Police came to my workplace today. Officially, their mission was to educate our company executive on the latest trends in cybercrime. How effective this kind of education is for crime prevention is a question far above my pay grade—but considering how superficial these sessions tend to be, I’d guess: not very.

Why do the police even stretch their already limited resources to visit local businesses in person? Well, businesses are very important in Japan. Priorities, you know.

During the meeting, the topic of my foreigner ass came up. I’m pretty sure the officer had another checkbox on his agenda—after all, they must already have a record of me working here. One stone, two rabbits. Efficient.

So, I was summoned to the meeting.

After the usual business card exchange with the officer, he started asking if I was being bothered in any way—at work or in private—for being a foreigner. I said no.

He was super friendly. Even admitted he watches anime. Pretty sure that was a lie.

Then he asked for my personal number. I wrote it down. I probably shouldn’t have. But he was so friendly I’d have told him where I buried the body. Fortunately, he didn’t ask.

Instead, he promised to check up on me from time to time and told me to contact him if I ever experience discrimination.

The whole conversation left a weird aftertaste. I know he was just asking those questions to tick a box. And he knows I know.

I guess things could be worse, and people could actually come banging on the door of my apartment, demanding I go home, instead of just silently hating me under the mask of politeness and carefully chosen words.