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Rizumu Kobayashi Column
Things That Change, Things That Keep Changing
from Nagano / Japan
Rizumu Kobayashi
Essayist
An essayist from Nagano Prefecture. Mother of two children. Produced the whole-house rental “Rinrei Terrace” in Azumino City.
4.14.2026
DAYS/ Rizumu Kobayashi Column
Things That Change, Things That Keep Changing
I can't say that this isn't right
Back in college, I once had a part-time job at a DVD production company in Okachimachi. I found the job listing online and applied for a creative position.
During the interview, a man who looked like Tetsuya Komuro explained the job duties to me, but I couldn’t quite follow what he was saying, so I just replied, “I’ll be fine.”
I’m pretty sure Tetsuya Komuro (仮) said something like, “At our company, we make DVDs that use psychology to help people, but if you don’t like that kind of thing, this job might not be for you. What do you think?”
Being an ignorant college girl, I misunderstood him to mean, “Using psychology to help people = we produce educational DVDs here, so if you’re not good at studying, you should probably quit.”
So, it wasn’t until I actually started working there that I found out the company’s president was a man famous for being a pick-up artist, and that the company produced some pretty sketchy DVDs. (By the way, Tetsuya Komuro wasn’t a pick-up artist himself; he was just a friend of a pick-up artist who was helping out with the work.)
My very first task was to apply label stickers to DVDs. The title was *Hypnotherapy to Win Back Your Husband’s Heart*. I was incredibly curious about the content, but I made sure not to show it and just kept sticking labels.
I wondered, “What on earth is this company…?” The piles of materials stacked on my desk were labeled “80% Pickup Success Rate! Complete Role-Playing Textbook.”
Somehow, I felt like I’d figured out the true nature of this “work that uses psychology to help people,” and while thinking I might have ended up in a pretty crazy place, I just kept sticking labels on, my mind blank.
Just as I was getting used to the job, I was handed an audio file by Tetsuya Komuro (pseudonym) and told to transcribe it. “What on earth is on this tape…?” I wondered anxiously as I put on my headphones, only to be taken aback when I realized it was just a standard interview with a college professor or someone talking about psychology.
Perhaps they were creating this “80% Pickup Success Rate” material based on legitimate academic research they’d heard from some distinguished scholar. Once I realized that, I decided to transcribe every single word without missing a thing.
When I looked around, I saw books and DVDs everywhere with titles ranging from pickup techniques to flirtatious gestures and conversation strategies for seduction (including some pretty explicit stuff). It felt weird—there was such a stark contrast between all that and me, typing away at this complicated lecture I’d heard from some professor.
At the far end of the same desk sat a young, slightly chubby man, answering and talking on the phone as calls came in regularly.
“It’s totally fine even if you’re not good-looking. Just try doing it exactly as it says in the book. I did this and ended up with a model girlfriend.”
“Ah, that’s rough. Well, it might not have worked out this time, but if you keep at it, it’ll definitely pay off. The real challenge starts once you can naturally say the lines exactly as they’re written in the role-play guide.”
“Oh, really? Keep it up and move on to the next step!”
“Ah, so you’re at that stage. Six months after I got to that point, five women confessed their feelings to me—which was actually pretty tough in its own way (wry smile).”
I found myself wondering what on earth they were talking about. The slightly chubby man didn’t look like the type to be very popular with women, but for some reason, he was acting like a “super popular guy” on the phone.
Maybe because I’d been glancing at him during the call, but after hanging up, the slightly chubby man looked at me, let out a short sigh, and “Don’t ask me if that’s true, okay?” he said with a wry smile.
I’m sure this man’s job is to handle the free consultations that come as a bonus with the pickup text guide the customer bought. It’s quite a tough job.
Fortunately, the tasks assigned to me were all safe ones, like packing boxes and transcribing recordings. Maybe they were just being considerate of me.
At the welcome party for new part-time staff, they took us to a nearby shabu-shabu restaurant. Right after we made a toast, Tetsuya Komuro (pseudonym) said anxiously, “So, what do you think? This job. Do you really think you can handle it? If it’s too much, you can tell me.” I replied, “I’m totally fine with it,” just like I had during the interview.
