“Uh … I …”

“Yes. Hitomu is waiting. Maybe say, ‘Good job’?” He is practically sweating enthusiasm as he nods with such pointed exaggeration that I can picture him stabbing me in the shower tonight if I don’t comply. The mother’s eyes dart between him and I with a puzzled look.

What else can I do?

“Good job today, big guy!” I kneel down on the floor and smile until it hurts. “I’m glad you had fun. Can’t wait to see you again!”

Hitomu peeks out from behind his mother’s leg, looks me right in the eye, opens his tiny mouth, and screams.

I was wrong. I can think of a bajillion better ways to start my weekend. Rearranging my socks. Steam cleaning my futon. Digging out that giant cicada corpse from under the radiator on my balcony. Fleeing for my life from a swarm of Japanese hornets. Anything would beat this waking nightmare.

This is no networking party. It’s just a snack bar with a pall of second-hand smoke, jam-packed with people. It’s hard not to look at all the tables behind me. They’re still covered with empty plates and bowls with tortilla chip crumbs, blobs of salsa, platters streaked with ketchup and bits of overcooked cheese that have been here since we arrived. Telltale signs that we missed all the food. The music is so loud I can feel the beat pulsing in my veins. It’s only been about half an hour since we arrived, but I’m exhausted, like I’ve been drunk dancing all night like the majority of people in here. And I’m so hungry I could cry.

My second rum and Coke is finished. I’m not in the mood to go back to the bar and get elbowed for a third. Nothing left to do but try and be social. I leave the so-called comfort of the empty snack table and look for the rest of the Zozo staff. Yoshino and Misaki are gone but there’s still nowhere to sit with my co-workers. We’re all fans of giant purses, and they have strategically arranged them on their seats to take up room. Lucky for me, a table nearby becomes available as the four men sitting there see me come closer, look me up and down, exchange glances, and vacate. A few feet away they burst out laughing, looking back at me. Assholes.

I sit down with a forced grin. “Pretty packed in here, eh? You’d never know it’s Saturday night.”

The girls look up at me, horrified. “Ah, Cybelle-sensei, ne,” Seri confirms in Japanese.

“Thank goodness,” Yuki adds in Japanese. “That was so scary for a moment!”

Oh, for crap’s sake — I stop and take a deep breath. No, no, don’t get upset. Don’t get upset. Just laugh it off.

“Scary? Why, am I wearing a Halloween costume or something?” I joke. They laugh nervously. I take a sip of the icy Coke water in my glass. “Minna, genki?” I try.