Picture this: you’re in Osaka at 5 a.m., half-drunk, beads of sweat dripping, staring in awe at a vending machine that dispenses beer like it’s tap water. That is the real Japan to me: salaryman cosplay complete, flip phone in pocket, and a fanny pack that no XXL shirt could contain. It’s not glamorous—it’s gritty. And you know what? That’s why I love it.
In the Middle, A Business Class Bed
Before I even landed in Japan, I was already spoiled. United Airlines essentially ruined economy for me forever after providing me with a full bed, Saks Fifth Avenue blanket, and certainly enough room for my back to stretch. I even had steak. On a flight! Who does that? It was a seat that felt so much like a hotel room. And yes, I charged my Nintendo Switch 2 while doing it, because business class means “I can play Mario Kart at 30,000 feet without guilt.”
Flashback: The Intoxicated English Instructor
Let’s rewind to 2018–2019. Imagine me, an English instructor in Japan, with most of the effort going into drinking beers rather than grading homework assignments. I wasn’t actually a teacher; I was actually an alcoholic whose sole purpose was to stand at the front of the classroom and write on the whiteboard once in awhile. Surely my nights out were routine–get drunk until sunrise, stumble home, and drink again. My work colleagues? Walking zombies. Sobering middle-aged men looking like they are about to make one last stand. This was the true salaryman style I experienced.
Curry, Cigarettes and my Nintendo Switch
Returning to Japan after many years abroad, I celebrated in the most Japanese way possible, curry rice with spinach and garlic, while hiding back in my Nintendo Switch. Silence, carbohydrates, and video games: the trifecta of contentment. Sometimes the simplest routines are the most perfect.
Thrift Store Paradise
If you think thrifting in America is hectic, just check out Hard Off. You got the Boy Scout uniforms from Wisconsin? Check. Used cologne? Check. A Play Station 1 next to a bunch of unopened Xbox 360 gear? Check, check. I went looking for a suit, and ended up with the odd glorification of the fact that Japan resells dignity. And yes, I found the ultimate salaryman starter pack too: some pants that don’t fit right, a button up, and a flip phone I can’t even use.
The Streets are Louder Than the Ads
Osaka does not apologize for being dirty. There are bars in alleyways, there are graffiti stains everywhere, there are vending machines for sake. This city has grit that Tokyo tries to mask. This is where immigrants, locals, and drunks overlap at 3 am. Somehow, it works.
Unusual Encounters on a Loop Line
Random train stations turned into my own personal amusement park: sometimes too corporate, sometimes a little dodgy, always a new surprise. Vietnamese shopkeepers calling me “bro”, Indian brothers exclaiming “Namaste”, strangers mistaking me for MrBeast—meshed together into one long pub crawl. By midnight, I had become intoxicated, but more than that, I was baptized back into the chaos of Japan.
Conclusion (that probably should have come first)
This is no travel guide. It is not a tidy assessment of Japan, nor a guide on how to not die in salaryman life. It is messy, sweaty, beer soaked, and brought together by innumerable nights out, business elites, and thrift shopping. If you ever want to experience Japan properly—and I means this with no irony—then skip living your life through Instagram shrines or clean cut itinerary, buy a used flip phone, drink out of a vending machine, and let Osaka drag you down its alleyways until sunrise.
In the end, being a “salaryman” is not a job. It is a beautiful life of destruction.
