As we’re leaving class second period, I peek over at Gonzo Sensei’s stack of papers and see a series of graphs with the students’ names scrawled across the top. The students are required to turn in a weekly schedule of how they’ve spent their time; it’s recorded by the hour. Some of them are color-coded: purple for studying, pink for homework. They each add up the key totals in boxes at the end. An average of 5.5 hours of sleep a night. Seven on Saturday.
Gonzo Sensei looks down at the stack. “In Japan,” she says, flipping through them, “the teachers take responsibility for so many things.”
“Why do you have them write these?” I ask. “What’s the purpose behind it?”
“Seemingly,” Gonzo Sensei says, “it’s to check whether they’re having too much study. Or if they’re having too much homework to do.”
“In reality?” I ask.
“In reality,” she says, “it’s like, ‘why are you only studying 30 minutes every night!’ It’s the mentality of Kurume Koko. We must work hard!”
It reminds me of something out of a movie about the Iditarod I used to watch in the days when I was saving my fifth grade allowance to return (on my own) to Alaska. “You have to run longer, sleep less,” the Native American coach says, “It’s your only chance.” I’m already sleeping less, either from the cats and dogs its raining or my own restless mind.
I’ve been paying careful attention lately to school procedure. Each homeroom has a book that a student is selected to write in each day. They record the events of the day, homework given, absences and whatever else they’d like. There are 21 of these books floating around the school in someone’s blue bag, but what I wonder is: what happens to them after this year? Is there a library of meticulously recorded daily journals? Also, what happens to the 243 panels each color block (times 3) uses during Sports Day? Is there a warehouse full of red cardboard squares? Usually, during exam time, there is an Edo-style black sign hanging from the teacher’s room door that says NO STUDENTS ALLOWED. But this time there’s just a laminated white sheet. Was the Edo sign destroyed in the flood? Is someone hiding it in their desk? Also, what is the new vice-principal curly-haired woman as strict as everyone says she is? Ms. Delicious made Praju sneak in after her when they went to lunch a few weeks ago, just so The Big Kahuness wouldn’t catch on.
And perhaps most important of all: what happened to my red garbage can? The last thing I knew it was catching water leaking out of the light fixture over my desk. Now it is not underfoot, not in place for me to jettison my yogurt lid. Did it take this opportunity to go AWOL? Does it have a better post at another Sensei’s desk? Did they steal it?
Have you ever lost a useful piece of office equipment in a flood and then wondered if The Mad Scientist secretly stole it out from under your nose? Do tell.
