(via — & many more; I’ve enjoyed reading the ones that have come across my dashboard)

I worked for the American vice-president of Nisso Master Builders, a Japanese concrete company in Tokyo. I was fifteen and the American and Japanese Chambers of Commerce had cooperated that summer so that American high-school kids could work for Japanese companies and get paid. I typed correspondence (cc’s back then meant you had to use real carbon paper, yo, hence ‘carbon copy’), filled out paperwork that required a rainbow of correction fluids if you messed up — ledger buff, ledger green, (not to be confused with) green, canary yellow, goldenrod, blue, pink & ivory — and helped with the translation of some technical manuals by fixing any glaring grammatical errors.

Mostly though, I listened to people talk. And talk. And talk. There were only two native English speakers in this office branch and since I was the one who wasn’t the vice-president of the company, I was the one people came to when they wanted to practice their English. In exchange I learned some basic katakana, and someone also taught me how to write my name but I don’t remember any of those things now. I wish I did. I wonder if they remember their English?

(photo)