle of the three is the subordinate of the Iranian chief engineer; his boss was even handsomer and more reserved.
When those three Iranian engineers were about to finish their training and leave Japan, a few of us gathered in the lounge hall to have some drinks. They brought out some food kept in plastic bags, which looked like homemade traditional pastries their wives had prepared for them before they left for Japan. By then, the pastries were mostly gone, leaving less than half a bag of crumbs, but they very kindly offered them around to share. Everyone ate them by grabbing them with their hands. Out of politeness, I also pinched a small handful and tried it—it actually tasted quite delicious!
However, there were two young Japanese men present who said with a look of disdain, "Kitanai! Kitanai! (Dirty! Dirty!)" But I saw that the Iranians were acting entirely out of good intentions, wanting to share a delicious treat from their homeland. As for me, the thought of whether it was clean or dirty never even crossed my mind.
During the summer vacation of 1991, J wanted to take me on a trip to Europe. Having learned a hard lesson from the difficult process of obtaining a visa for Thailand, I gave up. With so many countries to visit in Europe requiring visas, my Chinese passport would definitely not get them processed in a short time. Besides, I had already been to the United States four times in recent years (summer 1988, winter 1988, summer 1989, summer 1990), which kept me busy enough, and furthermore, I was a bit afraid of flying.
Consequently, J went to Europe alone. After that, I regretted it so much that my intestines turned green with remorse. It wasn't until 1999 that I went to Europe by myself. A full eight years had passed—what a massive change! If that had been in the past, even the War of Resistance would have ended.
To return to the main story, before J left for Europe, I consulted him for his opinion on whether I could work for a month in a "Snaku" (a Japanese-style bar) that we were both familiar with.
At that time, a female friend I had known since working in Shanghai was employed there. Both J and I had been there before. The beautiful owner, the "Mama-san", was very kind, and my friend held a position like the second-in-command inside. Her spoken language was so fluent it made people envious; she had arrived in Japan a year later than I did. Apart from the two of them, there was a young Japanese waitress who held a white-collar job during the day.
The mere mention of a "Snaku" easily triggers wild imaginations. During my 20 days working there, I never saw a customer make any improper or indecent gestures. My friend also behaved gracefully and was very skillful at socializing. She was busy hosting customers in front of the bar and behind the tables, pouring drinks for them, and even going to the small stove to cook fried chicken thighs and other food for them to eat. Although I sometimes saw her chatting and laughing with regular customers, I didn't see any hidden erotic element.
This shop, called "Princess," was located on a small side street in Hon-Atsugi, quite close to the station. The storefront was very small and rectangular. To the left of the entrance was a small bar counter, behind which was a liquor rack containing many full and half-empty liquor bottles. A tag was hung around the neck of each bottle with the customer's name written on it. Every time a customer came, we would serve them their own alcohol stored there, either adding ice cubes or some other beverage. Of course, they could also open a new bottle. My friend could almost always pick out a person's liquor bottle the moment she saw them walk in.
The room could accommodate four or five tables, with each table seating four or five people. Customers came in to drink, and some sang karaoke. No matter who sang, or how well or poorly they performed, everyone present would applaud, though it seemed the Japanese generally sang quite well.
J and I had visited more than one such "Snaku". Sometimes we went by ourselves, and sometimes we went with J's colleagues and friends. Every time was very relaxing and pleasant.
From 8:00 PM to midnight, I earned 2,500 yen per hour. Our daily routine involved opening the doors to ventilate the room, cleaning the place, and tidying up the restroom at the very back (which was just a tiny room). Then, we took a stack of small white towels delivered by the outside laundry service, rolled them into cylinders, and placed them into a hot towel warmer about the size of a microwave. Once a customer entered, we would take out a roll for them.
As soon as a customer came in, we had to shout, "Irasshaimase! (Welcome!)" Then we would lead them to their seats and hand over the steaming small towel rolls. At this point, my friend would bring over the customer's liquor bottle, exchange some warm pleasantries, and nimbly mix drinks for them. The customer would ask her what she wanted to drink, and she would request a bottle of beer, a can of tomato juice, or some other soft drink, or perhaps just mix a glass for herself using the customer's liquor.
This was where the "Mama-san" made her money—those drinks were 1,000 yen a can or a glass. Therefore, the unspoken requirement was that we servers had to be able to drink. I only drank tomato juice. That friend of mine had an incredible tolerance for beer; after four hours of drinking, her face wouldn't change color and her heart wouldn't skip a beat. Sometimes the "Mama-san" would only show up for a short while to chat with regular customers before leaving, leaving just the three of us waitresses in the room.
