When I tell people that I used to work at Tokyo Disneyland, everyone turns into a comedian. With the same joke.
"Really? So which one were you? Goofy? HAAAAAAAAA!"
After my gracious smile fades, people are often curious about the details.
Behind the Tokyo Disney and Tokyo Sea parks, there is a big warehouse, with a large office housing a couple of hundred people. This was back in 2001, and I was outsourced there by the company I was working for at the time : SysTech. They sent me out for a 1 week contract to fix a big problem they were having with about 200 of their Windows 98 computers. Hear that? Windows 98. The happiest place on Earth runs the operating system from hell. Anyway, all of their Windows 98 machines suddenly started crashing 2 or 3 times a day, and they were at their wits end.
On Monday morning, I arrived at Maihama, Disney's train station. I walked through the groups of families, school-kids and couples, and found a small, obscure sign under the station. "Office, this way." it said. I followed that direction for a while, and eventually I came across a security station. I walked over to the security station, and nodded to the guard.
"Hello there. I'm here to fix an IT problem, I'm Firefly from SysTech." I said.
The security guard eyed me, and checked his list. "You're not on the list here." he said, flatly.
"Uh, can you call IT please? I have a meeting with IT in 30 minutes." I said.
He got on the phone, and presumably spoke to someone in IT. "Sorry Mr Firefly, Kenichi will come out in a moment to greet you. Please wait in front of the building. He gestured to a building inside the compound. I smiled and walked through the gate, into the Disneyland Office.
I looked around for something that would betray the office as the backend to Disneyland, the worlds most successful themepark franchise. I couldn't find anything - it looked like a standard office, with standard office workers running about. I couldn't help but being irrationally disappointed, like I was expecting Mickey Mouse to be bouncing around the carpark handing out stationary. "Waahahoo! Get to work! Heres a pen!"
Kenichi arrived after a couple of minutes, and tapped me on the shoulder. I introduced myself, and we swapped meishi (name cards).
"I must admit Kenichi-san, I was hoping to see a crazier Disney style office building. It's about as normal as I've seen." I said lightly as I continued to absorb my surroundings.
"Really? We have 15 minutes before this meeting starts. Let me show you something quickly." Kenichi said with a smile.
He walked me over to a smaller warehouse off to the left-hand side of the main office building, and we walked inside the opened shutter door entrance.
"Check this out," Kenichi said.
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkened lighting. I blinked twice, and in one foul sweep, years of precious childhood memories were destroyed. After years of bed-time stories, fairy tales and Disney cartoons during my childhood, before my eyes, stood Cinderella, dressed in a Cinderella dress. She was desperately sucking on an already expired cigarette, and slamming a bottle of coke. She had ragged hair, and no makeup on. She looked drained and stressed. I almost went into shock. Despite being a full grown adult, I somehow wasn't ready for the full impact of this scene.
I turned around again trying to erase the image from my mind. We were in a huge costume repository. There were around 3 industrial strength and size coat racks stacked on top of each other, and the coat racks extended deep into the warehouse. People of all sorts of shapes, sizes, genders and ages were coming up and requesting costumes. There were 'little people', presumably a member of the Seven Dwarfs walking off with Dwarf costumes. Acrobats were walking off with latex. The REAL Goofy costumes were hung up off to the side, but no-one was requesting one. Perhaps they had already fulfilled their Goofy quota. I stood for a few moments, mesmerised by the odd exchanges taking place.
I cast my eyes over to the right, and noticed a fully functional convenience story, right next to the costume place. You could buy all manner of food and drinks, exactly the same as a regular convenience store. This whole store seemed to be only for the benefit of the costumed staff members. Fascinating, I thought.
Kenichi pulled me away, and we went to the 9:30 meeting. It ended quickly, and I sat down at one of the crashing Windows 98 machines. I did some troubleshooting, found some possible causes, and began testing. I had a possible solution worked out before lunchtime involving a rare patch only available from Microsoft. Kenichi dropped by the office, and knocked on the door.
"Lets go to lunch!" he said.
"There are restaurants around here?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes and no. Come on," he said. We left together, and exited the main office building. We walked across the car park and came up against a huge wooden door.
"What is that?" I asked, peering up at the door.
"It's a huge, badly hidden secret door. It doesn't actuall open. But this one does!" Kenichi led me off to the right hand side, and we stepped through a tiny door that was hidden in the concrete. Crazy. Within a few minutes, we were walking through the park, looking very conspicuous in our suits. After a few minutes of strolling through the park, we were in the Prince of Arabia themed food courts, ordering expensive, bland Indian curry with nan. I felt mildly ridiculous paying 1,400 yen ($14), but I suddenly realised I was having an office lunch in Tokyo Disney, and immediately felt better about it. You don't get to have your office lunch in Disney very often.
I returned to the office, and resumed work. I installed some test patches, and the problem immediately stopped on one of the test PCs. I tested a few more PCs with the same patch, and once I was satisfied, I put the patch onto a 3.5" floppy disk (remember those?) and walked around to each computer applying the patch.
Now, when you interrupt most people and tell them you need them to get off their computer, so you can install a patch, a lot of people can get a bit irritated. They're busy, and in the middle of doing lots of important stuff. People tend to get a little upset or impatient, even though their PC is going up and down more frequently than a Shinjuku sex worker.
Disney shocked me. It wasn't like this at all. It was like they shot each and every one of these people with a happy gun on the employee initiation day. They were bright, bubbly, cheerful. "Oh dear! I just lost 2 hours of work to another one of those nasty crashes. Oh well, I'll do an even better job this time!" they would chirp. "Oh, you need to get on my computer? Sure! I'm writing an urgent document for the board meeting taking place in 30 minutes, but whatever you're doing is probably more important. Take your time! Would you like a coffee?"
