From the 2009 Winter Issue of JQ, the JETAA NY quarterly magazine:

By Rick Ambrosio (Ibaraki-ken, 2006-08)

It was one of our last big nights in Tokyo. A well dressed crew hailing from Ibaraki descended on Roppongi for our last big hurrah. In a couple months we would all go back to our homes, be them England, Australia, America, etc. and this weekend was an all out affair. Expensive dinners, nice hotel, Jacuzzi Karaoke, Tokyo Bay cruise…it was one for the books.

Saturday night of this luxurious weekend found us at club Alife, rumoured to be a hot spot for famous Japanese actresses and models. To be honest, I don’t think I’d know them if I saw them, but it was still cool to be partying where they party, and with a ¥3,000 entrance fee, it had better be fun. There were about 15 of us in total running around, having drinks, dancing, enjoying ourselves. Little did we know it would end up being one of our most talked about nights in JET.

Around 3:00 a.m. I ascended from the “techno” section of the club located in the basement and headed towards the lounge and bar area. I had just gotten the number of a very attractive young Russian dancer (a story for another article) and wanted to gloat to my friends. When I got there I found a large group of them huddled around one table. As I entered the circle it appeared there was an argument going on.

“It’s her, man!” exclaimed Navin.

“No way, what would she be doing here?” argued Dan.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure girls like her have to go out somewhere,” said Ty.

I asked to be briefed on the current situation. As it would turn out, about 30 feet from our “base” sitting in a VIP section was a woman named Maria Ozawa.

For those who don’t know about her, well, don’t Google her while you’re at work. Allow me to help you out, though; she is one of Japan’s premiere AV idols; half-Japanese, half-Canadian and very easy on the eyes. Though I wasn’t exactly familiar with her, she did look vaguely familiar.

The group battled back and forth. Dan and Max were skeptical. Ty and Navin were convinced. Bryan, who was known for not being able to hold his liquor well, was semi-conscious as his head laid down on the table. But in the end, who would be bold enough to find out?

“I’m going to do it,” said Eric, rising up. Eric hailed from Canada, and with light eyes, a tall, muscular composure and vast Japanese ability, he was the greatest warrior from the Ibaraki tribe. “I can’t just stand here and not hit on my favorite porn star. No matter what happens, it’s worth it.” We all nodded in agreement. The trouble was that she was at a table with her friends, engrossed in conversation in the VIP section.

A plan was quickly formulated. If she got up, we did our best not to stare, and Eric would go in and do the best he could. A great plan, of course, but it was more like a stakeout; she didn’t budge. After about 15 minutes the excitement had waned a bit, and some of the group, namely Bryan and Max, decided to be amused elsewhere.

Suddenly Maria stood up and left her seat. Like a pack of Hyenas on the savanna, all our heads darted in the same direction at once. With a playful stride Maria walked over to the bar and began ordering drinks. We all looked at Eric. He took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “Here goes nothing.” As he walked away, you could feel the muffled excitement of our group. I wanted to cheer his name as he strode off into glorious battle. Heck, I wish I could have joined him but alas, it was a solo mission, and I was relegated to watch from a slight distance.

I saw his entrance; he saddled up next to her and ordered some drinks. I could see them fine, but it was too noisy and they were too far away to hear the conversation. With a casual touch of her forearm he leaned in and said something. We all held our breath. She laughed and teasingly slapped his shoulder. (To this day Eric has not shared with us whatever this magnificent opener was.) She turned toward him and they started talking. Just like that, our friend-our friend-was talking to The Maria Ozawa!

Their drinks were delivered but they lingered. Eric wore his confident smile and Maria seemed to really enjoy talking to him. It was perfect. I was already fast forwarding what was to come in my head; Maria invites all of us to hang out at her mansion, Maria calls all her AV friends, we all party with hot AV girls until the sun comes up and goes down in the halls of JET legend!

I was still drinking on the sweet libation that was this fantasy as it happened. From the corner of my eye I saw Bryan fumbling drunkenly towards Eric and Maria. It was too late to stop him. I then watched Bryan stand between Eric and the mortal sex goddess. He mumbled something towards Eric. Eric’s mouth stood agape, and no words came out. There was no talking between the three for a few seconds. Bryan seemed drunkenly confused and then headed off upstairs.

