What I miss about Japan the most? Politeness. Oh. My. Gosh. How much I bloody miss that.
I really miss the fact that one can go out in public and have a rather stress-free interaction, safely cushioned (if not: cocooned) in polite formulas and significant amount of bowing. That you can just go out, do your business, run all the errand and that nobody - unprovoked - would start exerting their power on you and make you feel like utter manure.
This year I'm living in a student residence managed by so-called UNITE in London. It is a shitty place, not only cheaply built, but extortionately priced for what it's worth. But that's not the worst. The worst is, by far, the scum that happens to work there.
Do you judge me now by calling people names? Believe me, I'm the last person to judge and call people names. I'm a rather shy, insecure and very quiet person minding her own business, the kind that has her imaginary life much more developed and fascinating as a result of over-intense introspection. I am polite to people I deal with, observing the rules and taking care never to offend. I am a person extremely difficult to upset, and even if that happens, I try to withdraw rather than argue pointlessly or be unkind to anyone. But this year is definitely thickening my skin. Yes, the UNITE bastards (as I came to pet-name them as early as two weeks after moving in) are definitely teaching me how to be rude, as they are living example of how much one can disrespect and push people around. And you know what? People that live here are mostly foreigners that barely speak any English, so the bastards grow to think they are masters and commanders, to patronize and offend.
Take, for instance, the parcel collection. In my residence, they are kindly signing in and taking your parcels for you, so that you don't need to go to the post office depot if you need to collect your parcels. Great, one would think, and yes, I admit, it seems awfully convenient. But let me tell you, I wish I could go to the depot and just get my bloody parcel myself, really, rather to deal with the aforementioned UNITE scum to retrieve it.
The moment the parcel arrives, it gets signed for. They even send you an e-mail that there is a parcel for you. Great, you think, and rush to collect it, just to discover the reception is 'temporarily' closed. Wondering where did the e-mail come from then, you make a mental note to come later, and when you do, you notice they yet again changed the opening hours, so now it's not 8pm anymore, it's 7:30. Teeth gritting, you return the next day.
Make it today. I had a tough week, I've been very anxious and rather depressed and fearful. I tried to come up with some work on my dissertation, but instead did my very best not to succumb into panic, really. I came downstairs, hungry on top of all that, just to collect my parcel. There were at least 2 people already dealing with the Arab-looking guy at the reception, and then there was a group of three or four black girls just standing nearby. Not sure whether they waited or not, I stood there politely, halfway inbetween. I waited patiently. One person dealt with the guy. Then the other. Then the group approached and started talking about something.
I was standing, waiting politely, trying not to think about how long I'm actually waiting and that my stomach rumbles. Then I heard the door and observed some Spanish-looking guy dressed in a very red shirt flip-flopping his way to the reception. He approached, glared at me and stood behind the girls, waiting.
The moment the guy working behind the counter saw the guy he asked what he wanted. I was appalled at this obvious injustice, but then learned that, apparently, it was an emergency of 3 mice in the kitchen (just to confirm to you how shitty this place is, the building was completed in 2009 and is too far from Central London to shift the blame for rodent-stricken location), and his three female neighbours were standing on top of the table, screaming, refusing to touch the kitchen floor ever again unless he reported it. Ok, I thought. Let it be. I can wait.
The guy behind the counter looked at me, finally, and started to make some phone call somewhere (probably regarding the mice), and asked me what I wanted. I told him about the parcel. He completely ignored me, or didn't want to reply, or maybe he was just too thick to do two things at the time, reply to me and listen to some waiting music on the phone. Anyway, I started to get annoyed, but didn't say a thing.
After a minute or two, I reached for the file with the parcel numbers, the one we have to sign to get our parcel. They are supposed to be doing that for you, finding your number and then the parcel, but he was obviously too busy. I wanted to show him my name so that he could find a parcel the moment he finished talking on the phone, and go home, as they were supposed to work till 7:30pm, and it was already past this time. The moment he saw me, still not looking at me, so I didn't notice that he was talking to me (mind you, he still had the telephone receiver tucked in between his cheek and shoulder, and tapping something on the computer), he started with 'Don't touch my stuff'. I looked at him, apologetically, but also a bit amused, trying to smile and explain that I just wanted to collect my parcel and find my name in the binder, so he could go home earlier, as I could see he is on the phone. He avoided eye contact with me and still was on the phone, although not talking, so it annoyed me even more how rude can one be. If you could only see his body language. He started showing me the phone, telling me I need to wait as it's not my turn, and as I am touching his stuff, I will need to wait even longer. It was so rude, especially that he did see me before and somehow decided that the guy that came after me was more urgent/important to deal with. I told him that I was before this guy anyway, and I didn't want to do anything, I wanted to wait politely, I just wanted to make his life easier and show him my name, so he could find the parcel after he'd have finished the talking. He started, and I'm not joking, taking the mickey, blabbing in a weird voice, telling me that NOW that I'm so impatient that I tried to do that (?), and that it's his stuff, NOW I would need to wait even longer. I'm telling you, readers, it was as if I turned back time and were back in kindergarten.
