Eishiro: The Dirty Old Man

Eishiro - on far right; he tried to make out with a "young, beautiful girl" after the pic was taken.

When I was teaching English in Japan back in 2005, there was an old man named Eishiro (pronounced 'eh-she-row') who came to our company's branch everyday and he would just sit on the couch in the lobby and look around. One distinguishing feature about him was that his head was shaped like a squash. I never paid him much attention until he shit his pants. Liquid shit not only soiled his pants, but covered the couch and oozed onto the floor. What surprised me even further was the fact that Eishiro would sit there oblivious to it all.

I later discovered that this was a common occurrence. Sometimes my branch manager would try to inform Eishiro in the polite Japanese way by saying, "Excuse me, Eishiro... Did you slip in some mud today? No? Well, you should check your pants, because it appears that you have some mud on them."

At other times, Eishiro would manage to make it to the toilet on time, only to unload a colossal, explosive mess all over the toilet stall. One time I went to the restroom after Eishiro had left and was hit by a horrid, rancid smell. I looked into the stall and it looked as though someone had filled several water balloons with diarrhea and threw them into the stall. I felt pity for the cleaning lady who had to clean that mess.

Shitting everywhere wasn't the only thing Eishiro was famous for... All of the Japanese female co-workers of mine referred to him as a sukebe, which meant "pervert." Apparently, the main reason why Eishiro came into our branch's lobby everyday was to gawk at the female employees, despite the fact that he only had class once a week. Every once in awhile, Eishiro would quip a one-liner in attempt to pick up on one of the females. Once I heard him mutter in Japanese, "I'm so tired. Can you come over here so I can put my head in your lap and rest?" Naturally, all of Eishiro's remarks were met with revulsion and most of my coworkers avoided him like the plague. Even the gaijin (foreign - person not from Japan) coworkers were disgusted with Eishiro. Eishiro's perverted nature was so bad, that my branch only allowed Eishiro to study English if he signed up for private lessons with a male teacher instead of studying together with a class full of female students. After watching Eishiro get pushed down from attempting to kiss a petite coworker, and witnessing multiple self-defecating incidents from him, I found myself hating the man, so I ignored him.

I managed to ignore him for a several months, despite him coming to the branch everyday. Then one day in 2006, my manager gave me some bad news. "Um, Dion-Sensei..." she began, and I knew what she was going to say next. "Eishiro is about to graduate from Hiro-Sensei's lessons, and he needs a foreign teacher next, and..."

"No," I said.

"But Dion-Sensei..."

"No fucking way. I'll quit. I'll leave right now and go back to America. I smell his shit in the lobby---I don't want to be stuck in a small classroom smelling it."

"Please, Dion-Sensei. Onegai shimasu. Eishiro has been requesting a foreign teacher for years, and we've been holding off because we know the foreign teachers don't like him. Brian-Sensei is booked with too many students, and we cannot put him with a female teacher."

After my manager pleaded with me for several minutes, I finally relented, much to the relief of the rest of my coworkers, especially Brian.. "All right, but you owe me."

"Thank you so much!"

My manager scheduled my class with Eishiro every Wednesday morning. All of the other gaijin coworkers that consisted of one girl from Texas, a guy from Australia, and Brian from California laughed at me. The Japanese coworkers both laughed and sympathized with me. I had a backup plan though. I was going to just wing through Eishiro's lesson without any lesson plans, and maybe he would hate my class so much that he would complain and they would reassign him to someone else. It was selfish, but after smelling his accidents in the lobby and the restroom, all I could think of was self-preservation at this point.

On Eishiro's first day of class with me, he shit his pants while seated at his desk. Like many times before, Eishiro was oblivious to the smell and the fact that he had liquid shit running down his pant leg and onto his shoes. He just continued speaking to me in English, formally introducing himself. I nodded politely while holding my breath and opened the window. Unfortunately, that was not enough. I used the sleeve of my business suit as a makeshift gas mask and pretended I was wiping my nose. That one hour of class was complete and utter torture.