My attention darted back towards Eric. He smiled at Maria, they exchanged a few words, and then she headed back to her place behind the gates of the VIP lounge. Eric then began walking towards us with his head down. Before he was at the table, though, it bobbed back up with an amused smirk painted from ear to ear.

“Now that was too funny to be true,” he said good-naturedly.

We all crowded around him then, like kids around a fire listening to a camp counselor telling a ghost story. (All we needed were s’mores.) Eric then regaled us with the story:

“She was surprisingly sweet and down-to-earth,” he said. “We made small talk. I pretended that I didn’t know her, and asked for her name. “Stephanie,” she replied. She said that she was from Canada. I asked her if she had a boyfriend. “I wish,” she said, crestfallen. “I don’t know why I can’t find one.”

“We kept talking. Then I get a tap on the shoulder. Worst timing ever. It was Bryan, teetering in a drunken stupor. The three of us stood in tight, triangular formation; Maria and I leaning against the bar, Bryan directly behind us. The smut queen and I turned toward him. He spoke. ‘Hey, did you talk to that porn star yet?’”

“I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know how to react. I think I was in shock. So I just stared, blankly. After a few seconds Bryan, bless his soul, shrugged his shoulders, made a funny noise and carried on walking. I don’t even think he realized that the girl I was talking to was the same one that I pointed out to him a few minutes earlier. It was a line right out of a movie.

“After he walked off, I kept talking to Maria as if nothing had happened. I didn’t acknowledge Bryan’s comment, and neither did she. But I think my game was ruined. She took hold of the drinks that she had bought for herself and her ‘girlfriend,’ said ‘until next time,’ and walked back to her table. I was happy enough; I got a chance to talk to Maria Ozawa, and Bryan made the story even better.”

The first reaction of the group was to find Bryan and make him pay, but we figured he was too drunk to realize what he did and would therefore be too drunk to remember us beating him up. Eric could only smile, though; he had done what few men had the courage to do. The rest of the night was filled with more drinks and laughs, and we spilled out into the streets of Roppongi during the wee hours of the morning. Perhaps we were not victorious that night, but together with my fellow JET friends we touched on something more than victory, that night we all became part of an epic tale.

……

It is said that in the deep cold winter nights of Ibaraki, JETs still huddle together under the kotatsu, feast on oden, and tell the Tale of Eric and Ozawa. Passed on from JET to JET, it is a story of pride and bravery that young, fledgling JETs aspire to and learn from. Some say that the story isn’t true, that the girl was just a model, not the real Maria Ozawa. Some say Eric was never a real person, but a man made up out of myth and other JETs’ exaggerated stories. But I was there, dear reader. I was there on the night a man became a legend, and the angel on the screen became real. I just hope that when the day comes, and Fate approaches you…my friend, like Eric, you buy her a drink, too.

Read Rick’s Tadaima! column on JetWit at http://jetwit.com/wordpress/?s=tadaima%21.

Hello all.  Yes, I’m back, still living at home, doing chores and looking for work!  Apologies about the long black out and happy new year to all!  I think Julie, who writes Editorial Pursuits, really did a great job summarizing how I feel right now, in terms of thanking people, looking for work, and dedicating myself to working harder.  So thanks Julie, you saved me a good amount of space to write about….  (Drum Roll)

The Puppy!  That’s right.  As if I needed more distractions, this Christmas my sister wanted one thing, and she got it.  A puppy.  A deviously cute, usually well behaved puppy.  Let me outline what that first week was like.

Day 1:  Love Puppy.  He’s so cute.  Did you see that?  He looked at me!  Sooo cute!

Day 3:  Puppy is cute.  He pees where he shouldn’t, and bites me shoes sometimes, but he is so cute, is he not?

Day 5:  I’m going to use this thing as a football soon.  All he does is eat and poop, and tries to look cute as he is doing it.  Neighbors are smitten, but I am on to his little game.

Day 7:  Still at odds with puppy, but have now figured out exploiting him with pictures on facebook yields girls messaging me to hang out to meet the puppy.  Dog gets stay of execution.

That was pretty much what it was like.  With my sister up at college for most of December taking finals, the family decided that since I was the one home all the time, I was to watch the dog.  So for a few weeks my life was consumed with walking and feeding and training.  Luckily my sister is home now so it’s not so bad anymore.

