Dear sweet Ataru, welcome to the daily grind! This is one of the more serious chapters I suppose you could say.
CHAPTER 6: GRIND
Initially, before leaving home, when all he had to worry about was work, life was uncomplicated for Ataru. In fact, he didn't see much difference between his role as an employee and being a student. Each stole a similar amount of time from him, and what did set them apart seemed to put employment in a more favorable light. At least he didn't have to bring any work home, and he no longer had to suffer subjects that didn't hold his interest or sailed clean over his head.
Also, in those days of onboarding, Ataru was responsible for very little. Most of his daily tasks were directed by the Chief Editor, Naoki Tenjou. They got along well enough, thanks to a shared appreciation for the female form, minus Tenjou's visceral sexual perversion. His was the type of longing that made Ataru uncomfortable, a fact which surprised even himself. There was no poetry to him, no tact, no romanticism, just basal urges and willful possessiveness. Ataru, however lecherous he could be, fancied himself a better man than that. Still, Tenjou was an agreeable colleague and adept teacher. Not that it made any difference when his student had the mental density of a brick and a mind that frequently ran on one track. More than a few times did he have to redirect Ataru's attention - though really who could blame him, when the subject matter was so tantalizing.
Driven by the dream of leaving his childhood home, and under the tutelage of the Chief Editor, Ataru pooled all his energy into the unfamiliar art of hard work. And after a month and a half of concerted effort he managed to save enough to liberate himself from the curious prodding of his mother, the overbearing elation of Lum, the constant surprise assaults of Ten, and the wisdom his father took to peppering him with over dinner every evening as a fellow laborer. Ataru left for Senshoo a free man!
Everything changed after that.
First to go was his work ethic, now that he got what he wanted. Also around that time both his probationary and training periods had ended, so he was expected to work independently. Without Tenjou breathing down his neck there was nobody to keep Ataru on task. He slobbered over models, indulged in ridiculous fantasies, and on a whim even uncovered scrapped photos that never would've seen the light of day if not for him. And wouldn't that have been tragedy? Hence Ataru's shifts were consumed by idleness, and as the days swept by, he fell further and further behind. Consequences were slow to catch him but severe once they did. Where were the pages Tenjou needed for final review? Not quite finished yet! They were due tomorrow morning? There was no way!
Enter a new foe: late night shifts.
While most of his peers labored by daylight, Ataru, usually alone, was forced to burn the night oil. It was a miserable, avoidable task that, bizarrely, inspired procrastination. From Ataru's unique point of view, if he was going to make up the time later anyway why not relax a little and enjoy himself? Predictably nothing improved, and when that became evident, intervention was required.
At first the responsibility fell on Tenjou. And when that didn't work it became Yamagata's problem. Ataru foolishly believed his manager's inert personality and the good rapport they'd developed would result in leniency. But this assumption was quickly disproven, and he learned firsthand why Yamagata had once been called the Dragon of Senmake. Still and all none of them had met a man like Ataru Moroboshi. He was resilient despite fear and forgot the consequences of his dallying the moment they left him alone.
That is, until the boss got involved.
On that morning, behind the drawn shades of the Tosa's door, Ataru was soundly thrashed. Deadlines were non-negotiable; his employment was conditional. Now that really drove the message home. Without the income supplied by his job he wouldn't be able to afford the new life he'd built. And if that happened, he'd have to move back home a failed project, a societal reject dependent on his parents. He couldn't have that, and so, Ataru struggled to regain his initial diligence. But no matter how hard he tried he seemed incapable of resisting the weakness of his character. It was a woeful struggle, this tug of war between his urges and commitments, that genuinely appeared to drive Ataru crazy.
Yamagata took notice of his plight, and filled with empathy, came to his defense, sometimes being the only thing standing between Ataru and the unemployment line. And he wasn't the only one who rose to task. Minami, more on the side of pity, took to encouraging him regularly, her demeanor softening in a motherly sort of way. She even overlooked his attempts at convincing her to "join the other team". Both of them knew that was never happening, so neither took his advances seriously (although, Ataru reasoned, there was never any hurt in trying). Tenjou, too, found it within himself to sacrifice a night here or there to help Ataru meet his deadlines while also keying him in on a few trade secrets to speed up the editing process.