I ended class five minutes early and told Eishiro that I would see him next Wednesday. I went up to my manager and told her that Eishiro shit all over the desk, then stormed to my desk. I was in a bad mood. I watched my manager get a tower and a bottle of cleaning detergent and head for the classroom. She returned with the desk and dragged it outside, then she went back to the classroom to spend even more time cleaning it. When I saw her again, I asked her, "You cleaned all of his shit?"

"Yes, I clean it every time he does that," she said.

At that moment, I felt ashamed. Here I was complaining of teaching Eishiro while my manager would get down on her hands and knees and  repeatedly clean up after him with no complaints. I apologized to her and told her that I would teach Eishiro from now on with no complaints. She smiled and thanked me.

The next several lessons with Eishiro went by without a shitting incident. I discovered that Eishiro only shits himself when he goes out drinking the night beforehand. My manager advised him to stop drinking the night before English lessons, and he listened for the most part.

Another thing that I realized about Eishiro was that his English was fairly decent, and he was an eager student.

"What are your hobbies, Eishiro?"

"I like looking at young, beautiful girls!" he said with a smile that spread across his face.

"So what is your daily schedule, Eishiro?"

"I wake up in the morning and swim at the Konami gym's pool. Next, I come to this school and look at young, beautiful girls!"

"What do you do after you go to this school?"

"I go to Tomato Bank."

"What do you do there?"

"I sit in lobby and look at young, beautiful girls!" Eishiro said with laughter.

I began to laugh. "So after Tomato Bank, where do you go?"

"I go to the department store and sit at the food court, and look at young, beautiful girls!"

"And after that?" By now, I could not stop laughing.

"I go home. Then next day, I do the same thing again."

"That sounds like fun, Eishiro. I like looking at young, beautiful girls too."

Eishiro broke into a guffaw. "Yeessss! It is very good! You like?"

During one class session, I asked Eishiro what he disliked.

"Ugly, fat girls!" he said, then laughed. "And ugly, old girls. No good!"

Throughout several classes, I learned that Eishiro was almost 70 years old, divorced, lived off of his mother who was almost a hundred years old. He liked to drink and gamble at the horse races. Eishiro was also a grandfather and often spoke enthusiastically of spending time with his grandson, who was still a child, and taking him to the amusement park.

Eishiro also told me how he used to play baseball in high school and college. "Back then," he said, "To have sex with young, beautiful girls was easier... I was young, played baseball, and had sex with young, beautiful girls. It was good time!"

I laughed and realized that besides the fact that I wasn't old and didn't shit on myself on a regular basis, I was very similar to Eishiro. I liked young, beautiful girls and spent a majority of my free time chasing after them. I wondered if I would be like Eishiro when I became old---an old man who refuses to hang it up. Moreover, I wondered how the hell Eishiro managed to get any girls at all with his head being shaped like a squash.

Most of my coworkers still hated Eishiro, especially the gaijin ones. "He's a fuckin' disgusting old man," Brian told me. "I'm disgusted just by even looking at him." I said nothing to that. I felt that I could not bring myself to badmouth Eishiro anymore. I was beginning to like teaching him. Eishiro studied hard, was eager to learn, and he told a lot of jokes, which contrasted to the bland conversations of most of the other students.

One day, Eishiro brought two tickets to class and waved them at me. "I want to invite you to nice restaurant. You are good teacher. I want you to go." This gesture of appreciation is common in Japan, and I have had several students offer to take me sight-seeing or to restaurants throughout Japan.

I politely declined, but saw disappointment and dismay etched on Eishiro's face. Then, I realized that Eishiro must have spent quite a bit of money on them. He did mention that it was a nice restaurant. It would have been extremely rude to turn such an offer down in Japan. I quickly corrected myself and speaking in Japanese, I said, "Sorry, I misunderstood. What were you saying?"

Eishiro repeated the same invitation in Japanese.

"Oh, I see," I said. "Yes, I would love to go! Let me check my schedule."

My manager was shocked that I accepted Eishiro's invitation. "You are so nice, Dion-Sensei. Good luck."

