Nasty Conjugation

As anyone who has ever worked a full-time job knows, body language is one of the many Pavlovian mechanisms the man uses to keep us under his thumb. Well, I thought it might be interesting to describe the general postures and routines I use daily at my job and in my life in Japan. Here’s the first posture analysis: the Nova classroom.

When entering the classroom – and by classroom I really just mean narrow closets partitioned by fiberglass – I stretch my neck forward and bob my head, like an awkward, shell-less turtle.

“Hello, hello.”

Oftentimes my students, amused, parrot the greeting by lowering their own voices to my register. While I seat myself I ask the next permanent, inevitable question.

“How is everyone doing today? Good?”

Top three responses? Good, fine, so-so. Further elaboration usually takes some time, so I have a moment to make myself comfortable. The tables are kidney-shaped and accommodate up to four students, so when given the chance I will position myself at either end so as to avoid becoming the focal point of four Japanese eye lasers.

When I sit I usually tuck my right leg underneath my left and lean forward slightly, my body language screaming polite, comfortable interest. Usually after about seven minutes this position becomes uncomfortable because Japan hates air conditioners, those fierce mechanical bringers of disease, and my legs are starting to sweat. Position number two has both of my feet planted firmly on the ground, allowing for maximum air circulation in my trousers. No matter what, my head is always cocked at an attentive twenty-degrees to the right or left, sometimes shifting to either side like a dog watching a squirrel outside the window.

The language barrier magnifies all of my gestures into grotesque performance art. For instance:

“Yes (thumb up), Florida is very far (hands, palms facing inwards, separate to shoulder-breadth), but I am enjoying Japan (thumb up) very much (double thumbs up). Have you (point to student) ever been (twirl my fingers in the air, for some reason) to Florida?”

One thing to be avoided at all costs is the yawn. It is a deadly battle and a cunning foe, constantly threatening to destroy my ruse of polite interest. The odds are aligned against me here: constantly warm classrooms, people who are unwilling to speak louder than a whisper and unable to speak faster than a valium patient, uncomfortable chairs, boring lessons. I never knew you could yawn with your mouth shut, but now I spend half the lessons with my jaw clamped down like a man suffering from rabies.

There is also the difficulty of checking the time. Nova’s teaching policy forces us to attempt to time our lessons down to the minute, with a specific amount of time spent in each section. However, we’re also told not to be seen checking our watch too often. Add onto that the intense desire to be done, and we must become brilliant secret time agents. The easiest tactic is to cross my leg and rest my hand on my knee, therefore giving me a good, surreptitious view of my watch. Another favorite is to incorporate the lesson into checking the time, such as in the “Speculating on Lateness,” lesson:

“Where could she be? (check watch) Oh dear! She is ten minutes late!”

Sly.

Exactly forty minutes after I’ve entered, I will leave in almost the exact manner that I arrived, except in reverse. I pack up my book and papers, reverse course out the door, and bob my head a few more times while saying, “Alright! Thank you! Bye bye!”

And then I have ten minutes in the back room to say every inappropriate thing I ever thought to say or do in the classroom before I start again.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 18th, 2006 at 7:46 am and is filed under Japan. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.