The translation warrior makes his way to
Takadanobaba to meet a potential client. When did he last get off there? Years
ago, maybe even a couple decades ago, that's when. An interesting station, Waseda
University defines the scene. Fresh young people walk around in clumps or by
themselves. Some could pass for high school freshman in the US. The area itself
has the feel of an older Tokyo: He knows that if he takes the side streets as a
short cut, he may not be seen again for days. So he walks along Waseda Blvd.,
whose sides are crowded by small buildings so close to each other, they are
sometimes hard to distinguish. An occasional modern building looks
sophisticated with its facade of gray shiny panels. His appointment is in one
of those.
Meeting over, the translation warrior
stands outside on the sidewalk. "Now to clean up that mess," he says
to himself. It's been a long time coming, that's for sure. For some reason, instead
of contacting him directly, a client has taken to going through *****. This has
resulted in the unbelievable situation of ***** skimming off some of his work.
The translation warrior even completely missed an opportunity for a job because
***** took it upon ***** to provide the quote, probably with a margin for *****,
and maybe including a price for the DTP work (also the translation warrior's),
and when a competitor offered a lower price, DID NOT NEGOTIATE and turned it
down as TOO CHEAP for *****. All this without authorization from the
translation warrior.
A few words later and the mess is gone.
Dents and scratches remain, but no more clutter. The translation warrior leaves
the building, grim at heart, wondering how long it will last, how far the
message will go, and whether there will be any casualties. Will he be one of
them?
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