Research Laboratory Dynamics

Posted on June 19, 2007

My first day working in Japan was very different than I had been expecting. I had read articles about Japanese work hours, Japanese business etiquette, and the Japanese approach to science and engineering, and the combined impression that my research in these three topics left on me was daunting, to say the least. I was worried that I would be scampering about the lab for fourteen hours a day, skipping meals and avoiding interaction with others to increase my productivity. I resolved to do my best, preparing for the worst. As it turned out, my first day was indeed an intense one, but not quite in the way that I had predicted.

The day began at seven with short briefing from my boss, a prominent professor at Keio University, which took place as he walked me the mile up to Yagami campus from Hiyoshi station here in Tokyo. He concluded his preparatory speech just in time to open the door to his lab team's student room on the fifth floor of an extremely large, dimly lit, concrete building. A student was passed out on a couch, or, at least, partially on the couch. His head and one of his arms had spilled over onto the floor, and this unnatural position combined with his gaping mouth made him resemble a fallen soldier. All that was missing was spilt blood and a sword protruding from his chest.

My boss did not seem surprised in the least. After a few more formalities, he left me with the corpse, and the door to his office closed behind him. Students began, one by one, to file into the student room, and I did my best to remember names. We then entered a stifling lecture hall, where the student who had spent the night at lab gave a research presentation. He did so in English. This was not for my sake, but is a standard of the research team that I then joined and now work for. The presentation was amazing. He presented more information and in a more compelling and comprehensive style than most professors I have listened to at my university on the States. Even so, he was targeted with numerous difficult and often extremely specific questions. I did my best to follow everything but remained quiet throughout the session.

Two and a half hours later, a duration after which my brain would have been fried to a crisp had I been the presenter and had I slept for only a few hours in such a position on that couch, the professor made some announcements. We'd be going as a group to Tokyo University to attend a formal meeting of top technology company representatives and research teams; the meeting would feature several doctorate keynote speeches. Until four o’clock, I spent the time with my graduate student mentor and a fellow undergraduate subordinate. They took me on a dizzying tour of the facilities, featuring state of the art spectroscopy and spectrometry equipment the likes of which fellow researchers at my university have to travel far and wide to use.

We then proceeded to sit down and discuss our particular research project. My Japanese was still a two-week-old kitten, and my graduate student's seemed primarily limited to exclamations and imperatives, so that we struggled through many of the concepts. Finally, exhausted, I met the rest of the team and we embarked for Tokyo University. The lectures started soon after our arrival. They lasted around four hours, and they were, as I expected, given entirely in Japanese. After the first hour, my head spinning, I declined to even try to follow, and I spent my time practicing Japanese in my journal and periodically forcing my eyelids open via vigorous jerks of the neck and foot tapping.

The reception that followed featured seven tables laden with sushi, yakitori, soda, and, most attractively, as it turned out, Kirin. It also featured a microphone and a PA system, so that several speeches were made and toasts given. Professors and technology company representatives stood listening, heads bowed, their perfectly tailored black suits swaying slightly and their faces pinkening, until, with rising enthusiasm, the speaker held his beer cup higher and higher and finally shouted something conclusive with a heartwarming smile. Gold ringed hands spilled beer as they clapped and as they dashed their cups together, and the room once again would stir into a swirl of small conversations and sushi scarfing. This continued until the beer was gone. The professors, after making the rounds bowing to everyone, departed, and the students remained to finish off the food.

I fell asleep immediately, and although I dreamed about Japanese lectures, I cannot claim that I dreamed in Japanese and therefore conclude that I am becoming conversational and on the downhill path to fluency. On the contrary, I felt both under qualified and overcommitted. Would I be expected to have understood all that I had heard and witnessed on that long and strenuous first day? Would I be expected to perform such experiments myself the next day? When would I have to give a lecture, and how could I prepare for such a long and difficult string of questions? I think they ought to make immersion internships a reality TV show. I'm sure the American public, at least, would laugh as hard as some of my Japanese colleagues later must have at the perplexed, strained, and frustrated faces I made throughout the day. Plus, I could use a nice $50,000 prize for having completed three weeks now without blowing anything up.