Strindberg had suffered from his imaginary persecutors and created his punishment apropos of nothing. He called it, his inferno period. On the other hand, my inferno was real, and my persecutors were the worst niggardly creatures walking on two legs under the sun. Strindberg’s inferno period was in France; my inferno period was in Japan. I was destined to endure four years-nightmare, so that I can show the world how corrupted Japanese work environments are and how degraded Japanese have reached. God has given me the precarious mission to reveal Japanese churlishness to the world, and I obey Him like a humble servant. Thus, I hereby open my shameful wounds. Here we go!
It was on the middle of December, 2007, at Tokyo. I had been tormented by the meanest colleagues, that the world had ever produced yet.
I was heading to Tokyo Station, and violent gust of wind was constantly blowing on my face in order to remind me that I was in purgatory. Wintery blast chilled me to the marrow. It was a second years of my inferno period – I was hopelessly dejected. Every time I saw gusty skyscrapers, the bitter loathsome feeling gnawed at my heart. While I was walking on a street of sorrow with my head down, my heart was screaming, “How long? Ah Load, how long do I have to endure my colleagues’ meanness?” I had to witness wicked acts every single day at an office. In fact, I was almost reaching at the end of my tether.
I decided to go to a café to warm up myself before catching a train. After I ordered coffee, I found a table at the lugubrious corner and collapsed on a chair. I was exhausted body and soul. “I’d better quite this goddamn job before I am crashed to pulp,” I thought lamentably. I was enervated to be recalling how I let myself put into the shameful state of affairs. It had started a half and two months ago….