Despite his ineptitude, or perhaps because of it, Ataru endeared himself to his coworkers. In their eyes he was an underdog, a future success story blossoming under their unyielding belief in him. For Ataru himself, he was touched by their comradery and faith in his potential. Their friendship and support made him feel less alone and inspired an unanticipated desire to meet their expectations. And so he fought all the harder to keep his job, pulling extra shifts to make up for any slack in his performance. Often did Ataru miss their trips to Oishī and Friday night drinks at Wasureppoi. Worse yet, this nightly slog also ate into the potential for picking up real women during those outings! If only he hadn't spent his entire high school career shirking all notions of responsibility! Then maybe he'd have some discipline when it mattered, instead of having to pull those skills literally out of his ass. Ataru could feel the world passing by his office window.
Such a glum routine was not without its effects. Although Ataru managed to steel his resolve and harness some semblance of willpower, the work never ceased. Worse than that, it was all the same type of work. Just proofreading and editing and reading and writing, on and on and on, day in and day out. Before long, without realizing it, Ataru adopted the same zombified expression shared between his peers. Mornings were grueling, marked by alarms and desperate flights to catch the train. Days dragged on, minute by minute, at an excruciating pace. Those 2D women lost their luster, reducing his attention to yearning glances or brief water-cooler ogling with Tenjou. Ataru didn't think such a thing was possible till it happened to him, granted, it did free up more of his weeknights. In his mind it was a fair trade, so he didn't mourn the loss of his hunger for pinups. Together with his peers they celebrated his return, and he once again amused them with doctored stories from the past and his near frantic obsession with courting any woman that crossed his path. Some of his coworkers would even hedge bets on whether he'd land a successful date or get slapped. All in good fun of course (except for the poor women he hit on). Ataru was glad to go on these nightly outings again, as they offered a respite from his otherwise bland and uneventful week. Even so, the oppression of his steady drudgery remained and stole much of his vigor, though it was far from the only thing troubling him.
Ataru's personal life was fraught with its own hurdles too.
Establishing an automatic payment system for bills ended up being both a blessing and a curse. At least it kept the lights on and his water hot. Only, Ataru never remembered when something was due, so often times when he went to withdraw money, he was stunned by how little remained in his account. Then he was left with a choice; pay for dates or pay for necessities. Rarely did he choose the latter. To the point where the only furnishings he'd managed to get for his apartment after all this time were a futon, a small fridge more apt for a dorm than an apartment, and the cheapest washing machine he could buy (made even cheaper by relentless haggling). And what of tableware and flatware? Well, Ataru had taken to pilfering these things from the lunchroom at his office, until all he had was plasticware in his cupboards; plastic forks, knives, spoons, plates, and one cup he used for just about everything (if he wasn't drinking soda or bottled beverages). For a guy who thus far lived on takeout and leftovers, that was sufficient. But his trials didn't end there either.
Even his apartment demanded considerable sacrifice in energy and free time.
Chief among his complaints was the ceaseless rotation of mundane chores he never knew existed. All his life they'd fallen to his mother, and without her, they now fell to Ataru himself - and he only ever realized them too late. Namely, these were small things that, once neglected, became noticeable in the worst way. Especially with regard to the washrooms. Ataru never knew how fast a porcelain surface got dirty before he alone was responsible for keeping it clean.
Another chore he hadn't embraced for far too long was the regular laundering of his bedding. Cleaning the futon every week never made much sense to him, considering the thing didn't seem to get dirty. How could it, when he bathed every night? That was his mentality until some weeks later when he noticed a gray haze staining the center of the futon. Wasn't that a fun discovery to make!
