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The Answer

AN INTERESTING ANAMOLY exists in Japan regarding answers. There aren't any. And to understand this, one must separate "answers" as we know them from statistics.

We are all aware that statistics abound in Dai Nippon. An intriguing exercise in this regard is spending an evening with Japanophiles quoting numbers. ("Do you realize that at this precise moment, 31.84% of all Japanese are sick to their stomachs?" Or, "Did you know that 4,421,309 Japanese traveled abroad during Golden Week, but only 4,421, 303 came back?")

Virtually all government agencies publish statistics on the behavior of the citizenry within the scope of their regulatory concerns. One of the more amazing set of numbers— amazing in the sense of conceptualizing the survey, rather than in terms of practical application—is the study regarding how early people arrive on train platforms to catch the Shinkansen (Bullet Train). People in Osaka apparently arrive at the station to catch the Bullet Train to Tokyo a full 60 seconds earlier than people arrive at Tokyo Station to catch the train in the other direction! I mean, it's difficult to take this information standing up.

For those who have wondered, only 68 % of the people visiting post offices each day are concerned with mailing something. The remainder are fiddling with their savings accounts, or gossiping.

Of perhaps more relevance is the study which indicates that men spend forty-five seconds cleansing their genitals prior to entering a public bath, whereas women spend less than twenty seconds on the same chore. Extraordinary.

One of the effects of statistically quantifying behavior is demonstrated by the apparent ease of analysis of Japan by outsiders. A scholar, with these numbers displayed before him, can sit in Greenwich, Connecticut (assuming scholarship and Greenwich, Connecticut, are not terms in mutual contradiction), and "figure out" how things work in Japan.

Or can he? While each of us deals in the general sense with Japan as a statistical whole, our day-to-day existence involves individuals doing specific things. With reference to the cleansing of genitals, for example, Max's "tiny stool companion" during his first trip to a Japanese bath was Watanabe-san of the company's General Affairs Department. Watanabe easily spent five minutes, before he entered the bath, at the genital stage, explaining with a comment as specific as it was inane, that he "didn't want to catch disease." Scholars studying mere statistics will miss these little touches.

What happens, when survey numbers in Japan proliferate, is that trends uncovered by the studies become "officially confirmed." The "answers" are already there—in a report somewhere—and individual responsibility for specific replies is obviated.

In this regard, one can imagine Japan as being a vast and integrated baseball team. Everyone knows that people batting .350 are better than people hitting .250. It's as clear as a bell. What is frequently overlooked, however, is the fact that a .350 batter may strike out six out of ten times at the plate. Last year's statistically best pitcher (Kitabeppu) gave up twenty-one home runs. Watanabe-san laboriously scrubs his private bits for more than forty-five seconds.

Max Danger's first real attempt to obtain an answer in Japan had to do with trying to hire somebody. The open job was in the Investment Department, and Max wanted someone with experience. Notwithstanding the fact that every third foreign firm in Tokyo is looking for the same "money man," Max had an advantage because his company enjoyed an acceptable reputation. (In 1985, 46.9% of all university graduates would consider Max's company positively, if they were to work for a foreign firm.)

The problem, of course, is that Max wanted an experienced man. This meant trying to hire one away from another company. (Some 85 % of all Japanese salarymen are committed for life—or age 58—to the company of their choice after graduation.)

Max settled on one candidate particularly and invited him to lunch. (Japanese salarymen spend an average of forty-seven minutes at lunch.) They ordered steaks. (But 42% of all salarymen regularly eat curried rice at lunch.) Forty-six minutes into the meal, the salaryman automatically began looking at his watch.

Max made his pitch. Challenge, security, money, future, prestige, money, professional responsibility, money, international travel, and money were the keystones. Max entered, with this guy, a level of remuneration that apples to apples exceeded his own. "And we employ," Max added, "people to age sixty." (Only 14% of all major corporations employ people to age sixty.)

The candidate begged for time to make the decision. Fair enough. His commitment, however, could not be made until December. (75% of all resignations occur in June or December—bonus seasons.) His decision would have to be discussed with his wife's parents. (Over 50% of arranged marriages take the prospective husband's employment into account.)

Max kept the pressure on. He sent the candidate annual reports, invited his kids to a baseball game at Korakuen, remembered his wife's birthday with fresh Hokkaido salmon, and sent him a newspaper clipping reporting that only 20% of Japan's employees consider themselves to be "salarymen."

On December 21, five months after the initial contact, the candidate accepted the job. (It was only six months after Max had asked the Japanese directors of his company if they could afford a new investments man. They hadn't answered yet.)

Max and the investments man are now skipping arm-in-arm down the yellow brick road toward the rainbow of corporate profits possible only with intelligent placements, and old-fashioned good timing. It was a match made in statistical heaven.

One night, surrounded by company stalwarts at a yakitori (grilled chicken) joint, Max asked the investments man why he finally chose Max's company for employment.

"Nice office?" suggested the genitally pure Watanabe-san.

"Good company trips?" offered Serious Hirose, of company trouble fame.

"Pretty girls?" queried Panda Usukura, the Personnel Director.

"No," responded the investments man. "I realized that over 60% of investments people have changed jobs since 1982, and I wanted to be in the majority. Besides," he continued, chomping on a chicken gizzard, "the company name has the same number of letters as my wife's name. It's good luck."