I bet you are all wondering “Rick, what did you get for Christmas!?”  Well folks, let me tell you the story of the traditional family Christmas at my house.  You see every year we get some presents under the tree.  Sweaters, gloves, the occasional CD, normal Christmas fare.  But the BIG present, the one you wait for every year, the crowd pleaser, awaits under the stockings in front of the fireplace in the Den.  Every year, two big boxes await my sister and I as we walk in, glazed anime eyes in awe of what our parents have bought.

Let me give you an idea of previous “Big Fire Place Presents” of the past.  My first Nintendo.  My first bike.  The largest Transformer known to man at the time (Fortress Maximus).  My first CD player.  My first Ipod.  Last year it was an Optimus Prime voice changing helmet, which was pretty much all I wanted that year.  (I was living in Japan last year, what more could I want?)

So obviously it was a highly anticipated gift this year as well.  I know I know, I’m 27, but one can still get excited on Christmas in some ways.  My mother was even gloating before hand.  “This is a good one this year!” she exclaimed.  I tried to contain my excitement Christmas day.  I opened the requisite sweaters and gloves this year (Which of course I am still quite thankful for, of course!) but forever looming in my mind was the mystery behind the Big Fire Place Present!  The BFPP baby!

When the time came, my sister and I rushed into the den towards the fireplace.  I sort of expected my parents to put a bow on the dog and have it sit on the fireplace for my sister, but Low! another gift awaited her!  Wow, a double surprise gift!  This only intensified the lust for what was behind the colorful paper bag with tissues artfully splayed from the top.  I tore through it and found….

An envelope.  Okay okay, not instant satisfaction, no, but maybe something exciting!  Plane tickets?  Maybe.  A coupon for something?  Perhaps.  The envelope could signify something larger that couldn’t fit in the house!  What oh what could it be!?  As my sister celebrated her new Pea Coat, I once again ravenously made ribbons of the manila covering to FIND!!

A letter from the MTA.  With a ticket attached.  My mother then chimed in.  “It’s a ticket, from our station to Penn station, 5 trips to be exact, for you know… going into the city.. and…”  She trailed off.  She might as well have said it.  “To get a job.”

Yes folks, this year the grand BFPP was “get a job” in a less than convincing disguise.  I smiled of course, I mean, it was highly useful and I was not about to seem like an ungrateful whelp, but I mean, a TRAIN TICKET?  It was then that my father smiled at me and said, “There is something else too, son.”  My eyes brightened a bit as I looked toward him hopefully.

“When you’re done, we need you to shovel the snow in the driveway.”

“WHEEL…. OF…… FORTUNE!!!!”  I yelled in a haze of alcohol and bright flashing lights.  A small crowd gathered around my cousin and I as we played “The Wheel of Fortune” slot machine.

We were in Atlantic City for my cousin’s girlfriend’s birthday, and since mine was a couple days away, sure, mine too.  I know I know, here I am, unemployed, in a place people go to burn money, when I could be sending out more resumes and following more leads, but instead I’m down 60 bucks, four drinks in the hole, and hitting on my cousin’s girlfriend’s sister.  I suppose I really should be… WHEEL….. OF….. FORTUNE!!!!  Okay, down 48 bucks now.

It’s sort of funny when I try to draw parallels between gambling in America and the Pachinko parlors of Japan.  Like the advice from people you know on how to “hit it big.”  My uncle told me that you should watch the board and just bet black or red at the roulette tables.  A Japanese co-worker of mine assured me that he paid his way through college by playing Pachinko early in the morning before the regular players could get in.

What they both had in common was the loud noises and neon illumination used to create artificial excitement and loosen the pocket strings of everyone in earshot.  People were up and down, rich and then poor again.  It was a sea of sensory overload that turned the volume down on the rest of your life.  I’m not sure if they allowed drinking in Pachinko parlors back in Japan, but they sure let it flow in the casinos in Atlantic City.  Not that I was complaining.

Two days later I found myself in the back seat of my cousin’s car, just outside the city limits of AC as we started heading home.  We all lost some money, drank a lot of alcohol, and I was enjoying the coy grin on my cousin’s girlfriend’s sister’s face whenever she looked my way.  All felt pretty right with the world.  Until, of course, my cousin started talking.

“You know, I don’t have work tomorrow.  What about you guys?”  Apparently no one was working in the morning.  All of a sudden there was a buz of excitement between the three of them.  The girls wanted to see the boardwalk.  My cousin wanted to see The Taj.  Before I knew it plans to turn the car around and reserve a new hotel for another night were being made.  The excitement was palpable.  Theirs, at least.