Still there was more beyond the washroom and bedroom! The fridge, despite never holding much food, seemed to attract dust and a particularly nasty gloss if he didn't wipe it down at least every other week. And if he forgot he'd stored something in there? Well...that was the stuff of nightmares. The plastic cutlery he amassed moved from the cabinets to the sink, where they took up almost permanent residence unless they were needed.
When it came time to sort his trash Ataru found himself completely at a loss. To the point where a collection of boxes containing empty bottles and cans sat as furniture in the corner of his kitchen. What all he did manage to sort was done so inefficiently that the bags he put out were often returned to his front door for him to trip over in the morning, courtesy of Mrs. Miwa. So it went that if he didn't know where something belonged it was added to the growing mountain in his kitchen or dumped elsewhere. One of his favorite spots was a nearby conbini. Under the cover of darkness, least he be caught, he'd sneak off to fill their dumpsters and scamper back to his apartment like a rat.
Yes Ataru was quite crafty when it came to dodging certain responsibilities. Furthermore, he was proud of himself for the loopholes he discovered. It allowed him to maintain his hubris, otherwise he'd have to face the fact that he was inept at properly living on his own. And his pride just couldn't allow that truth to surface. By denying his inadequacies Ataru could continue pretending he was doing alright and avoid any unnecessary contact with home.
And so Ataru fell into a routine of living shared throughout the known world. He became another weekend warrior, pulling his shifts with a desperate longing for that shred of liberation. And when Saturday finally dawned, he spent long stretches of the morning on sleep, as if making up for lost time, not stirring until afternoon. Once awoken and following routine oblations, there was breakfast (usually whatever was left over from the night before). And by the afternoon Ataru was free to hunt and coax the girls of Rokuyō into outings for tea, coffee, lunch, drinks, movies or whatever they fancied. Many of the women he met in the city expected to be treated well and, being the gentleman he was, Ataru always obliged (regardless of the cost to his budget – he'd sooner go hungry than deny a woman her pleasures). Thanks in part to a rather healthy rotation of visitors, his reputation never traveled beyond certain circles. Anyone who walked the streets with some regularity knew his face and that it was rare to see him with the same girl twice. But other than that, he was just one of hundreds in the city.
Ataru strove to spend his free hours wisely – by his own definition – and in a way that maximized joy. He needed something to offset those five humdrum days of routine, even if, after a while, the dates became routine themselves. Diversity was not endless, and he started noticing shared personality traits between different women that created many predictable evenings. Not only that, but the thrill of victory was starting to wane now that there was no risk involved. Ataru ignored these issues though. Because, ultimately, he could think of no better way to spend his time than consorting with beautiful women. Especially since he only had one day to do it.
Come Sunday, all the aforementioned obligations of living alone became his intolerable burden to bear. And bear them he did. Ataru could be called many things, but he was not a slob. So, he'd launder his futon, and wash his clothes, and wipe down the fridge and the washrooms, and sort or bundle his trash, and drag himself to the nearest shopping center to pick up necessities – toothpaste, deodorant, snacks and such - like every other person before him and after to eternity. But damn it was awful! Terrible! He'd rather being doing anything else! Ah but no amount of rebelling or cursing could alleviate him from the responsibility of seeing them through. At times like this Ataru nearly wept over the absence of Lum, who he knew would have been happy to take the onus off him out of love.
So it went like this well into Summer, which blazed on and on with unbearably hot days and oppressively warm nights. Until one July evening when he was forced to recognize the whispers of regret he fought so hard to ignore, in the most unexpected way.
Ataru was sheltering from the punishing sun on a bench beneath one of the many trees within Chūōkōen Park when it happened. He'd been nursing a soda that still held much of its chill, banking on it to relieve some of the heat his body gathered after having walked all the way here in such unwelcoming weather. It sat waiting in his hands, opened and abandoned as something more interesting passed through his line of sight.
Some several feet ahead of him a group of five had gathered to discuss their plans for the day. They were young, either in junior high or high school judging by their features, but this wasn't what attracted his attention. Rather, he was drawn to the nostalgia they inspired.
