Kaytay's Continuing Experience with Stalkers, or
A Lot of Japanese Men Seem to be Assholes
I have been put in a precarious situation at work by a man who seems to think the sun rises and sets for his own personal pleasure. He seems to think that in addition to quenching his thirst for knowledge, I am also willing to sate his other appetites, none of which are personally appealing or morally flattering.
Well, I take that back. He handed me his meishi the other day, and it turns out he is the president of a reputable corporation. He owns several luxury cars (the fact of which he was more than willing to elaborate upon). He offers to buy me anything I want, to take me to any posh restaurant I desire, to become the benevolent patron he believes I so utterly crave.
While the monetary aspects of the relationship are almost mildly tempting (keep in mind, I’m a broke-as-fuck student trying to live in the most expensive city in the world), I’m not willing to compromise my morals and give this asshole the satisfaction of getting his way with the world yet again. I’ll settle for living off a bowl of rice eaten with disposable wooden chopsticks instead of the finest gourmet sashimi prepared by the most famous of sushi chefs, so long as I don’t produce an egotistical smirk on this asinine, arrogant man’s face.
Combine this situation with the never-ending stream of businessmen in Shibuya who run up to me to touch my hair and exclaim over my body, and I'm ready to hop on the next flight home.
I'm not for sale. I'm not an animal loose from the zoo to be pet and coddled. Now shut up and keep your damn hands to yourselves.
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