The Communication Switch

When I'm working, my communication switch turns on.

Casual small talk is a breeze. I'll even tell silly jokes. I can properly respond to my boss's boring, nonsensical prompts that seem like they aren't even from this world. After all, I'm a salesman. When I flip the switch, I work with a massive smile.

When I talk to people outside the company, it's even more intense. I laugh even when there's nothing to laugh about. I raise my voice. I can even look people straight in the eye while talking. Giving a lecture in front of 100 college girls is a piece of cake. I've gained plenty of experience. After all, I'm a salesman.

I can even make it through a drinking party with clients until the very end. I'll keep the conversation going even with a hostess who won't say a word. At those times, I do think, 'What on earth am I doing...' It's tough dealing with an older guy who just wants someone to listen to his stories.

...And yet.

The moment I leave the office, the switch turns off.

Just like when you shut down an old Windows computer, my communication switch disappears somewhere with a little chime. Even if someone asks, 'Do you have Intel inside?', all I can say is, 'I left it at the office.' It's a case of forgotten Intel.

The moment the switch is off, it's truly terrible.

I don't want to talk to anyone.

Even being asked 'Do you have a point card?' at a convenience store becomes a chore. 'Please present your point card if you have one' is fine. Even saying 'I don't' is a hassle. The recent 7-Eleven type where you touch the register to choose your payment method? That is a huge help.

Ordering at Starbucks is also a chore. That acrylic board in front of the register—I know it can't be helped, but my voice doesn't carry. Because I don't speak at all at home, my voice cracks when I say 'PayPay' and it goes up in pitch. I'm only 28, but I have phlegm in my throat and it's hard to speak. I'll just use mobile ordering.

Even I am surprised by this difference between on and off.

In the first place, I like talking to people, and I like listening to people even more. I'm drawn to the unique stories of each person—what kind of life they've led. As I listen, I find myself wanting to hear more and more.

But when I'm alone, I find myself hopelessly unwilling to talk.

I think it's because I'm usually quite tense when I'm talking. I'm very concerned about the other person's reactions, and I'm careful about my own. After communicating, especially when it's work-related, I feel completely drained.

That's why, the moment I leave the office, the moment I'm away from someone, I turn the switch off. Like an overheated PC, I shut down for a while to get through it.

There is a boss I respect at the company whom everyone calls 'a passionate person.' I've seen up close how he communicates with everyone, and he is highly trusted within the company.

But apparently, that boss doesn't talk at all at home. I feel a sense of common ground somewhere. Surprisingly, it's often the people who are always bright and energetic who are actually hiding something gloomy. People who have a difference between their on and off states.

I'm even more interested in such people. How do they get by? How do they let go of their daily stress? By the way, that boss apparently builds Gunpla.

Everyone plays a role. We all use different versions of ourselves to adapt to society. Naturally, that leads to a sense of difficulty in living.

I wasn't a child who talked much at home, either. It felt burdensome, or perhaps there was a sense of embarrassment. But I talk to my friends often, and as I've written, I do my sales job just fine.

I try to think of every version of myself as truly me. Even though I'm still surprised by the gap between my 'on' and 'off' modes, I've accepted that I use them differently. Realizing that all of them are me makes things a little easier.

However, whether to turn my switch on or off—I want to keep the right to decide that for myself for the rest of my life.