In reality, the work I was doing fell squarely within the “I’m fine” category. The full-time employees let the part-timers eat as much as they wanted, while they themselves barely touched their food.
And surprisingly, everyone took their work very seriously. They never made disparaging remarks to people on the phone, and during our drinking sessions, they seriously discussed ways to improve DVDs that weren’t selling well.
They also had earnest discussions about the future, led by the president, about what they could do, how they could make customers happy, and how they could bring joy to their customers.
As I gazed at them blankly, I thought, “I probably won’t be coming back to this company.” I felt that this very moment was the last time I would interact with these people, and that once this welcome party was over, I would never have anything to do with them again.
And sure enough, I didn’t show up for my next shift.
A few years later, at a matchmaking party I attended with a friend, a burly man I met there suddenly whispered to me, “Are you a plant, by any chance?” Startled—thinking, “Wait, is this a matchmaking party that actually uses plants?”—I stayed silent. He mistook my silence for agreement and said, “Actually, I’m a plant too.”
I just went along with it, and he laughed, saying, “Are you by any chance an acquaintance of Mr. XX? I’m also an acquaintance of Mr. XX, and he asked me to be a plant.” That “Mr. XX” turned out to be the pick-up artist CEO, and apparently the organizer of this party. I found myself strangely convinced: “So that’s the kind of work he’s doing now.”
Shinshu Azumino Entire House Rental 「Rinrei terrace」
A private rental house with 6 single rooms nestled in Azumino, Nagano
Each room features a bed, toilet, and shower
For carefree travels with friends
Relax in your own private space, one room per person
12.10.2025
DAYS/ Rizumu Kobayashi Column
Things That Change, Things That Keep Changing
The Convenience Store Too Far to Walk To
When I grew up, I wanted to live somewhere with a convenience store just a three-minute walk away.
A convenience store I could wander into on sleepless nights. The idea that it would be open no matter how late felt like a dream. Just bathing in that cheap white light felt reassuring, and its welcoming tolerance—like it would accept me in my pajamas and slippers—was wonderful.
But as a high schooler living in the remote countryside of Nagano, there was no convenience store within walking distance. Getting to one required a car, and for a kid too young to get a license, convenience stores felt impossibly far away. So I thought, “I'll get out of here soon and live near a convenience store.”
Time passed, and my dream came true. I now live just a three-minute walk from a convenience store. Having one nearby is incredibly convenient. Even without a printer at home, I can print things at the store. Books I sell on Mercari can be shipped easily from there. I can pop out on a whim to buy ice cream or gummy candies, or grab a hot snack when I feel peckish. The freedom of having a convenience store nearby. The freedom of becoming an adult.
Having grown completely accustomed to that comfort lately, I find myself remembering the convenience stores from when I lived in Nagano.
For me as a child, convenience stores were places I went with my parents.
After dinner, when I craved something sweet, I'd suggest, “Want some ice cream?” And just to buy ice cream at the convenience store, my dad would take the car out. We'd drive down pitch-black country roads with no streetlights.
When it was just my father and me going to the convenience store, we usually sang songs at the top of our lungs. It could be a DREAMS COME TRUE song, or something by Momoe Yamaguchi, it varied day to day. My father, who didn't know the songs anyway, would just shout along with me using completely made-up words. He was tone-deaf.
Once we reached the convenience store, we both became surprisingly quiet, just ordinary customers buying ice cream. We'd take the plastic bag filled with ice cream for each family member from the clerk, and both my father and I would hurry back to the car.
I'd sit in the passenger seat and place it on my lap. Mom would surely be brewing coffee by the time we got home. Thinking about how, despite being a bit of a hassle, we'd tacitly exchange one bite each of the ice cream as an unspoken rule, I'd sing loudly with my dad again.
Convenience stores you couldn't walk to were just the norm. That norm changed without us even noticing.
Shinshu Azumino Entire House Rental 「Rinrei terrace」
A private rental house with 6 single rooms nestled in Azumino, Nagano
Each room features a bed, toilet, and shower
For carefree travels with friends
Relax in your own private space, one room per person