Compared to Financial companies, where people start screaming expletives when they accidentally minimise the email they were typing.
After a few days, all the computers were patched up, and everything was working great. All the office workers were full of warm Disney style gratitude, and I went home feeling great.
I assume they upgraded from Windows 98 after this, by the way.
-------
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Your-Japan is finally back up and running after sorting out some major problems with the domain. Thanks for your patience and all the great emails of support and concern. Now - straight back into the stories!!
I was on a trip to Kamakura with a whole bunch of friends, and I was pretty excited. I'd been to Kamakura several times already. Kamakura is a great place to take your friends who are new to Japan - it's close to Tokyo, and has all the fixings of a cultural destination - plenty of shrines and temples, traditional food and atmosphere, and a huge statue of a sitting Buddha.
However I'm of the personal belief that once you've seen one temple, you've seen them all (except for a few special places in Kyoto), and despite the fact that my jaw slammed into the ground the first time I saw the big Buddha statue, 5 viewings later, I was less moved. The thing that I was really looking forward to was the weapon shops.
Thats right, weapon shops.
For reasons best known to Japan, right in front of the big Buddha statue, there are a host of shops selling all manner of crazy weapons. From your basic knife, to the mafia style 'knuckle dusters', to swords, to the boomerang from Blade that has blades sticking out from every direction, to nunchakus, shuriken and a range of other weapons that have to be seen to be believed. Of course, my original reason for going to Japan was for Martial Arts, so I am the proverbial kid in a candy store at these weapons shops.
Finally, after walking through all manner of temples and shrines, we reached the street leading up to the big Buddha. I was bouncing up and down in excitement trying to figure out what exotic killing tool my budget would allow me to purchase.
I regarded my friends seriously, and told them that "Alright, now the big Buddha is the most famous cultural icon around this area, and all that stuff, but a lot of the REAL cultural experience of Kamakura is to be found in these small traditional shops." This would hopefully set them up to spend at least 40 minutes in these small shops trying to find this elusive cultural experience, during which time I would be flying from shop to shop checking out all of the weapons.
I parted from my friends and entered the first shop and looked around. It was a smaller shop, but with all the regular fittings, such as swords, knives, shuriken, etc. A few swords caught my eye at the back of the shop. Entranced by these distillations of pure swordsmanship, budo and culture, I walked right up to the glass, and peered in. This particular sword that had captured my attention was made completely of wood. There was no hilt on the blade - the sheath and handle were both made from light coloured wood. When the sword was fully in the sheath, it simply looked like a beautiful piece of curving wood, completely concealing the razor sharp blade hiding inside the smooth pine finish.
I stood in front of the case, mesmorised by this amazing sword. I almost jumped out of my skin when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I was in a martial art kind of mood, so I spun around ready to face my adversary. There was no-one there. I angled my eyes downward. A short, Japanese man with white hair and a white wispy beard grinned up at me.
"So! You like swords, huh?" He said in Japanese. It struck me that he looked like the little martial arts master from Tekken.
I recovered from the initial surprise of his approach, and began talking.
"Yeah!! I love swords. I came to Japan to do budo, so I love this kind of stuff."
The old Japanese man's bushy eyebrows raised. "You came to Japan for budo? What kind?"
"Well, similar to Aikido, but we use a lot of weapons, like swords." I said.
"I'm actually a 7th dan in Iaido." He casually mentioned.
"You're an Iaido 7th dan?" I repeated, impressed. Iaido is a style of Japanese martial arts that focuses solely on sword work. To become a 7th dan is a considerable achievement.
"Hey..." he leaned in, and whispered to me. "Have you held a real sword?" He emphasised the word real.
"Um, I've SEEN real swords, of course... and I have some practise swords at home... but I've never held a real sword." I said.
He perked up. "Wait a minute!!!" He said, and bounded through a door near the back of the shop.
This could be interesting, I thought to myself. My attention returned to the masterfully designed swords in the case. A couple of minutes later, he came back and tapped me on the shoulder again.
I turned around. He was holding a sheathed sword. And it was stunning. Everything on the sword was exactly as it should have been. The carefully polished sheath, the authentic looking hilt, the intertwining materials on the handle. I drew in a breath.
The old man looked at my face, clearly enjoying my reaction and the opportunity to show a sword to another enthusiast.
"Watch this!" the old man said. He walked over to the sales counter, and picked up a piece of paper. He returned.
Then he unsheathed the sword.
The blade made a quiet whispering sound as it was drawn from the sheath. A chill ran down my spine as the sword was finally free of its confinement. He held the blade at arms length, and picked up the piece of paper. He slowly pulled the piece of paper over the swords upturned blade. The paper met no resistance at all as the blade effortlessly sliced it in half. The sliced strip of paper broke off and floated down to the floor.
"Wow." I managed.
He grinned back. "Hey... would you like to hold it?" He asked.
"Uh, me? Hold that sword?" I said. "Is that alright?" I gulped.
"Sure!" he said, offered me the handle.
I gently closed my hands around the handle, and the old man let go. I was holding the sword by myself. My head cocked in confusion. It was like the sword was weightless. I suddenly realised that sword was balanced so perfectly, it felt like I was holding nothing. I moved it around in the air very slowly and deliberately. I was very aware that if I tripped, or turned too quickly, I could slice through an arm, or kill myself without too much effort. I suddenly felt dizzy. A raw feeling of power coursed throughout my body, eminating from the sword. I could kill, maim or beat anyone the FUCK down. My heartrate increased and I began to sweat slightly.
