Tokyo 2012, April 30 | There are just over 35 miljon worker-ants living in the central and surrounding anthills. They leave their tiny homes early in the morning and gather at the train stations in preparation for the day’s task of hauling supplies back home.
The trains come above ground on steel and concrete structures. They also come speeding through tunnels in layers upon layers, whining and screaming in the curves. They always arrive on time.
The ants surge forward in a steady stream between passageways and staircases. No ant wants to miss a connection. Going against the flow is impossible. The tactic is to find the right stream and go with it. Admittedly, one can cross a stream by extending an arm like a samurai sword; the ants instantly part ways. But this doesn't feel right.
I have learned not to look at the ants. My gaze fixes on the space between them, on the goal—a narrow passage through a metal gate, an automatic ticket barrier. I am a tall ant with a good view, and I manage just fine.
The critical moment arrives at 7:30 AM. That is when the "pusher ants" step in. They wear uniforms and white gloves, and they push hard. Sometimes parts of skirts and coats stick out as the doors slam shut.
In the city, the worker-ants pour out in dark suits and white shirts. They are salarymen. They move in formation. Always in formation. Straight lines. Female ants in high heels and business attire revealing legs of various kinds. Office ladies. They press their faces against the doors to escape the crush. Then the ant-girls make their entrance, in pleated skirts and knee-high socks.
Those who get a seat fall asleep. The trains are an extension of the bed. Furrowed, weary white-collar eyes close. Entire rows are asleep. Some are standing, dangling from overhead straps. They jolt awake three seconds before getting off.
Packed-together ants who aren’t sleeping pull small books from their pockets, scroll through mobile phones, and read newspapers folded into narrow vertical strips. They read backward in vertical columns. Letters by number and type: 52 hiragana, 52 katakana, 26 Roman, and a couple of thousand kanji characters from China, as well as Arabic numerals. Don’t disturb, don’t shove, don’t talk, don’t spread germs. Ants with colds wear face masks. Umbrellas held between knees.
On Saturday, the sun shines into the above-ground trains. Old folks board. Laughing older women with small cloth bags. Queen ants in delicate hairstyles and elegant dresses glide in and out. Confident boy ants in cool jeans, dyed hair, and iPhones. Girls in micro-minis and long, fluttering eyelashes. Chatter and giggles. But no running about. The sleepers let their bodies sprawl lazily. On Saturday morning, the good life begins.
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