On the day of going to the restaurant, I met Eishiro outside the restaurant. I really didn't know what to say to him outside of class, so he did most of the talking. Once inside the restaurant, Eishiro seemed to come to life. He gawked at the waitresses and smiled. "Lots of young, beautiful girls here," he said.

We ordered food and ate. Eishiro complained about the vegetables on a particular dish. "Mazui," he said, which meant "disgusting." He proceeded to call a waitress over, explaining to her how disgusting the dish was in Japanese, to which the waitress bowed and apologized profusely. Then, Eishiro did something that surprised me and the waitress.

As the waitress bowed apologetically again, Eishiro reached one arm around her to hug her, and used his other hand to pat her on the head. "Aren't you just a cute girl?" he said in Japanese, his squash-shaped head bobbing in pleasure. The girl wriggled out of his grasp and hurried away. "Wait!" Eishiro called out, causing the other customers at the restaurant to look at our table. "I have a handsome American right here for you, miss. Come back!"

Since 2003, I made a living taking off my clothes in front of women. I have masturbated several times while a room full of girls watched me. I don't get embarrassed easily. I rarely have shame for what I do. But at this restaurant on this particular day with Eishiro, I felt my skin burn. I wanted to hide under the table. Eishiro was truly a master at the art of being a sukebe.

Unfortunately, Eishiro wasn't done.

Another waitress came to our table, apparently the previous girl's replacement, to see if we needed anything else. Eishiro assured her that he did. "Yeah, where did that other cute girl go?"

The new waitress ignored the question and asked if we needed anything else.

"Yes," Eishiro, said putting a hand on the new waitress's waist. "I need a back massage."

Even though I was embarrassed, I began to laugh. I couldn't believe the nerve of this guy. The waitress wasn't as amused, however. She pushed Eishiro's hand away and asked him to refrain from touching, then the stated that if he didn't have anything to order, she was going to leave.

Eishiro ordered a cup of coffee and the waitress left. "What a shitty girl," Eishiro muttered in Japanese. "But she was a young, beautiful girl!"

************

At the end of 2006, I was finishing up my teaching contract at my branch school and was preparing to return to America. During my last class with Eishiro, he pulled out his wallet and handed me 20,000 yen, which is worth almost 250 American dollars by today's standard.

"Thank you for teaching me English. I enjoyed very much. Please get lots of young, beautiful girls when you go back to America!"

I thanked Eishiro over and over again for his gift. "I will," I said.

As Eishiro was leaving the lobby after his last class with me, he shocked all of my Japanese coworkers by turning and bowing at me. "It was an honor," he said in Japanese. "Please continue studying Japanese. Your Japanese is very good."

I assured him that I would. With that, Eishiro left the lobby and that was the last time I ever saw him.

"Wow," my manager said. "He really respected you."

"Well, Dion did put up with all his shit for a year," Brian said with a grin.

***************

Last month in June of 2012, I visited my manager and a few of my Japanese coworkers at my old branch school. We all went out to dinner and I asked about several students, some of whom are still taking English lessons. I began distributing souvenirs from my town in Alabama to my former colleagues.

"So how's Eishiro," I said with a laugh, pulling out a Maxim magazine (with a nice centerfold of a beautiful, young girl) that I bought especially for him. "Is he still coming to the lobby everyday?"

The dinner table became quiet. I immediately knew that something was up.

"It's a very sad story," my former manager began. "Eishiro stopped coming to the lobby, and all of those places he went to everyday like Tomato bank, Konami, and the department stores... Some employees who knew him thought that something was wrong, because he usually shows up everyday. So someone called the police to check on him and the police entered his house and found him in bed."

This news took me aback. The magazine sat in my hands without an owner to go to.

My manager patted my arm, "You were always nice to him, Dion."

Not always. But I was glad that I got to know him. He wasn't the nicest person in society, but then again, neither am I. One thing is for sure: I'll be sure to enjoy some "young, beautiful girls" on his behalf.

(Post Script: I'll add a little more about Eishiro later.)