I angled the sword directly upwards, and examined the blade from hilt to top. There was a black mark about 3 quarters up the blade.
I leaned in to examine the black mark. It was a smooth, very shallow indent, the size and shape of a small marble. Instinctively, my left hand detached from the handle and rose up. I put my finger into the indent.
The old man coughed nervously. I suddenly realised what I was doing, and hastily retrieved my digit.
My mind flashed back to Togara-sensei, my martial arts teacher. "Never, ever, ever touch the blade of a sword." His thundering voice reverberated in my head. "There are all sorts of shit and grease on a human hand, and it will cause damage to the blade - you have to re-oil the whole damn thing."
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry." I said apologetically to the old man.
"Ah never mind." He said kindly. "I was due to re-oil it anyway."
"It's an amazing sword though. It's a real shame that theres a black mark on it. What happened to it?" I asked.
"Well, this sword is 400 years old. It's been handed down generation to generation. This sword has been in a few wars." He said sagely.
"It's been in wars?!" I asked shocked. I felt a flush of privilege to have held a piece of history, then a wave of stupidity to have touched the blade.
"Yes. The black mark was where it was hit by a gun pellet." He enunciated.
"Holy shit, thats amazing. I guess it's not for sale, then," I asked, as if my meager 6,000 yen budget could hope to claim such a priceless artifact.
The old man smiled gently, his face creasing. "I'm afraid this one isn't for sale." He said. "Now if you'll excuse me." He returned the sword to it's place in the back room, and walked over to greet some new customers.
I purchased some wooden practice swords, and went back to find my friends.
-------
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I like to think I'm a pretty upstanding citizen for the most part. I do my part to contribute to society, and look out for my fellow man (be they Japanese or foreign). However if you live in Japan long enough, you're eventually going to run into the police. It's a fact of living here.
Put simply, I don't have the highest opinion of Japanese police. Almost every policeman I've ever met or seen is lazy, stupid, arrogant and high on power. The most useful function I've ever seen them serve is giving directions to Tokyo denizens who have momentarily lost their way. One of the worst functions I've seen them performing is harassing random people and cars, stopping them and demanding to see personal identification or prove their vehicle/bicycle is theirs.
Don't get me wrong. I'm from Australia, and I have a huge amount of respect for the men and women who put themselves in the line of fire to protect everyone else. Every experience I've had with Australian police has either been positive, or at the least, professional. Case in point, one of my best friends is a firefighter in Australia, and I have a huge amount of respect for him.
Compare this attitude to Japanese Police - they do as little as possible, are often overweight, harass people for stupid petty crimes or for no reason other than a brief power "high", and are useless in a real emergency. I have watched them stand by idly, unwilling to get involved in a serious conflict between aYakuza and a taxi driver. Many of my friends have been stopped and demanded to show their passport to prove they're not an illegal alien. I have watched them wait until a person has walked away from their parked before before running over and waving over a tow-truck to remove the car - which their unwitting owners can have returned to them at a costly fee.
They will even try to entrap you - a friend had told me about an incident where a sleek Skyline car pulled up next to her at the lights. She looked over, and made eye contact. The Skyline revved it's engines. This girl, being something of a crazy petrol head(rare for a Japanese..!) revved her engine back. They 'revved off', for about 30 seconds until the light turned green, and she slammed into first, spun the wheels, and took off. She hadn't gone 100 meters when the Skyline driver had pulled out a siren and a light, affixed it to the roof, and called out "PULL OVER NOW" on a loudspeaker. Bastards. Just, bastards.
For these reasons and many more, I try to avoid the police. Unfortunately, my strategy failed one fateful day two years ago.
I was driving my scooter, and my girlfriend was on the back. We were going through a Shoutengai, a crowded shopping street. I am a very safe driver, and I was concentrating on avoiding people. I made a right turn, and slowly accelerated with a controlled twist of my wrist. I was going very slowly, about 20 km an hour. I drove slowly past a "Koban", which is like a Japanese Police box. About 5 seconds later, I heard :
"OOOOIII TOMARINSASAIIII!" (Hey!! Stop!!)
I check my mirrors and see a fat Japanese Policeman chasing after me, folds of face fat rolling angrily as he awkwardly chases my slow scooter. I stop, and he quickly catches up. I turn, and look at him. He's winding up for some kind of statement, and then he sees my white face. He pauses, momentarily confused.
"Hello!" I say, brightly in English, capitalising on catching him off guard.
"STOPPU!" He says.
"I'm stopped already," I reply.
"Come off!" He says loudly.
"Come off?" I question innocently.
My mind flashes back to many of my friends and their experiences with Japanese cops and motorbikes. "NEVER SPEAK JAPANESE! It's a pain in the ass for them to fill out all the paperwork to book someone on an international license. Just be friendly, and happy, and likable, and act like you don't speak Japanese. If you make it hard for them, but look like you're trying to be co-operative, they'll let you go" They all told me.
"Come off!!!" He says, louder, pointing at the ground.
"Sure!" I say with a smile. My girlfriend hops off, and I dismount, and put the scooter on the stand.
"SHOW TO ME LICENSE." He says, loudly and gruffly.
"Sure, no problem!" I say with a big smile. I open the seat of my scooter, and start flipping through the documents. "Can I ask why I was stopped?" I said.
"LICENSE." Came the reply.
I frowned slightly, and continued fishing around. First I gave him my Australian license. He looks at it, and squints his eyes.
"Auusss..treea?" He awkwardly reads.
"Australia!" I say proudly.
He looks at me with disgust. "INTERNATIONAL LICENSE!" He says.
