Those of you who work in Japanese offices know only too well about the bar. For the rest of you, the design of the Japanese desk is the old file drawers on either side supporting the writing surface on top. I think it’s carved out of a single block of steel. But at some point engineers get down on their hands and knees with their protractors and slide rules and determine the spot where 90% of users will place their feet when in a relaxed, comfortable position. Then they stick a bar there. So when you sit at a Japanese desk you have two choices, back straight, full attention posture with your feet on this side of the bar or heavy slouch with your feet on that side of the bar. For nearly two years I had been laboring under the assumption that the purpose of this device was either to torture the sitter into the government-approved work posture or its removal would cause structural collapse.

At great risk to my cherished preconceived notions, I asked a Japanese coworker what the deal with the bar was. “Japanese people are lazy,” he said. As an example of laziness he untied his shoes, removed them, put his feet up in the bar like it was an ottoman and leaned back in his chair, then he put his shoes back on again and tied them. All the shoe work on either side of his moment of relaxation hurt his laziness claim, but at least I had the answer about the bar. It was designed for comfort. But since I am a six-footer I would need to sit in the parking lot to put my feet up on this thing.

Four hex bolts hold the bar to the desk. I asked my lazy coworker (though by his reckoning, they are all lazy) if the office had a pair of pliers, in Japanese a penchi. Most offices probably don’t have penchis lying around, but I work in a factory and we have more than we know what to do with.

Friends, I am now working in bar-free bliss. My feet roam over the grimy expanse under my desk like nimble gazelles. Gaijin workers of Japan unite, take up you penchis, and unshackle your weary ankles.