I was so flabbergasted that the shadow of the smile froze on my lips, and I could feel the rush of blood on my cheeks. I just wanted to stab him. I found myself telling him to be reasonable, and look, I just wanted to help him with his best interest in mind, as it's just a parcel and I knew that it is past after their closing time, so I don't want to take his time longer than necessary. He started (mind you, he was still 'on the phone') telling me off, that he will not close anyway before he doesn't deal with all of us. I snapped back that I was the last one and just wanted to be polite and make the process quicker FOR HIM, and that this is not HIS STUFF anyway. (Note to self: For fuck's sake, I need to stop being so fucking considerate and try to help people if they are not asking for it. Sorry for the Latin.) He started, in angry English with some Arabic accent, that now I would need to wait even longer. I just looked at him in disbelief. The only thing missing was the tongue sticking out with 'la la la' song to it, followed by some loud raspberry blowing.
There were many things I wanted to tell him. He was looking at me, with apparent glee that he was causing me so much inconvenience, and probably marvelling on of how powerful and important he actually was at the moment, keeping me waiting and uncertain whether I get it today or not. In his sneaky eyes I swear I could see a spark of mischief - he was probably wondering whether he could refuse me MY OWN parcel on some dumb pretext, close the office and get away with it, pretending nothing happened. But for the time being he decided to ignore me. Ok, I thought, if you want to play games, I actually AM in a position that I CAN wait almost indefinitely as I live here, but you have to stay here till you're done.
I felt warm tears of abasement forming under my eyelids. This should not be happening. I just wanted to peacefully collect my parcel, just have it over with. Forcing myself not to show any weakness in this stupid and completely unnecessary 'duel' I looked at some artificial plant and started using my all-time favourite tear-blocker, laws of thermodynamics (you need to focus and try to recite them word by word, they take your mind of what's currently happening; with some practice you can rend them useful in temporary tear production). I managed to withstand the overwhelming sense of misunderstanding.
After half a minute of sitting, I could hear him opening the binder. I ignored him and turned to him, trying to look as interested as if I observed a cockroach in a jar, with my sight unfocused. He was blaberring something. I asked pardon me. He repeated whether I'd known my referrence number. I replied that I did. Silence. He asked whether he could have it. I told him coldly that no, as he was so busy on the phone I could wait. After another minute or two he was asking the room number. I told him. He found my name and crossed the place to sign. I looked at him, faking a polite interest, and didn't take a pen, as he didn't carry the parcel yet. He looked at me in a pantomime of 'you stupid bitch, sign it'. I looked at him patronizingly and told him, courtly, that in order to sign for anything I need to see the parcel. It took him another 10 minutes to 'find' it, while simultaneously he was talking to somebody about the vermins (?). I revised my Physics once again and tried not to lose my composure. When he finally turned up, I had the 'you're slow, aren't you' followed by 'it's because of such black Arabic scum Britain doesn't resemble itself anymore' on the tip of my tongue, but decided to swallow my words this time. Not even looking at him, I coldly thanked him, grabbed my parcel and went to the shop to do some minor shopping.
I always try to be compassionate. I alwats try to be nice to everybody. I try to explain people and their behaviour, thinking about why they behaved in a certain way. I have a tendency of blaming myself and trying to use every encounter as the lesson for the future, trying not to make the same mistakes/avoid similar controntation. But sometimes I just have enough. These idiots working here are teaching me one thing: NEVER PUT YOUR GUARD DOWN, because the moment you do, you'll be attacked. Of course, not all of them are like that. I do like and respect few of them, because they were never rude to me, always gentle and polite. But when they caused much inconvenience once, messing up the credit card and causing my dad a lot of woe, NONE OF THEM ACTUALLY PAID ATTENTION until I sent a rude e-mail that finally went through the stupid system and made somebody react, even if the initial intention was to teach me manners.
Today's interraction about such trivial thing as a parcel was so upsetting and unnecessary. The guy finally listened and sorted the thing out AFTER I LOWERED MYSELF TO HIS LEVEL. Is that how communication should look like? Is that how my life would look like from now on? Is the only way to escape that getting really rich and being able to afford not to deal with the scum like that, a scum that would attack you without a warning when you least expect it?
One could say that what goes round comes round, and that I've been rude to them once, so maybe they're just paying me back. The difference is that the previous situation was obviously their mistake that had serious consequences, and they are, after all people you need to deal when such unpleasant situation occurs. Not only were they wrong, they also bothered my father (a guarantor) unnecessarily, and caused me many sleepless nights. They were threatening me with their stupid e-mails about 'legal responsibilities' and similar crap, almost threatening eviction, and I needed to shout to be heard. Now, whenever I came down to get a parcel, I was always really polite. Going downstairs in your pyjamas (well, almost, a home tracksuit) to get a parcel is when you least expect it somebody to upset you by being rude to you.
Now, why would this scum do such a thing, I repeat, completely unprovoked? Why did he do that? Did it have anything to do with me, or was completely unrelated? Did it have anything to do with paying me back for being rude to UNITE once? (Mind you, I've never spoken to the guy before). Was it because I'm a woman? (He was most obviously a Muslim). Or maybe he is just a mediocre and insecure little creature living his shitty little life, with no real power or significance, and that was his only way to feel great and important for a second?
I came upstairs with my shopping and unwrapped a damn parcel all this fuss and emotional upset was about. Inside, there was a Rafaello sweet box spontaneously bought by my boyfriend. I found it so touching and thoughtful that I finally burst into tears. Felt better.