"Sure," I say jovially, as I turn back to find my international license. I look through all the documents, and it's not there. Odd. I keep looking. I check my pockets, the front storage area, between the pages of the magazines in the scooter seat. After 3 minutes of frantic fumbling, I suddenly realise I left it at home. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Um," I began.
His face scrunched into a ball, his beady eyes shrinking into his skull, as his frown protruded awkwardly from his face. Tough crowd, I thought.
"COME HERE." He waved me over to the koban. Dammit. I wheeled my scooter around, and walked alongside him.
"PARKING HERE." He gestured to the side of the koban. I obediently followed his command, and parked my scooter.
"COME IN. SIT." he pointed at an uncomfortable looking foldout chair.
I slowly sat, and my girlfriend sat down next to me.
"You. You're Japanese right?" The fat policeman addressed my girlfriend.
"I... um.... not.. speaking Japanese too good... born in America....!" my girlfriend replied in pidgin Japanese. Of course, she was a native Japanese speaker. Good girl.
The fat policeman scowled.
"I'm sorry," I say with a genial smile on my face. "I must have done something wrong. Can you show me what it is? I'm so sorry to cause you trouble," you stupid fat arrogantasshat , why don't you do something useful with your time, like stop crime, or give someone directions, you piece of shit, "I wouldn't want to cause you any more problems."
"YOU SPEAK JAPANESE?" He yelled.
"I.... doing... to study.. Japanese... very hard... now!" I responded with a broad grin and mock pride, in deliberately pidgin Japanese.
"Come here." He said in Japanese, and walked outside. I motioned for my girlfriend to stay seated.
"See this over here? This is a one way street. You turned into a one way street. See the sign there? Can you see it?" He punctuated his angry Japanese by pointing at a one-way sign obscured by a street lamp.
"Gomennasai, wakarimasen!" (I'm sorry, I don't understand).
He threw up his arms, and walked back to the Koban, expecting me to follow. I momentarily considered leaving my girlfriend and making a run for it, but I realised they could track me down using the scooter numberplate, and my girlfriends wrath would be worse than the police. Ireluctantly trudged back to the Koban.
By this time, word had gotten around that the fat policeman had "caught" a gaijin. 3 other policeman were mulling around, with bemused grins on their faces, engaging in pleasant chat. I automatically frowned in irritation, but quickly became aware of my facial expression, and banished any sign of a negative or unpleasant reaction from my face. I retook my seat.
"WE CAN NO SEE LICENSE." Specks of spittle showered out from his face as he awkwardly spoke English. "WE MUST SEE YOU BIKE LICENSE, OR WE NO LET YOU RIDE."
"Sure.... my license is at home. You can come with me." I offered, as friendly as I could.
"NO! YOU DO NOT HAVE BIKE LICENSE!" he shouted.
"Well, I do, but it's at home," I continued lamely.
"NO! I RIDE YOUR SCOOTER! You ride in patrol car."
"Hang on a second," I said, pushing my luck. "Can I see YOUR bike license?"
I battled to keep my grin away from my face as I saw that I caught him out.
"License? fuck." He said under his breath. He again scowled, and called out to the crowd of police. "Hey, who has a bike license?"
"I do," A random cop stepped forward.
"Come on then. Pile him into the police car." The fat policemen said to the other police.
I was promptly led outside, and seated in a policecar. It's a very weird feeling to sit in a police car. It was a busy street, and people were walking either side of the police car. They looked in, to see agaijin sitting on the backseat. I saw them shaking their heads in shock, and whispering to each other "I wonder what he did?". I turned red in embarrassment.
After a few moments, I noticed in my peripheral vision that a young boy had come up to the window, and was staring directly at me, with his mouth wide open. I gave him 5 seconds to go away, and when he didn't, I suddenly turned and "pounced" on him from the other side of the glass, with my arms up either side of my face making claws. He jumped in shock and ran away. I giggled to myself, and then stopped abruptly when a policeman opened the door and sat down. I gave them directions to my house, and we were off.
About 15 minutes later, we arrive at my house. A patrolcar in the neighborhood is BIG news, and all of the old women who lived around the area came out of their abodes in a desperate gambit for the next few days of gossip material. When they saw me sitting in the back, a familiar neighborhood face, they erupted in talk.
"Look! It's that gaijin!"
"I always knew he was trouble. He probably killed someone."
"No! Surely not. He said hello to me once."
"I never trusted him. Lucky for me."
Their mindless babble continued, as my frustration and embarrassment mounted. This is your fault you know, a voice in my head reasoned. Shut up, another voice reasoned back.
I was told to go and get my international license. Then, to my surprise, they asked if they could come with me.
"Can I say no?" I asked, guardedly.
"You don't have to say yes." They said.
"Alright, then, no." I replied.
They looked almost crestfallen, as if they were hoping for a chance to see an exotic gaijin habitat filled with trees, plants and rare animals.
They drove me back to the police station. My girlfriend was remarkably cool about the whole thing, whispering to me what was happening and giving me some clues and head-ups since I didn't understand all the complicated rapid-fire Japanese.
We finally arrive at the station, and I'm led deep into the bowels (and I mean BOWELS) of the police station. They make me wait for an hour. I do my absolute best to continue being jovial, fun and friendly with the surrounding officers.
Finally, they place a handwritten piece of paper in front of me.
"SIGN." They ordered.
I frowned at the paper in front of me. I recognised my name written down the bottom, with a line for my signature. The kanji was difficult and written in messy longhand. I didn't understand any of it.
"Um, can I have a moment to read it please?" I asked, warmly.
They grunted, and left me with my girlfriend.
