Waaah, Rin’s quitting!（TBC56）
Just as I once was, those of us working on the front lines of the TV industry have always been accustomed to long hours and grueling work—often referred to as the “3K” (hard, dirty, dangerous) in terms of labor conditions.
The reasons we’ve been able to persevere are the satisfaction of knowing that the results of our work are broadcast to society at large via television—a mass medium—and can leave some kind of impression on people’s hearts, as well as the fact that the pay is slightly higher than in other jobs.
And I also had dreams of one day becoming a renowned cameraman, director, graphic artist, or editor; leaving the company to go independent and become a freelancer, putting me in a position to choose my own projects; and eventually starting my own company and nurturing it into my ideal creative collective.
However, that was all based on the premise of living in a big city. In a small local community with a limited economy, even if you possess outstanding technical skills, create graphics with exceptional talent, or are skilled at planning and directing, it’s hard to become a success; you can’t pick and choose your jobs, and you just end up growing increasingly exhausted by the cutthroat price wars.
While working at a subcontractor for a Tokyo broadcast station, I was riding high on the wave of the bubble economy thanks to our cutting-edge technical skills and innovative drive. But when the bubble burst, work dried up. As I witnessed the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake and the Aum Shinrikyo subway sarin attack firsthand, and with the birth of my child, I began to long to raise my child in the kind of nature-rich environment where I had grown up. So, I gave up my job and returned to the countryside.
After returning to the countryside, as I interacted with the young people at the same subcontracting firm, I began to feel that they lacked a certain drive. Whenever the opportunity arose—such as at drinking parties—I would corner promising young people and explain to them the possibilities for breaking out of their current situation and concrete paths forward.
Several of them went on to make the switch from the subcontracting firm to the broadcasting station, started their own businesses, or set off for jobs in Tokyo.
It was only in the last few years that I met Rin.
She wasn’t just cute to look at—she was a beautiful woman with a certain charm that drew people in, and her attitude toward work seemed full of motivation. So I kept giving her advice, and I felt she was getting better and better.
Amid the cutthroat, often awkward interpersonal dynamics of the newsroom, she was one of the few people who brought me a sense of relief and comfort; I knew even I felt a warmth in my heart whenever I saw her.
Yesterday, she showed up—unlike her usual self—with her hair braided and dressed neatly, and said, “I’m quitting the company at the end of next month.”
“I see. Do you have something lined up next?”
“No, not yet, but I plan to keep working without a break.”
“If you really don’t have anything lined up, there are a few places I could refer you to, so let me know when the time comes.”
Since I’d said that, I figured I’d better get ready. I remembered hearing that a cameraman I used to work with often on overseas shoots had become an executive, so I tried to contact him… “He quit a few years ago.”
Then there was the senior colleague at the independent production company who’d invited me to join him… their website hasn’t been updated in five years.
As for the rival company I used to go head-to-head with… a single page announced, “The two companies have merged.”
Ah, that’s right. I guess the TV industry is in for tough times from now on.
That production company, that technical support firm, and my old employer… it seems they’re all out of the picture.
What a shame… Times have really changed…
A Poem
Though meetings and partings are the way of the world, will I never see your eyelashes again?
Josh Owence
一首献上
ひとの世の出会いと別れ常なれど
君のまつげをもう見れぬのか