Sometimes you don't even have to talk.
|A camera-shy Igarashi-san.|
“Have you ever done any interpreting?” he asked. He sounded about my age.
Ten years prior I’d gotten on as a temporary interpreter for ESPN, at the World Figure Skating Championships in Tokyo. No matter that I spent most of the week taping down loose wires and restocking the fridge in the staff area. It was, at least in name, an interpreting gig.
“Sure, I’ve done a little interpreting,” I said, ending the qualification section of this phone interview for a job I knew virtually nothing about except that it would involve either interpreting or stocking a fridge.
Miura-san, my friend from the inter-cultural community resource center here in town, was the one who initially put me in touch with NHK. “They need someone to go to Hakuba for three days,” she’d said. “Starting this Thursday.”
“Sure, I can do it,” I told her, which was a lie. I had three classes to teach on Thursday. “No problem. Please give them my phone number.”