"What does it say?" I asked her frantically.
She scanned the paper. "Hm... it just says 'I made a big, stupid mistake when I turned the wrong way. It was very stupid, I caused lots of problems for everyone, and I promise I will never, ever do this again. I have no excuse, I am embarrassed and feel very stupid." She translated for me.
I choked on a laugh. "Is it safe to sign? I'm not committing myself to jail?" I asked, earnestly.
"It's fine, you can sign." she said with confidence.
I signed the document, and I was released about 30 minutes later. They allowed me to ride my scooter home after the incident. The whole thing took about 6 hours from start to finish - a very shitty way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
I'll re-iterate - if you live in Japan, or if you visit Japan, do WHATEVER you can to avoid the police. Many of them will make your life difficult on purpose. In the best case scenario, they'll take a lot of your time, and really piss you off.
If you have the misfortune to be caught, be apologetic, friendly, and as stable and solid in your personality as possible. They smell weakness like a dog smells steak, and they will mericileslly attack you if they find you're a pushover.
In addition, apologising in Japan is a way to show that you're aware that you disturbed the 'social order', and you're simply regretful of the problems you caused everyone; it's not an admission of guilt like in America. It's best to apologise frequently, strongly, unabashedly and keep as friendly a demeanor as possible.
I hope you never end up at the mercy of one of these Japanese police officers, but if you do, follow these guidelines, and you should make it through. Best of luck, and leave some comments if you have had any experiences with the Japanese police.
One day I'm on a train, going to work. It's peak hour in Tokyo, and it's very busy. I was lucky and managed to get a seat. I have a book in front of me that I'm reading, but it's hard to concentrate since people are continuously shifting around me. The doors on the train close, and people stop moving. The announcer makes an nasally announcement, the train jerks, and we're underway. I look up, and set an unfortunate series of events in motion.
A Japanese salaryman in his late twenties is standing directly in front of my seat. He is wearing a boring, grey suit, the same colour as everyone else on the train. He stares off into space, his lazy, drooping eyes expressionless and still. All in all, a very normal guy. However, something catches my eye. I look down to his midsection, and his fly is open. Actually, to merely say 'his fly was open', would be doing this man's fly a disservice. His pants were gaping open, fully exposing his checkered boxers, and the lower tail of his shirt. His pants were open to the world, a violent explosion of checkered boxes right in my face.
I looked away, and considered my options. Should I tell him? Maybe he'd be angry and embarrassed. It's generally a bad idea to make someone lose face, especially in Japan. It can have unpredictable results. Hmm. If my fly was open, would he tell me? I thought back to the couple of times where I had walked around for half a day "open for business", and no-one cared to save me some embarrassment. I looked left and right to my fellow commuters. Their faces were inscrutable - it was impossible to tell if they noticed. Even if they did notice, I doubted they would say anything. I considered my own culture. If this was in Australia, I think someone would tap me on the shoulder, and whisper a quick "Oi, you're at half mast, mate". I decided to be true to my Australianess, and tell him.
Now, how should I breach the subject? If I loudly say "YOUR PANTS ARE OPEN", he would undoubtedly be embarrassed and/or upset. I decided on a more subtle approach. I would try to get his attention, and gesture with my eyes towards his groin. This would make the most sense, and allow him to quickly correct his 'issue', with minimal embarrassment.
I open my eyes wide, and swing my head back and forth to try to catch his eye. His empty expression remains unchanged. I frown. I open my eyes wider still, and look him directly in the eye. His face remains expressionless... except I think I just saw a brief wave of irritation pass over his features. Undeterred, I stare him right in the eyes, and shake my head left to right, like a cobra with developmental problems.
He stares straight ahead.
I pause. This isn't working - I need a new strategy. I cough, and raise my eyebrows simultaneously. Nothing. I cough, stare at him, raise my eyebrows, and move my head left and right.
His eyebrows furrow in frustration. He turns and looks around. I suddenly realise he is looking for a new place to stand. He's trying to escape from the crazy coughing gyrating gaijin who is trying to catch his eye. Ungrateful bastard, I thought indignantly. The train was packed, there was no other place for him to stand. Ha.
He turns his head, doing his best to avoid my stare. I consider giving up, but then I imagine him walking into a crowded meeting with his boss and all of his colleagues. I imagine them all laughing at him, and attaching a terrible nickname to him that will last the rest of his lifetime employment. I must get his attention.
My previous efforts failed. It's time to step up to the next level. I unhook my hand from my side, and slowly move it to the direction he is looking in. As discreetly as possible, I slowly wave my hand. His face tinges red, and an expression akin to that of a trapped man washes over his face. I continue waving. Finally, he turns to me.
"What the hell is it?" He snarls. His shirt protrudes an inch further from his fly as he rotates to face me. He looks at me like I just slapped him across the face.
People within earshot on the train look at me. They look at him, and immediately notice his fly. They look back at me. A moment of silence. What will I do?
I open my mouth, and say....... "Oh, nothing," with a friendly smile.
"Idiot gaijin." He growls under his breath. I continue smiling.
The train pulls into the next station, and the doors open. He pushes his way off the train, and heads off to work. Perhaps to a client meeting, or an internal conference.
I take a small guilty pleasure in the probable embarrassment he is about to endure. I wonder if later on, when he flushes red and spins 180 degrees, and yanks up his fly, in front of a full conference room, will he will remember my efforts to get his attention on the train? And it was all because he didn't offer the most basic of courtesies to a gaijin on the train.