As we pulled into a convince store, all I could think of were the costs:  hotels, food, booze, gambling.  Without cash coming in, this “round two” just sounded like a money pit.  I slowly but sternly began telling the group that I was not comfortable with going back.  I could see the smiles slide off their faces as I complained that we’d just be doing the same thing over again.  My cousin laughed uncomfortably, his girlfriend was silent, and her sister no longer had a coy grin on her face.  That’s right folks, the party pooper had arrived, and his name was Rick Ambrosio.

I felt a little guilty, being the unemployed one, having to stop everyone’s fun.  But after a little while, they slowly came to their senses, realizing it would be tough to get to work tomorrow with traffic, and getting people back to Long Island and Connecticut.  Truth be told by the time we were on the LIE, they were thanking me, and the car ride home was full of embarrassing stories about me and my cousin as well as some anecdotes on Japan.

All and all I was a fun time, even though I had never gone gambling before and don’t consider myself a gambler.  I did come out of this with one great idea though.  They should get that slot machine I was playing over to Japan ASAP.  “WI–RU…. OBBU…… FO–CHU-N!!!!!!”

I scored my lucky seat on the train.  You see, on the LIRR, there is always a fold down seat right near the doors between cars.  Granted it wasn’t rush hour or anything, I just always love getting that seat.

I sat carefully in a futile attempt to not wrinkle the pants of my navy suit.  I also liked my orange tie that I picked up in the Harajuku Zara back in Japan.  I needed to dress to impress, because it was offense time.

I arrived in Penn station, and jumped onto the subway.  I took the 1 uptown and then the C down to 10th Street.  Two hours after I left my house I stood before the company I had applied to.  I checked my tie for what must have been the 20th time.  I passed the place once, then walked in.

A greeter met me as I walked in.

 “Hi, my name is Rick Ambrosio, I applied to this company about a week ago, I thought I would come down and introduce myself.  Is your manager or HR person in?”

With some slight confusion, she showed me to a seat and asked me to wait a moment. 

I was then approached by a tall man who asked me to come over with him.

I reintroduced myself and began discussing the position I applied for.  Yes I filled out the online application.  Sure I had a copy of my resume.  Yes I was in Japan for two years, it was great.  You’ll forward this to who?  When should I hear back?  I was recommended by…  He said I should drop by and – You don’t have any questions for m-…  okay nice meeting you as well.  Have a nice day.  Goodbye.

In under five minutes from when I went in I was tossed back out on the street again.  Maybe the HR woman would contact me?  (She didn’t.)

I made a quick call home. 

”Yeah Ma, I introduced myself, like the guy suggested.  I’ll be home for dinner……  I have three extra copies of the resume.  Yeah?……  Who should I give them out to, huh?  Random people on the street?  ……Sorry, right, right…… Love you too.  See you soon.”

I walked another block and looked down into the subway.  Another two hours of subways, trains, and car rides home.  I took a deep breath and looked around me at all the gainfully employed people on the streets.  “Shouganai,” I thought, “I’m at least getting a hot dog before I go home.”

My cousin recently published a mystery/horror novel called “Once Upon a Nightmare,” which I read exclusively at night because that’s generally when scary stories are most poignant.  She asked me to review it, so I am.  But like most books you get really into, you forget what time it is, and I ended up staying up really late.  So I end up waking up late.

First I checked e-mails for leads and responses with jobs.  A fellow JETAANY member (Steven) needed help with the Kintetsu Essay Contest, and at this point he and I were working on a title for this series.  The back and forth was a great way to keep myself engaged and feeling like I was doing something.  The Essay Contest data was formatted quickly, but Steven and I went back and forth several more times brainstorming for a name for this series.

Downstairs I went for brunch in my deserted house.  Carefully placed on the kitchen table was my daily note from Mom.  Tuna in the Fridge.  She’s going to Lowes when she gets home.  Vacuum all the leaves in the front of the house.

I thought of calling my mother at work and telling her that many houses in Japan lack yards and doing yard work would severely cripple my cultural transition.  Instead I threw on my weird leather and faux fur hat (I have a habit of wearing odd hats during chores) and began on the leaves.  While doing this my neighbor Tony sauntered over.