Once, the Mama-san treated us to a night out of bowling. One of the girls in the photo had just tagged along for fun. It was my very first time bowling. Incredibly, on my first throw, I knocked down all the pins—a strike! The Mama-san even rushed to capture it on camera for me. We also strolled around a nearby shopping mall, and it was drizzling a bit that day. Later, the Mama-san treated us to a barbecue dinner, but none of us dared to touch the raw beef liver she ordered.
My spoken language didn't experience a small leap until this part-time job. I really don't know if anyone heard the very first "Irasshaimase! (Welcome!)" that came out of my mouth; anyway, I could barely hear it myself.
Some customers came alone, while others came in groups of several people after finishing work at their companies. Some lowered their heads to drink in solitude, while others loved to chat. Once, a group of five or six colleagues sat there drinking and chatting, and there was actually a Japanese man holding a book, reading with great relish. I asked what book it was, and he flipped the cover to show me—it was the Japanese version of Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Unfortunately, I hadn't read the Three Kingdoms very carefully, but I knew several of the most famous characters inside, so I chatted aimlessly with him for a while. He was completely delighted and animated by my broken Japanese plus a bit of broken English (Japanese people look at those who can speak English with mutual respect), and I drank two cans of their tomato juice. I felt embarrassed to drink too much of other people's stuff; if it had been the other girls, they would surely have fleeced the customer until his heart ached.
Before they left, someone handed me a business card and told me that their president wished to make friends with me, asking me to visit the company the next day. I was also quite naive back then, thinking that since it was about making friends, I might as well go take a look—more friends meant more paths in life. And I actually went. The president was in his forties or fifties, looking very much like a quiet scholar. He was a man of very few words and hadn't said much while drinking the night before either. When I arrived at his office, he didn't say much of anything; after sitting there for a little while, I took my leave.
We didn't need to sit fixedly by any particular table; we had to keep our eyes and ears open to everything around us. Walking around to top up drinks for customers at various tables was the routine. It would have been better if I could strike up a conversation, but as a temporary worker with a clumsy tongue, I skipped that. It was enough to be quick at making snacks, serving platters, and wiping tables after customers left. The "Mama-san" was very polite to us, mostly because my friend was highly capable.
After a month, I earned over 200,000 yen. It was the first time I had made big money, so I spent it all to buy a brand-new, black Yamaha scooter for J. When J returned from his vacation in Europe and saw that I had bought a new vehicle for him, he was very surprised and, of course, very happy. He asked, "Why did you buy a scooter for him?" I said, "Your scooter is already old." We had two red Honda scooters at the time; the one he drove was relatively old, which had been sold to us for 10,000 yen by our neighbor living at the top of the stairs on the second floor, a white American female teacher, when she left Japan. He brought me back a ruby pendant from Europe.
My final part-time job was at a newly built supermarket called Sanwa near our home. Before the store opened in the morning—it opened at 10:00 AM—we carried the required goods to the sides of the shelves, opened the cardboard boxes, and replenished the items on the vacant shelves. I was in charge of bean products and pickled vegetables. We arranged them from front to back according to their expiration dates, and removed the expired ones. It felt like such a waste to just throw away food that had just passed its expiration date. The working "obasans" would heat it up on a stove in the breakroom and eat it, and whenever I happened to be there at the right moment, I would be given a portion to enjoy as well.
Once everything was set and right before the doors opened, everyone would grab a mop to mop the floor, which was already very clean to begin with, and all the mops were, of course, a very clean white.
To insert a side note here, the garbage trucks on the streets of Japan are brand-new, clean, and without a single stain. The sanitation workers all wear neat uniforms. They are nothing like the garbage trucks in the United States, which are ancient, heavily stained, with their loading bays wide open, looking unbearably filthy.
Although the work went well, I did experience a minor, embarrassing moment. The first time I used their restroom, I went inside but couldn't get out—I couldn't open the door! Next to the hand dryer, I saw something mounted on the wall, but I didn't bother to examine it. I decided to wait for someone else to use the restroom. Fortunately, the restroom was exceptionally clean; not only was it odorless, but it also had a faint fragrance sprayed from an air purifier. After what felt like a long time passed and still no one came, I had no choice but to press the emergency call button. When someone finally opened the door from the outside and rescued me, I was told, "To exit, you just need to wave your hand in front of that device on the wall, and the door will open automatically." That was a light-sensing device, and it even came with a disinfection function.
特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。
Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第四百三十七篇