One day, to indulge my interest in performance cars I was doing a Google search on Tokyo and Skylines and I stumbled onto a site. This site was run by a guy living outside of Tokyo with a Nissan Skyline, and he was talking about this place called “Daikoku Futou”. Apparently it was a highway rest stop mainly designed for trucks until a couple of years ago, when suddenly it became the “underground” place to show off your performance car, and get together with your petrol-headed friends. This guy was writing about some crazy experiences he had there, and about all the amazing cars on display. I quickly made up my mind to see this place for myself. Unfortunately, Daikoku Futou apparently only got crowded quite late at night, around 12 or 1. The schedule wasn’t fixed either – it happened sometimes Friday, sometimes Saturday, but sometimes no-one even showed up. Apparently, the police often showed up as well and shooed everyone away. Sounds a bit risky, but oh well, I thought, I’ll just go and try my luck.
Back then, my girlfriend had a very nice BMW. I called her up, and told her about Daikoku Futou and the site I had found. She excitedly agreed to come with me, which was good since you can’t really walk onto a Highway rest stop. She is a petrol head too, and drives a manual car better than any woman I’ve ever seen.
Friday came quickly, and she came over to pick me up in her car. I took the wheel as normal, and we were quickly underway. Her beemer was a very expensive car, but frankly it’s a pretty flat experience to drive it. The car itself is very smooth, and comfortable, and it has safety features up the exhaust pipe, and that’s exactly why it’s boring to drive. Those German engineers saw me coming from a mile away - every time I tried to do something vaguely fun in the car, it stopped me. For instance, once I was turning a corner at a good speed, and I thought it would be fun to do a handbrake slide. With a gleam in my eye, I casually reached over and gently pulled the handbrake on. I grinned in anticipation of the familiar tire screech and sideways motion. *DING*, the car chimed. Nothing. Frustrated, I applied more pressure to the handbrake. *DING* the car responded flatly. Nothing happened. An image popped into my mind : a nerdy German BMW engineer wearing glasses and a white professor coat. He was rubbing his hands together and giggling at me. Annoying.
After a few mistakes and getting off at the wrong exit, we finally arrived to Daikoku Futou. The circular road curled around us, as we spiraled down and down into the car park. We heard Daikoku Futou before we saw it: a dull sound of rhythmic beating bass and muffled music. Finally, we turned the last corner. A car park full of people and incredible cars, and people milling around everywhere sprawled out before us. Eyes wide, we found an empty space, parked, and got out of the car. It was almost like a club – a few people with vans outfitted with huge speakers were playing music loudly. You could select the kind of music you enjoy, and hang out near the van playing your genre. A few people were dancing on the road near the cars. The underground vibe permeated the whole parking lot. People walked around talking about their cars, or other peoples cars, or cars they were going to buy. As a foreigner, I somehow blended into the throng of people, and no-one seemed to really notice me.
The whole place seemed to run on a value based system – who was the hottest car? Who spent the most money? Who has the most LCD screens installed in completely useless places? One guy was showing his car to someone. It was a regular sedan, but had 9 LCD screens. Two mounted on the inside of the front windscreen, one in the middle of the dashboard, two mounted in the headrests of the front seats, two mounted in the headrests of the BACK seats (to allow the car behind them to enjoy the movie they watching?), and as he eagerly displayed as he opened the boot, two mounted under his boot. Surrounding people nodded and looked on, as they wished they had more LCD screens in their own cars.
Suddenly one guy drove into the car park, with a completely normal, boring Nissan sedan. It was a dull green colour, and a completely uninspiring car. He drove it into the middle of a very large crowd and started revving the engine. People looked at the car in disgust. Someone started booing. He kept revving for a while longer until he had a sizable audience. Then, he pressed a button on the inside of the door, and the door opened – straight up, like a Lamborghini. He got out of the car with a big goofy smile on his face, and was greeted by cheers and clapping as the crowd realised he was one of them.
Impressed, I walked around, taking everything in. I stumbled across a set of three identical silver Skylines sat together, parked in perfect parallel. They were spotless, extremely well looked after, and breathtaking. I walked over with my jaw on the ground, as I examined the cars and peered into the side windows. A Japanese guy walked over, a bit nervous that someone else was standing around his car.
“Hello, how are you?” I greeted him warmly in Japanese.
He peered at me suspiciously.
“Um.. I think you have a really nice car. I love Skylines.” I said.
They seemed to be the magic words, as suddenly a grin spread across his face and he walked over and shook my hand.
“Thanks! I’m Jiro. Nice to meet you! Do you have a car?” he asked.
“Not really. I’ve always wanted a Skyline, but I don’t have one. We came in my girlfriends car though,” I said pointing out the BMW.
Jiro looked at the BMW, completely uninterested. The conversation quickly returned to Skylines. After a few minutes of chatting, I asked him a question.
“I hope you don’t think this is a rude question, since we just met and everything, but if you have time, would it be alright to take me for a little ride? Would that be ok?” I asked hesitantly.
He almost fell over. “Of course it’s ok! Absolutely…. sure!! Hop right in.” Jiro opened the door and gestured.
“Wow, thanks very much. Can my girlfriend come as well?” I asked.
“No problem. Lets go!” Jiro said excitedly.
We all sat down in the Skyline. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life. A smile played across his face as he reversed the car. In his excitement, he stalled it.
“SHIT.” Jiro cursed as he forced the engine to life again. He peered around at his friends outside, hoping they hadn’t seen his mistake. Of course they had, and were laughing at him. Jiro frowned, but quickly brightened up as the engine started getting louder. We ascended up the circular ramp.
“The engine can get a bit loud. When it’s going full-pelt, you can’t even hear people shouting in the car. It’s good for my girlfriend, when she starts talking. I just rev the engine. Haha!” Jiro said. I could imagine my girlfriend frowning in the back seat.
