Life in the Tokyo rat race: A look at Japanese newsroom culture

Here's the scene: I'm frantically typing, stopping, deleting, getting direction from multiple people, typing some more.

Behind me there's a semicircle of my Japanese coworkers. Each wants input on parts of the breaking news story we're trying to get to air.

Some words, they say, are too strong, so we rephrase.

At one point there are multiple hands reaching in front of me, under my arms, over my arms, all trying to get at my keyboard. In the background, people are running back and forth.

It's always easy to tell when there's breaking news in my Tokyo newsroom.

This scene has repeated itself numerous times since I left CBC in St. John's for a two-year secondment at Japan's national broadcaster.

I'm a newly-formed salaryman.

Like throngs of my white collar brethren, I go to work in a suit, work long hours and if I stay after work for a beer with colleagues, push my way onto the sardine-can-esque drunk train to get home.

If you need personal space, the Tokyo train system at rush hour or the last train of the night is not the place for you.

The work culture is really different.

During the daytime the place is a hive of activity.

People zipping around with sheets of paper in their hands, shouts in Japanese of how many minutes before the next hourly broadcast and, every now and then, the earthquake alarm blasts through the room.

It's actually one of the few things that will bring the place to a standstill — everyone waiting for new information about the quake or the eventual shaking that could send us diving under our desks.

By contrast, sleeping in your chair during part of your shift is either acceptable or tolerated — I still haven't figured that part out — but I think it means you've been working extra hard.

Sorry (I ain't sorry)

Surprisingly, I've found the Japanese apologize more than Canadians.

The main word that's used is "sumimasen." It's like sorry and excuse me wrapped into one. So if you almost bump into someone, you bow and both say, "Sumimasen."

In my newsroom, the apology is also used as an announcement that someone is about to get you to do work. Essentially, it's their way of saying they are about to disturb you.

Certain people will come with a pained look on their face to ask me to edit something. With a deep bow they'll say, "Sumimasen, Adam-san, can you look at this?"

My favourite example is once when I was on break eating a sandwich and a journalist interrupted me to ask for help with her narration.

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"Sumimasen, Adam-san, you're eating. I don't want to disturb you. I was hoping you would help me with my narration."

"That's OK, I can leave the sandwich and come back to it."

"Sumimasen, Adam-san, you are eating, I don't want to disturb you. I will come back later."

It turns out later was 30 seconds later, when I heard "sumimasen" as I was mid-sandwich. Then she started practicing her narration.

When we were done she thanked me, said "sumimasen" again and bowed.

A big deal

Mistakes are a big no-no. They're a huge deal. If an announcer makes a mistake, like mispronouncing someone's name, we issue an on-air apology during the same half-hour show.

On one hand, it's good that getting things right is taken so seriously. We could use a bit more of that in the West, I think.

On the other hand, it makes people twitchy about going out on a limb to try new things. Plus, there's the fact it makes people shirk responsibility. People tend to look for anyone to relieve that burden.

I regularly get asked to check the spelling for graphics that will go on air.

"Yup, f-i-l-e. That's how file is spelled."

Long hours

The hours can be long. The other day, after a particularly long week, a coworker joked with me "Adam-san, don't karoshi!"

The term "karoshi" means death from overwork. Some people work so much it actually kills them — think heart attacks.

For others, they choose to end things themselves. It's an actual social issue in Japan.

To be clear, I work a lot, but it's not killing me.

And I do like the fact that newsroom humour is the same in both countries — dark and just a little bit twisted.