First came a recollection of days gone by. Of adventures spent off the beaten path in search of simple pleasures that were often derailed by the otherworldly or mysterious. How wonderfully strange and chaotic those days had been, as if they'd all walked through the same dream. And if those were dreams, then surely adulthood could be likened to waking life. A good analogy, he thought. Ataru often pondered such topics, waxing poetic to himself or aloud so the girls of his homeroom would know what a truly sensitive soul he was. Today, like so many others, he was his only audience.
Amid his reflections they departed, leaving him to sit in pregnant silence, his drink getting warmer. His shoulders drooped depressingly, his eyes were lack-luster and far away with deep-seated melancholy. Many an onlooker passed over him with curious glances, but Ataru took no notice of them or any of his surroundings. A sea of regret was flowing through his mind, carrying snatches and scraps of the years spent in Tomobiki. And with each passing vision he lamented; he should have gone on more trips, he should have gone on more dates, he should have cherished every field trip, holiday, and festival. Even when outings turned sour or strange, he should have treasured them for the richness they added to his life and the memories they etched into his mind.
Along with those regrets came the faces of both friends and those he didn't particularly consider friends, but who had no less left their mark on him. Even Ten, that spoiled little son of a bitch who often waffled between hating him and admiring him, was thought on with a half-smile. What were they all doing now? he wondered. Did they miss him? Did they ever talk about him? Did they feel his absence as keenly as he felt theirs, now that they walked different paths? Oh what he wouldn't give to go back and share more of those carefree days with them! If only he'd known how finite they were!
Ataru was reminded of his parents next. Before moving he never realized how hard they must have worked. Now that he knew, Ataru felt a budding admiration and respect for the sacrifices they made so he could live untroubled and fed under their roof. While he was at school or terrorizing the neighborhood his mother slaved over a hot stove or bent her back over the washing. And then there was his father, who Ataru felt an unexpected kinship with now that he understood how taxing a full shift could be. Suddenly the fatigue set in his face made sense; sometimes he saw glimpses of it in himself, reflected from the bathroom mirror. And all those little pearls of wisdom his father tried to share? Ataru should have heeded them better. He should have been thankful; he should have been appreciative and well mannered. But in his ignorance he'd done nothing except complain, and there was no going back. All Ataru could do was mourn those easygoing days when his dear mother shouldered the burdens of living while his steadfast father bore the costs associated.
Feeling a strain in his back Ataru unfurled to rest against the bench, still deep in meditation. A low growl came into his ears, but he didn't notice. What did finally rouse him was a blinding flash of light from overhead. Ataru resurfaced to see the weather had shifted, and the sky above was now cheerless and gray. People hastened past him, casting worried glances at the rain-heavy clouds as they abandoned the park in droves. Ataru stood to leave with them, but his stride was sluggish and he lagged behind the crowds until he was the only one left still in the park. The cause of his heavy steps was a weight in his chest he was trying, and failing, to ignore. But when the skies finally opened and rain poured over his head, memories rushed upon him; snippets of the many years he'd spent with Lum. And as the storm raged above, so too did it rage within.
Ataru railed against the longing in his heart, hateful of the burden it placed over every decision. What was so wrong with putting himself first for once? Lum never considered how he felt when she decided to accept a proposal he'd never actually given! But he was the bad guy for leaving without her? How was that fair? Why couldn't she see how important it was for him to take this step alone? Why couldn't she have faith in him for once? Why couldn't she understand that flirting with someone didn't mean he loved them?
Why did she have to look at him like that when he left?
A flash of lightning blazed across the somber sky, thunder rolling in its wake. Ataru's head inclined miserably, and the light in his eyes dulled as he repictured her last pleading glance. The image was still crystal clear though it had been some time. Ataru paused beneath the shelter of an awning, the question on his face revealed by the unfeeling glow of a vending machine. How much time had passed, exactly? Curious and half afraid, he measured the days and weeks in rough estimates, coming to a conclusion that brought surprise and renewed heartache. They'd never been apart for this long before. Anxiety flushed through him like a fever. Maybe...maybe...