We continued up the ramp. I checked the speedo. 30km an hour.
“Watch this,” Jiro said, as he increased speed to 65km an hour. The engine was strangely loud for 65km an hour. I looked at him questioningly. He grinned at me, and pointed to the gear stick. My eyes opened in shock as I saw we were in first gear. He changed to 2nd, and the car became quiet. We got onto the highway, and drove. The car felt smooth and table. The speed limit on Japanese highways is 80km an hour (I know. It’s stupid). We quickly accelerated to 110km an hour. He kept accelerating. Suddenly, we were going at 160km an hour. I was shocked at how smooth and stable the car felt. I mentioned this to Jiro.
“Right. Skylines are built for speed. That’s why I love them. Actually… why don’t I show you a bit of speed now? Is that ok?” Jiro asked with a devilish grin.
I looked at the speedo wavering around 160km an hour – already twice the speed limit. A bit of speed? What the hell does that mean? I wondered.
“Uh, ok, sure. I guess.” I gave my reserved consent.
Jiro floored the pedal. I was pasted back into my seat. Jiro started laughing, a deep, terrifying belly laugh. I was shocked we could accelerate so fast from 160km an hour. We quickly reached 200km. The engine was getting loud. Really loud. A car was in our lane. Jiro flashed his lights at the car, which quickly moved out of the way. We sped past them like they were standing still. 220km. 230km. 240km. The highway was flashing past at ridiculous speeds. Jiro’s previous laughter had turned into grim determination and intense concentration. One mistake at these speeds…..
I shook away those thoughts. 250km an hour. The speedo was working hard for its gains now. The engine was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. The thin, two laned highway suspended above the streets of Tokyo seemed narrower than ever. I shouted loudly, just to see if I could hear myself. I couldn’t. I wondered how my girlfriend was going in the back. Although, at 250km an hour, if we had any kind of accident it wouldn’t matter where in the car you were sitting. The engine was deafeningly loud. 255km an hour.
As the speedometer neared 260km an hour, I realized this is one of the dumber things I’d done in my life. Oh well, you only live once, I reasoned. Yes, and I might not be living for as long as planned, depending on the outcome of this car ride. I had a sudden impulse to tap Jiro on the shoulder, to make him slow down. Actually, I thought, that would be suicide. If Jiro was distracted for the briefest of seconds, we’d end up as organic highway paste. I gulped, turned pale, and redundantly checked my seatbelt again.
We hit 260km an hour. This seemed to satisfy Jiro. We started slowing down. I noticed I had been holding my breath, and with a gasp, I started breathing again. We were quickly back at 150km an hour. My heart was beating fast, and I was squirming as adrenaline shot through my body.
“Lets stop and get a drink.” Jiro suggested.
I nodded numbly.
We got on the next offramp, which was very long. All of a sudden, we heard police sirens. A wet thump sounded throughout the car, as all of our hearts simultaneously jumped into our throats. Jiro started sweating. We looked over, and saw a police patrol car on a regular road. Exiting the offramp would take us directly to the police car.
“Fuck,” Jiro said. His breathing sped up, and he grit his teeth. About 50 meters down from us, a overhead bridge extended over the road. Jiro pulled into the emergency lane and we sat in the middle of the overhead bridge. He switched off the car, and the lights. We sat as quietly as possible. Only the sound of our fast raspy breathing broke the uneasy silence. We waited for the inevitable police officer, police siren, police bike, police cruiser. I wondered what happened to foreigners in Japanese jail. I gulped hard. We waited for 10 minutes, but it felt like a month. Finally, Jiro gingerly started the car, and we moved off slowly. We exited the offramp, and pulled into a convenience store. Jiro turned off the car. I opened the door and almost fell out. My whole body was shaking, my throat was dry, and my head felt dizzy.
I went into the convenience shop, and bought a coke. It took me a minute to pull the change out of my pocket with my quivering fingers. When I finally managed to get the lid off, it was the best tasting and most refreshing drink I’ve ever had in my entire life.
I stumbled back to the car, and sat down with my girlfriend. We looked at each other, and wondered together how close we just came to death and imprisonment. A heavy silence hung between us, one of many silences we shared that day. After a few minutes of starting at each other, I cracked a smile, and snorted a laugh. She broke too, and started laughing. We shared a feeling of shock, relief, adrenaline, excitement. We laughed together, and felt alive.
I got onto the train, and saw an empty seat. But lots of people were standing near and around the seat, and it was a crowded train. My first odd thought was :
If you're new to YourJapan, please take the time to check out some of the fantastic blogs and stories from other contributors.
I highly recommend Pachipro's series on his first experiences in Japan. They provide a pretty much full overview of Japanese culture and the kinds of things you can expect in Japan, and they happen to be extremely well written and an enjoyable read to boot. Here they are :
Also, YourJapan is a site is designed for people with stories to tell about Japan. If you have a story to tell, please build our community by signing up and share it with everyone.
Roadrage is an almost non-existent phenomenon in Japan. Japanese drivers draw upon un-natural reserves of patience as they inch through traffic jams kilometers long. I am unable to do this - I'm either zooming down the middle on my scooter, or banging my head on the steering wheel in frustration. I very rarely see any kind of anger on the roads at all. Actually, I have a memory of accidentally cutting someone off on the road. I looked into therear view mirror expectantly, hoping for some signs of anger or frustration. He looked at me through the mirror indirectly with a look of surprise, and then it seemed he recognised me as a foreigner. He then broke out into a smile, pointed to my car and presumably informed the other people in the car that the car ahead has a "Gaijin on board". I shook my head and drove off. This article however, is about another breed of driver.
