A FIRST IN THE I WISH I LOVED JAPAN SERIES. I EVEN BOUGHT MY OWN BULLDOZER TO SHOW MY PATRIOTISM AND PITY.
FUCKBAR Staff Says I’m Not a Human Being After DJ Attacked Me
FUCKBAR. Nice name.
Although expecting to find decent company, or any company at all, in an alcohol-fueled danceclub in a small city in Japan (especially one named FUCKBAR, nice name) is a case of being in the wrong place for the wrong reasons, I didn’t count on getting mauled by the DJ, threatened physically and dragged through the hallways and out the door because I “requested too many songs the DJ didn’t have.”
I’ve seen my share of DJ’s all over the world, good and bad, and everything inbetween. And this one was fulfilling the job description, spinning dancable r’n’b music for the typically mixed crowd that frequents the FUCKBAR. But the night took a sour turn when I requested The Beastie Boys’ Sabotage after a string of requests he couldn’t fulfill, and the DJ threw up his arms in exasperation. Apparently, it was my fault he didn’t have any Happy Birthday songs or any Beastie Boys because the next thing I knew he was on the floor with his arms in my face, screaming like a teenager on a rampage (he probably is a teenager for all I know), quickly and conveniently followed by some bald ape-like japanese staff who decided that pushing me into tables, chairs and knocking people over out the door was the good and decent thing to do. If ever I met someone who introduced themselves with their force, throwing me into the animate and the inanimate, first on the dance floor then into the bar then into the hallway then out the door, it was him. The baldy continued the harrassment in the gritty stairwell (about as welcoming as a trash compactor, fitting for this gem of a club). Apparently, he attended one of the more prestigious Universities in Japan and graduated with high marks with a major in Pushing Gaijin Into Walls, Tables and Chairs. I had never heard of it until that night, but after doing some research it seems to be a field of study that is getting more widely deserved acclaim, a stout reminder of the integrity of the Japanese education system.
It wouldn’t be fair to claim that I am unbiased on the events of the evening – but, as another gaijin shouted while the baldy was displaying his unique academic prowess, maybe I should “get a lawyer”. That might be an option if I felt that I have any rights as a resident of Japan. But the ape assured me this was no case of discrimination, as the DJ was not of Japanese nationality, and since the owner is an equal opportunity employer discrimination is out of the question. Sound logic. Hiring people of diverse ethnic backgrounds (read: one Korean guy counts as "diversity") apparently exempts a business, and all of its staff, from racism. Just like Affirmative Action guarantees equal treatment of minorities in American workplaces. Somehow, I don’t see the connection between hiring practices and behavior, but then again, it’s my fault for being a fan of The Beastie Boys, and, uh, birthday songs. Birthday songs are inflammatory. What shortsightedness on my part.
But again, to be perfectly honest, I’m not just an innocent victim, but I do believe absolutely that the brilliant baldy and the DJ were extreme in their reaction to my small offense. I flipped off the DJ. Immature, no doubt, but not professionally immature, as was his reaction. I wasn’t the one on the job. His ego was hurt, it’s very simple. But frankly, if you expect to please everybody your life will just be an extended disappointment. Which, come to think of it, is probably why I bought the bulldozer, out of pity for the DJ. You might see us riding in it together someday, proudly together with the bloodstain flag. Did I threaten him with a gun? Did I threaten him with a knife? Did I threaten his safety in any way? No, the answer is by anyone’s perspective, the attack did not come out of self-defense. The double attack, I will add. There was no threatening on my part, and as one customer remarked about my colorful plaid shirt and lanky legs, I was obviously physically assaulting them with my warlike form of dress. I was practically yelling `we need another Hiroshima! we need another Hiroshima!` by wearing a shirt like that. My friends were as startled as anyone else in the crowd who watched the DJ come out from behind his plastic screen to accost me, standing in the middle of the floor talking to my birthday friend. With reddenned eyes he accused my friends also of laughing at him, which surprised the hell out of them since they didn’t even notice him until he started pushing me. I thought I had made it clear to the DJ that it was alright he didn’t have the Beastie Boys, and a friendly bartender also told me the same, upon which I remarked, no worries, mate. And I thought that was that, until the DJ jumped down off his post followed a nanosecond later by the baldheaded expert in pushing, aggressing and dehumanizing gaijin`s. Which brings me to the final point, after which I want to let this episode go – after apologizing for my finger’s tendency to elevate when faced with a limited cd collection, he asked me point blank – are you even human? The given look of pleasure in his face told me immediately I was dealing with a world class dildo. Of course I’m not human, I’m a gaijin. I`m a zoo animal. I smell like shit and I`m spreading it on every wall in Fukuoka. Not so long ago people like me were cut open up and operated on for amusement by Japanese ‘medical practicioners,’ because they thought gaijin weren’t human, too. At the same time I thought, in false reminiscence, I wish I had attended some of this guy`s early junior highschool classes, where he no doubt first learned this airtight line of logical thinking that would put Plato to shame (read: got his head smashed in by some teacher whose father paid off the vice principal so he could get a job).
But of course, that’s hardly possible, even given a time machine for which to complete the audit. Because I doubt that he even graduated from elementary school.
Basically I can’t forgive the staff that night that decided to push me around with a good amount of pompous self-rightous violence. The dynamics of power in the situation was undeniably in the DJ’s favor, even as the staff only deemed it necessary to listen to his half-baked, maybe even cocaine-induced paranoid frenzy before attacking me. There are witnesses as to the DJ’s paranoia, bystanders who watched as my friends were shocked when he accused them of talking behind his back, with popping reddened eyes like he just came back from the bathroom from snorting a line of coke. Add to that the obvious disadvantage of being a gaijin in any club scuffle, where we quite likely appear to others as the instigator. Add to that the fact that that any staff at a club has a distinct power advantage over the customers, add to that the guy was twice my size. Add to this that I was expected to apologize for my non-violent action and they didn’t feel the need to apologize for their 100% violent response, for which I now have a swollen ankle, and large bruises on my legs and shoulder from being knocked around. This all adds up to a very small offense on my part and a tremendous irresponsible overreaction and unprofessionality on the part of FUCKBAR DJ and lead staff.
Shabooyah, FUCKBAR. Five Stars. Did I mention how that`s a really nice name?