At once Ataru shook his head, water spraying from his hair like drops of shimmering glass. No – his mind declared with unwavering decision, face steeled, fists clenched at his sides. After coming this far there was no way he could crack now, not when fate had blessed him with such a golden opportunity. This was his one chance to taste freedom, he had to see it through. Otherwise, he'd always be left wondering what life could have been. Besides, Lum would wait for him; she'd probably wait for an eternity if she had to. So he could enjoy this vacation a little longer – a vacation he'd earned after years of being electrocuted, stalked, having his integrity questioned, and fighting off ex-fiancés.
A surge of confidence blaze through him, and for a brief instant he was wholly invested in that belief. Until all his thoughts from the last hour swirled through his mind one final time, reminding Ataru of the loneliness he endured from the absence of his friends, and the insufferable division within himself over his feelings. The longing in his heart remained, mocking the assurance his words attempted to impart.
The ending here reminded me of the Sweet Potatoes chapter (my favorite chapter btw) where Ataru is verbally arguing all the reasons he shouldn't try to make amends with Lum, meanwhile he still feels like crap and can't stop thinking about her XD. The war between his head and his heart continues!
A lot of my own personal experiences with growing up and living on my own and getting a real job are reflected here. I remember reading once that Rumiko channeled her young life into Urusei Yatsura. And while I am nowhere near the genius she is, I feel as if this story is a reflection of my own years as an adult in some ways. I went through a lot of what Ataru is going through now; adjusting to a new job and a new routine, becoming disillusioned with what I thought the future would look like, the soul sucking monotony and how tiring it is, trying to save and balance a budget while bills hammer you from all sides, and the insane slippage of time. And it really is insane. There were times when I'd think something happened a week ago, only to find out it was a month ago! Especially in marketing/publishing/advertising, when you are working months ahead to keep deadlines, it feels like life is constantly on fast forward and you're struggling to keep up. For Ataru, those 3 months he's been gone have maybe felt like a few weeks at most. I really feel for the poor guy.
On a side note, something in this chapter foreshadows trouble in the future. What could it be :O
Anyways, here is his introduction to the grind of life. Ataru's lucky to have such good coworkers looking out for him, especially Yamagata. There's some backstory between him and the boss (Mr. "Tosa"). They "met" at a convenience store where Yamagata worked and Tosa frequented for coffee. His then office manager was retiring, and he was impressed by the way Yamagata conducted himself. So one day he approached him asking if he wanted a better job, and the rest is history. "Tosa" trusts Yamagata's judgment and intuition, though he doesn't always heel to it. So his words carry some weight. This factors into why Ataru doesn't get fired immediately, without a warning (which I feel would be more likely for anyone else). That, and they have a hard time finding staff in general XD. Which is a blessing somewhat.
To add a bit of unnecessary background, Mr. Tosa is a very adept businessman, and Chick-Star isn't the first company he's managed. He worked his way up from the bottom under different employers and following one failed self-starter in the publishing and advertising industry. Off the mistakes of others and himself, he's learned how to maximize profits and has several vendor connections with people he's met in the industry. This has allowed him to cut costs, and he's able to pay his staff (which is small) nicely. Chick-Star is also very prevalent, due in part to the fact its been in the lad-mag world for a long time, so it sells predictably and turns a fair profit.
So yeah, surprise, Ataru actually makes decent money XD. Which I don't think anyone really expected. He's not rich by any standards, and he indeed struggles. In other words, he has enough to live comfortably, not lavishly. But since he's bad at managing his money, and doesn't keep track of jack crap, that can make it feel like he's poorer than he is.
Now let's count how long its been since Ataru left home: he got the job in mid april, worked a month and a half to move out, so june, and by the end of this chapter it's like the second week of july – ,1 2, etc; about 3 months give or take. Three-ish months since he's talked to anyone from Tomobiki, let alone home. A lot happens in three months yanno. Which he'll find out very soon.
Did I just do a Rumiko-esque data entry? Eh, kinda!