Tony is about my fathers age and has two loves:  Cigars and Sinatra. A former stock broker, we tend to talk about the market when I see him because well, I don’t smoke and I’ve never been to Vegas.  He relayed to me that we are in the midst of the worst economy he’d ever seen in his lifetime, and that I should have stayed in Japan a little longer.  Thanks Tony.  Before walking back home, he told me I should move down to Raleigh, where his son works as a financial analyst.  I told him thanks, but I’m going to try and stick it out in New York a little longer.

Six leaf bags later my mother comes home and I realize I’m going to be late to karate practice.  I grab my computer, my dogi and the keys to the car and I head off.  Studying karate is a large part of what got me into JET, and now that I’m home it really helps me keep a piece of Japan with me here at home.  My sensei was happy to have me back, and in realizing I was without a job, made me a deal.  I would teach him about this “Facetube web thing,” in exchange for karate lessons.  It’s turned out quite well actually.  I’ve helped him with some simple website updates and Photoshop stuff and he now has a youtube video.   I can now combo a side kick into a spinning back kick and my kata look pretty good.  Everyone wins.

After karate, I e-mailed a recruiter recommended to me by my cousin.  After more back and forth, (and after deciding to pass on some funny names) Steven and I decided on a title for this series: “Tadaima!”  We both liked it, and the fist post was published!  Things were looking up.

That is, until I read some of the New York Times and found out GM, Ford and Chrysler might be going bankrupt.  Initially I started waxing nostalgic over Japanese cars, and how they were already so fuel efficient, and how it would take American companies a while to catch up.  I then realized that I had bought some shares of GM because I thought they were really cheap.  Okay, I bought a lot of shares.  At 6 dollars a share.  As of this writing, they are now worth $2.79 a share.

…

Ah yes, the new and exciting economy in America.  Ganbare!

********************

“Zannen…. Motainai“…..She repeated it again as she circled the computer skills on my resume. This was the third woman I had talked to today from this recruiting company.

It was 3:42pm in Manhattan and I had to decide if I was going to stay to see some people for drinks later tonight or take a train on the LIRR back home to my parent’s house – where I live now. Three months ago it was sayonara parties and teary goodbyes.  Now it was recruiting companies and resume dos-and-don’ts.

Yuki (not her real name) was clearly disappointed. Even though we had been speaking Japanese most of the time I met her, she still felt it was not good enough for a Japanese business environment. She then explained that the business culture I dealt with in JET was a lot different than what I would experience in a normal job. I understood her perspective, of course, but it’s not exactly an ego boost when someone casually dismisses the most recent two years of my resume.  And the only arrow left in my quiver seemed to be that I could write code for e-commerce sites.

She then shifted gears. “Also, finance is very difficult right now…but if it is your dream you should do it.  Though  IT will be much easier.”  I knew this as well.  I had hoped to find something more “business oriented” after JET, as coding had become monotonous for me, and I wanted to make a shift.

So while in Japan, I used my time productively to delve deep into books about stocks, banks and finance.  I read Alan Greenspan’s memoirs.  All 505 pages of it.  All in hopes of finding something new.   What I found when I came home was the Dow diving like it was trying for a gold medal in the Olympics and thousands laid off in the Manhattan area, most of which came from the financial sector.

With a feeling of conceit I told Yuki that I would consider IT jobs as well, since finance was apparently not an option.  She smiled and said her co-worker may have something for me.  I hoped she did.  The idealized vision of myself in a Brooklyn apartment with my old college roommate, both of us working in Manhattan and living it up the best I could in my post-JET life was slowly becoming darker and fuzzier.  Not that anything is wrong with living at home in Suffolk, mowing the lawn to pay rent.  But it is a long fall from your own apartment and your own rules with a safe job in the suburbs of Japan.

Mika (also not her real name) then came into the room.  She was quite upbeat, placing a document in front of me with information about a job.  A help desk job.  Temporary, about six months.  Hourly pay.  Not exactly what I was looking for.  Still, I smiled and thanked her, telling her I would e-mail her with my response after she tried to find out if she could make it a salaried position.  I was then politely ushered out of the office and I made my way back down the elevator to the streets of Manhattan.

It was raining.  Apparently I knew little about Japan.  For added measure the message on my cellphone was my mother.  She somehow found out before I did that when I arrived back at Ronkonkoma station, there would be a ticket waiting on the windshield of her Explorer that I borrowed for parking in an unmarked stall. Also, clean the basement when I go home, please.

Welcome to life after JET in this fabulous new economic landscape.