One percent

In Japan, it's the law that we can only brew beer of 1% alcohol, so that's what we do. We brew 1% beers.

Containers of pee-water

That is not what I want to write about today though.


This is the first time I've been prompted to write about anything other than beer, and so you may be saying to yourself, 'Well this better be worth it.' I hope it is.


I went to a local drinking establishment this evening after work to pick up a yeast shipment from a fellow brewer (long story), who said he'd drop it off there. While waiting I sat at the bar and had a pint of something good (Shinano pale ale, 4.5%; a clean, good starter--drink it!). My friend didn't show up, but another gaijin (=foreigner) in a suit did, so I invited him to sit down next to me at the bar. The place was pretty full. We talked about this and that. He was a loquacious bloke. In fact, I knew from previous visits to this very establishment that he was some kind of investment banker or securities trader or yadda-yadda lawyer or something. I'd made a mental note about him on a previous visit and if I check those notes now...right...not too good.

Greeeeeeeeeed...mwaaaaaaah....slurp*!

But it turns out he wasn't that bad of an egg--a lawyer, for sure, and skilled at those wily turns of phrase at which the lawyerin' breed excels. But once I could corner his slithery ass, it wasn't too hard to get him to say that yeah: The banking - slash - financial - slash - political system in the US is rotten to the core.


Wow! Those were his actual words too. Glee. Respect was a-blooming. He was just starting to describe how it all *actually* works, when these seven dudes showed up outside.

Seven duuuuuuudes, for seven ... Wha--?

The seven dudes were US Air Force, stationed at a base not far from here. Young guys, I'd say early 20s at the oldest.

There was no room inside, but they were game to hang out on the stoop, which was right behind me and the lawyer. There wasn't but a sliding glass door between us - the people at the bar and the USAF on the stoop.


Almost immediately the one percent stuff started.


"Oh yeah, we'll be OK out here," says one young buck. "We're the 99%." Laughs all around. "You guys enjoy yourselves. Haw-haw--1%!"


OK, I get it, I'm wearing this suit I got from the Men's Wearhouse in Portland, and my lawyer acquaintance is--well, looking totally 1%-ish actually, with his leather briefcase (at least one of our USAF friends made it a point to mention that), and generally old-guy in a suit with a leather briefcase looking appearance. Case closed, mofo. Plus I told one guy I worked for Ernt & Yong. Doh! We are looking all one percentish, ha! What do you know. Busted.

Fight my wars, bitchaz!

But then my lawyer friend, he's starting to get into his pints and say stuff that's maybe true, but not all that helpful. Like:


"Oh, you guys are veterans? Really?" (It was Veteran's Day in the US). "So tell me, how many wars have you been put out of commission in? None? Really? Well I have news for you: You're not a veteran."


Up to this point our friends outside were pretty cool. Just a nice bunch of large sized boys, rambunctious perhaps, but innocent-seeming and playful-- entering drunkenness perhaps as the moments wore on, bragging of their exploits drinking Chu-Hi (a kind of alcoholic Kool-Aid) on the train, being bored at practically everything, and interested in scoring some kind of girls, if we knew of any. Which of course we didn't. Jeezus.


But then Law-Man goes and disses the fly-boys. Shit. Something bound to happen now!


Derren (let's say), the leader, leans in and says meaningfully, "You probably shouldn't say that," while The Woof Pack snarls for blood and strains at the halters held tightly in Derren's iron fist. Not exactly like that maybe, but definitely at least a murmuring of various people saying, "Yeah". Tension. A threat...

A minor threat

K, it's about to get real...I started to think. And then just like that it was back to, "So man, you're really from Alaska? Dude, I have a total COUSIN up there!"


They did not clean Law-man's clock for dissin' their ancient fraternal order! This was my first actual alarm bell that my country might be undergoing a fundamental paradigm shift.

What is 1% of what I made in the 1/128 sec. that this photo was taken, hmmm? I am 1%!!!

"One perCENT!" would come up whenever I got up to go pee. But then it was weird too. I smoke when I'm drinking, and so I'd edge past them on my way outside to go smoke. Then I'd get the business. "Deeeammmn! Oh! OH! Mr. One Percent!" I couldn't tell if I was coming off as rich or not.

Uh, yeah. I'm saying, yeah, you are.

Uncle Sam's guys! What percentage do they fall under? Apparently they know, and aren't happy about it.


The weird thing is how bashfull and polite they were though. They were super polite. But in the way of, while five dudes are crowding the door, the spokesman says "Could we have some beer?" And one of them, this guy from Alaska with whom I'd bonded cuz u know, from AK dude! Says in reference to my friend (who had shown up by this time, but had dropped his umbrella down behind some stuff), "He wants his umbrella. It could have been put there by me but it wasn't." Several moments of despondent soul-gazing, followed by maniacal laughter and ass-grabbing by his mates.


Then him going, "That's why we stand out here, on the outside: we are the 99%." Funny, but...this is a soldier.


But they seemed sincere. That's what I'm trying to establish here with my less-than-adequate prose. The 99% moniker was a yoke that these 20-something Air Force guys were willing to bear; ironically, but with no less sincerity. Weird!


When I was leaving (just before the table and chair fight), they started in on me about my salary. They really wanted to know what I made. I was wearing a suit. They had been carping on in funny tones about being the 99% standing outside, while the 1% enjoyed sitting inside, and now it was time to 'fess up. What's your salary, 1-percenter?

50c! Don't you fuckin' look at me!

So I told them, and they seemed a little surprised that a 40-year-old, fourth-tier employee at a large global firm makes about as much as they do.


ONLY: These guys are soldiers. Since when do soldiers start asking those kind of questions?


Since 2011 I guess, because that's the year that those kinds of questions busted out into the public domain as being officially OK to ask, and apparently now that they are, average peeps are asking them.


I couldn't help feeling like these guys were getting the shaft though. They get drawn in and do their service (only do they really look at it as service, or is it just something that follows something else? That's what I'd like to know). But at the same time as they're trained to kill the fuck out of the enemy, they're being trained to be super nice to 'non-enemy' targets. That means you and me. Except...


They also watch the evening news. And have access to the Internet. Including what the US military's bigger (let's say "Beyond 99%") plans are. And some of them appear able to reach their own independent conclusions about things. And beyond that, they know that not everybody thinks that they are freedom-defending heros. They're trained to be sensitive to that, but Veteran's Day is their day. The one day that they refuse to get shit on by anybody.


One more extremely significant thing though. As I left, and as a kind of joke, I hauled out my business cards to give to them. Seven dudes gave me seven big guffaws when they saw the logo on my card. I work for a 1% corporation. But I said do me a favor, and take my card. If you'll do that I'll tell my people what you guys are dealing with. But in return you have to have to do whatever you can to stop the drone strikes. When I said that they got pretty serious and then they cheered as I gave them my supercool hand sign and strutted flamboyantly off into the rain of the Tokyo night.


Be assured: American soldiers do not support American aggression abroad. 

Bodies piled up from left to right, and for what?

That's the tone I got from these dudical dudes tonight. None of them said it. They were all doing their best to seem like the youth gone wild that they're expected to be. But none of them were just tearing shit up either. There was a kind of uneasy balance between civility and ... not quite the opposite. They weren't that vehement about it. It was kind of disappointing.


But three things were obvious: They really wanted to know what the 1% looked like. They really identified with the 99%. And they wanted to party.


That part they stated explicitly.

Nyah, now that's good times!