The OL

Miss Ikeda always sat at the bottom end of the small office space, a sort of glorified eikaiwa I used to work for some time ago. Apart from the usual language classes, the job involved translating and editing documents in either hypertechnical Japanese or incomprehensible English, which I had to puzzle over daily. Since the place was small, only a handful of people worked there: four foreigners and four Japanese staff members. Ikeda-san was one of the latter.

Though not an unattractive woman, her shyness often seemed in direct proportion to the generous size of her waist. Quiet and diligent, she would usually come in early and stay until everyone else had gone home, always doing something or other for the boss on her computer. Unfortunately, her meekness and passive nature also made Ikeda-san a usual target for the latter's ego-crushing torments.

The office was owned by two partners, a man and a woman whom my friends and I jokingly dubbed "the Doomsday Duo." The top boss, "Ming the Merciless," and his right hand, "Yubaba" (in allusion to the wicked witch in a cartoon film) were every bit as bad as their nicknames suggested, little more than an overgrown schoolyard bully and his baboonlike stooge.
For one, the main boss was a control freak. At the end of every week we would all be rounded up for what they called a "yuurei," a made-up word meaning "circle of friends" (to me it always sounded more like an identical Japanese word which means "spectre"). The reason for doing it, the bosses said, was to share our experiences and relay to each other our opinions, the things we had learnt in the past week and to voice any complaints that we might have. In reality, the meeting consisted in telling the bosses what exactly we had done that past week, what we were up to now and what we would do afterward - and woe betide anyone who had a real observation or complaint, for they would be hammered down with the same diabolical zeal a hammer beats a loose nail.

These fabled meetings would sometimes be followed up by individual demoralising sessions. The bosses had a peculiar understanding of the concept "motivation," in the same way Gestapo officials "motivated" their victims to talk. Special care was taken into choosing a monthly target for surprise scoldings. Any mistakes, from spilling tea to being 3 minutes late, were written down and mounted up, then fired at us like big black bullets of shame. They always happened in the same way: the boss would say "I need to have a word with you, meet me downstairs," and everyone in the office would flinch. Desperate gazes of support crossed each other, and as soon as the target was identified, sighs of canned relief replaced them. Needless to say, Ikeda-san was a favourite target for these sessions, even in spite of her usual dilligence.

The secretary, a slender woman in expensive make-up and provocative cleavages, sat a few desks away from Ikeda-san. She was in charge of greeting customers and meeting clients, while Ikeda was in charge almost exclusively of the phone. Her job did not involve much socialising, and her biggest client was the computer screen in front of her. She seemed happy enough with this situation, however, and had in a few years acquired enough experience and mastered enough computing skills to do several kinds of jobs elsewhere. But the question of leaving the company never entered her mind. "What would I do?" she'd sigh before going back to her endless typing.

A few months down the line, things began getting worse for me. The demoralising sessions had increased, as had the overtime and my misery. By this time a vicious circle had been created, where the bullying from the bosses would only tap into my inner brat. I was not ready to give up my individual rights for the sake of the company, even if it cost me my job, and made a point by being needlessly rebellious. I was not the first one. Most foreigners who had worked in that office had reacted in the same way before quitting. As the fireworks exploded before the grand finale, Ikeda-san peeked meekly from her desk. This time she saw something else than a light show.

A few months later I had to go back to the office to get some documents for my visa renewal. The place looked unchanged, but something felt different. I noticed that Ikeda-san no longer worked next to the boss's desk, and had moved downstairs. When I asked an ex-colleague about her, he told me she had had an argument with the boss. Apparently they had tried to lower her already miserable paycheck on account of "financial difficulties." She had flatly refused. After some yelling and intimidation from the top boss, she had eventually stood up and threatened to leave. The boss backed down immediatey. He wasn't happy (the man never smiled anyway), but refrained from giving her the paycut in the end. He told the others to bully Ikeda-san, not to talk to her, but his orders went unheeded.

I glanced at her as she typed. She looked different, if not happier, more determined. I exchanged a few pleasantries with her, and asked her about her work. "Same old same old", she replied. "The bosses are out, so it's not too bad. If I'm lucky I might not even see them today. I've got plans tonight so I'm leaving early."

The seeds of revolution had been planted.