There’s No Such Thing as an Easy Job

by Kikuko Tsumura

Recently, I’d started pondering the fact that, up front, a bottle of eye drops was actually cheaper than a yakisoba roll. But then there was the chance that if I went overboard with the eye drops, I might have dry eye syndrome by the time I left this job; so if I factored in long-term as well as upfront costs, it was possible that a yakisoba roll was actually more reasonable over a certain number of years. But then there were all the additives and preservatives in the yakisoba roll to think about – I couldn’t rule out that they might actually take an even greater and more costly toll on my health than dry eye syndrome would. So it was impossible to say at this stage which would work out more economical in the end.

I’d come to the conclusion that there were very few jobs in the world that ate up as much time and as little brainpower as watching over the life of a novelist who lived alone and worked from home.

I lived right across the street from the office, so my commute was a breeze, but when you weren’t allowed to go home, the issue of how close your house was to your workplace became more or less moot. The benefit was that because I barely encountered anyone while working, I didn’t need to give my appearance much thought, so sometimes, I’d throw a coat over my pyjamas and head to work like that. And on days when I had the time, I would pop back home and eat dinner before returning to the office.

I’d quit my previous job after I developed burnout syndrome, and had gone back to living with my parents in order to recuperate. After a while, my unemployment insurance ran out and I figured I’d better start looking for another job. I’d left my last job because it sucked up every scrap of energy I had until there was not a shred left, but at the same time, I sensed that hanging around doing nothing forever probably wasn’t the answer either.

And, needless to say, money was of utmost importance to me right now. I had no idea when I might burn out next.

‘I’m not really the person to ask,’ I replied. ‘Ever since I burned out at my last job, I haven’t been able to read.’ It sounded like a hopeless exaggeration, but it was more or less the truth. If I read more than one side of A4 a day, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of such despondency that I was unable to function. At the same time, my brain would fire up and I’d be on full alert. It was a really tiresome combination.

The truth was that, for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to me, I’d panicked. The surveillance job hadn’t been that bad, but it had felt weighty and involved in a way that I didn’t feel capable of dealing with. Perhaps it just wasn’t a job suited to a chronic over-thinker like me. I doubted I could ever feel the affection that Mr Someya clearly felt towards it, and I wasn’t by nature as rule-abiding as Mrs Ōizumi. I could see how people like that could do the job without losing their minds, but I also understood that it was bound to send someone like me funny in the head sooner or later.

I knew that the next job awaiting me was still a limited-contract one, but that it would pay 150 yen more per hour, as well as provide health insurance, which made a big change from the bus company. ‘That doesn’t mean I’ll be expected to work excessive amounts or be given unfair responsibilities, right?’ I asked Mrs Masakado at our meeting, where she told me that she, too, believed it was wise for me to move on.

I wasn’t so convinced that fatigue from looking for a wife was a valid reason for depression, but at least it seemed unrelated to the job.

It was at this point that, as arrogant as it sounds, I began to feel like I’d somehow got the knack of the job. In any case, I began to actively enjoy the task of writing the rice cracker trivia, and also came to feel some sense of motivation for my work.

After having to leave my old job because of burnout syndrome, I was rationally aware that it wasn’t a good idea to get too emotionally involved in what I was doing, but it was also difficult to prevent myself from taking satisfaction in it. Truthfully, I was happy when people took pleasure in my work, and it made me want to try harder.

Feeling strangely guilty about being visibly out of sorts, I deliberated about whether to confess about the impasse I’d come up against, or to declare the matter over and reply with great self-possession about how the vote seemed set to go to 100 Famous Mountains of Japan, but even the fact of having to make that call started to seem unnecessarily stressful, so I just shook my head and said, ‘No, no, I’m fine.’

‘I had no idea that Ms Kawasaki used to work in the legal department at her previous company,’ she said. ‘I developed a panic disorder and had to leave, though,’ said Ms Kawasaki. She went on to say she’d spent two years at home as a recluse before returning to work, and had eventually found a permanent-contract job at the cracker factory.

From the angle of her head and the look of her eyes with their big irises, I understood that Mrs Fujiko could see that my soul had seized up and grown stiff. I felt a sudden urge to kick the coffee table away and hurl my teacup at the wall.

Walking back down the corridor it occurred to me that ‘We’re counting on you!’ and ‘You should rest!’ were actually contradictory messages, and a lump formed in my throat. Which did she really mean? Or did she mean neither? Maybe it was all just meaningless conversational fluff – or was this what they called a double bind?

The best explanation I could have given as to why I hadn’t renewed my contract went as follows: I hadn’t been able to get over the fear that my job would be stolen away from me by the type of person I had an intense aversion to, and so I’d run away.

I wanted a job that was practically without substance, a job that sat on the borderline between being a job and not.

I was glad I was getting on a bit in age, that was for sure. I knew full well that if I’d been twenty-three or so, he might have got a hold on me. But unfortunately for him, I’d interacted with several of his sort in my old job – the kinds of people who wormed their way into the cracks in people’s psyches, then poked their little needles in to create punctures.

Listen, pal, I addressed the young man in my mind, if I want help, I’ll consult a professional or someone I trust, not a stranger who tries to fabricate weakness in others for themselves to inhabit. And as I thought this, I also acknowledged that there might be something appealingly straightforward about doing exactly as he suggested. At the moment, though, I was employed by Mr Monaga, so I had to deal with Lonely No More! from a different angle.

In fact, although I had no positive desire to leave the job, I had started to feel like my time had come. Maybe when you experienced four changes of jobs within the course of a year, you started to sense when the moment of transition was approaching.

‘Look at you,’ they’d said, ‘frittering your time away in the forest!’ When I’d called up Mr Sugai’s former workplace, I’d felt myself seizing up in a similar way. Having turned my back on the job that I’d decided to spend the majority of my life doing, unexpected encounters with those who were still in that same profession made me feel not just awkward, but envious as well.

Whoever you were, there was a chance that you would end up wanting to run away from a job you had once believed in, that you would stray from the path you were on.

The time had come to embrace the ups and downs again. I had no way of knowing what pitfalls might be lying in wait for me, but what I’d discovered by doing five jobs in such a short span of time was this: the same was true of everything. You never knew what was going to happen, whatever you did. You just had to give it your all, and hope for the best. Hope like anything it would turn out alright.