Despite my current overworked, wage-slave status, I still remember when I was able to wield some power.
I actually had underlings bow as I strode along the corridors in high school, and a lot of the teachers were just too scared to talk to me. I could quell a guy twice my size with one good gan (stare) aimed from the upper-left corner of my eye, and the weaker of the female students used to cross the street when they saw me coming. One of them dissolved into tears just because we happened to be alone in the girls' bathroom, with me blowing smoke rings at the mirror. Yes, I was what is known as a zoku (member of a motorcycle tribe), and to put it quite frankly, me and my mabudachi (best girlfriends) could have made Marlon Brando of "The Wild One" hitch up those cute black jeans and run for cover.
Ah, those were the days. I had my very own, customized Suka-jyan (short for Yokosuka John, these are jackets made in velvet and satin and elaborately embroidered with dragons, peonies and other Japanesey motifs) made by a cool shop in Yokohama. You shoulda seen me, with my navy-blue school-uniform skirt (pleated) going way down to the tips of my Converse All Stars (short skirts were for sissies and whores), under my shocking pink Suka-jyan, embroidered with pink roses adorning the neck of a vicious scarlet noboriryu (rising dragon).