Thinking back, I never set out with the intention of becoming a translator. I was employed by a small travel agency in Osaka and was only dimly aware that such an occupation even existed. But word got around that I could read Japanese, and one winter day in 1975 I was approached by an inventor who had obtained a 実用新案 (jitsuyōshinan, utility patent) for his 発明 (hatsumei, invention) — a foot-operated gadget that worked, as he explained to me 「足踏みで洋式トイレの便座を持ち上げられる」 (ashibumi de yōshiki toire no benza wo mochiagerareru, by using foot pressure to raise the seats on Western-style toilets).
His contraption, he explained, appealed to fastidious people with 潔癖性 (keppeki-shō, an obsession with cleanliness), and he was eager to investigate the sales potential of his invention in foreign markets.
Brandishing a 四色のペラのチラシ (yonshoku no pera no chirashi, single-sheet four-color leaflet) in Japanese, he implored "Schreiber-san," 「これを英語に翻訳してくれませんか？」("Kore wo eigo ni honyaku shite kuremasenka?" "Won't you please translate this into English?").