One of the very few people that seem to do exactly what they feel like without concern for Japanese social obligation, are the Yakuza. If you put more than one Japanese in a room, it seems to create a social expectancy - each Japanese watches the other Japanese, to make sure that they don't accidentally do something considered unbecoming for a Japanese. This effect seems to multiply the more people are around. There are only a few people who don't give a shit about this omnipotent social pressure - crazy people, foreigners, andYakuza.
I've had some minor encounters with the Yakuza during the time I've been here. Once, I sat across one on a train. This guy was huge, easily twice my size - the kind of guy you normally only see in exaggerated Japanese fight comics. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that must have been tailor made, and he had scars on his face. He seemed as interested in me, as I was in him. We were happened to be on an express train that went for long periods of time with no stops. Both of us from a sense ofcuriousity caught each others eye. For a period of about 8 minutes, we were locked in eye contact. We coolly stared each other down. As I peered into his eyes, I tried to imagine his world. Was he a bodyguard? Some kind of fighter? Was his loyalty with one of the famousYakuza groups? Some kind of freelancer? I can only imagine he was looking at me, trying to likewise get a glimpse into my world. After some time, he broke eye contact, and got off at the next stop with a grace that defied his large frame. However the sense of accomplishment I got from winning thestaredown was defused by the realisation that he could twist my head off using his forefinger and thumb.
Most Yakuza seem to be regarded in a way akin to dangerous animals. Just stay out of their way, don't mess with them, avoid provoking them, and you will be able to co-exist without too many issues. TheYakuza seem to support some sections of Japanese society, and add their own value (and probably dallops of blackmail) which allows them to function without a huge amount of external problems from the police. There seem to be lines drawn in the sand however that both sides respect, and as long as neither side crosses the line,Yakuza and the other side of society functions in an uneasy symbiosis. Every now and again, these lines are blurred, and I was lucky enough to witness such an event.
Myself and some co-workers were sitting at an outside table at a Tullies in a downtown Kamiyacho. We were enjoying the summer heat (read : we were drenched in sweat and wishing we were anywhere else), and having a relaxed conversation. All of a sudden, we heard some brakes screeching. I looked up, and saw that a black Mercedes (a classicYakuza car) was stopped by a truck, which had slammed on its brakes. The truck was reacting to something unexpected on the road, and did an emergency stop. The black Mercedes followed suit. A taxi following behind the black Mercedes wasn't paying quite as much attention to the road as the truck and the Mercedes. The Taxi slammed on it's brakes, narrowly avoiding the black Mercedes. There was a moment of stunned silence from everyone, which was broken by the loud horn of the taxi.
The Taxi driver held the horn down in a frustrated response to the unexpected stop. Silence fell once more.
*WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*
The Mercedes door flew open. A fat, extremely well dressed man kicked his way out of the car, fumbling furiously with his seat beat. He turned and slammed the door behind him and began storming towards the taxi. The taxi driver immediately shit himself, locked his doors, and wound up his window.
"WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT. YOU THINK YOU'RE TOUGH WITH YOUR HORN? YEAH? YOU THINK YOU'RE HARD? COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN. DONT YOU FUCKING PUT YOUR WINDOW UP," His words rumbled and screamed at the same time as he began hitting the glass with his fist.
The taxi driver put the car into reverse, before realising there was about half a meter of space from the car behind him, and a few inches from the car in front of him. He had no escape. He turned white as he double checked the locks on the door, and began scrambling for a phone to call the police.
"COME ON YOU BIG TOUGH MAN, GET OUT OF YOUR CAR AND FACE ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT." He roared.
Meanwhile, all four of us were sitting about 5 meters away watching the entire scene unfold. It was thoroughly fascinating.
Now, as luck would have it, there was a police station on the other side of the road. Two policemen approached the scene much like the bomb squad approaches a live explosive. The taxi driver looked visibly relieved.
"Uh, *ahem*, excuse me, sir?" The older policemen weakly offered.
"THANK GOD YOU'RE HERE. This human TURD started honking at me, and now he won't come out and face me like a FUCKING MAN. Can you please arrest this asshole immediately." The fat man exclaimed to the policemen. The policemen gulped and looked at each other. The taxi driver began turning white again, realising the police were of no help at all.
"Well... I'm sure you've been greatly troubled by this incident, sir," one policeman said, "but I don't think he's actually... um... comm... committed...uhh" he began stammering.
"OH FUCK OFF, I've had enough of this shit. I've got places to go. Just give him some fucking fine or something." The fat man shouted, and turned back to his car. He stormed back to his car.
It was at this point, the taxi driver attempted to recover some of his lost man-hood. The taxi driver wound down his window, and extended his arm. I could imagine what was about to unfold. "Nooo... NOOO" I begged him mentally. The taxi driver waited intently, until the fat man was stepping into his car, and was unable to see him. Then, in an oddly western gesture, he extended his middle finger. Almost as though SENSING this, the fat man froze, and snapped his head back to the taxi driver. I could almost see the fire ignite in the fat man's eyes. The taxi driver's jaw dropped as he realised he was being watched, and quickly retracted his finger and arm. The fat man went into meltdown.
He got out of the car again, and slammed the door twice as hard. He then ran over and began pounding on the glass, screaming and yelling insults at the taxi driver. The policemen stood by impotently, unwilling to interfere. After a little while of performing his tantrum, he kicked the taxi solidly above the tire, drew back his fist again and looked at the taxi driver. The taxi driver was busy attempting to suck his head back into his neck. The fat mans face twisted into a scowl, and he seemed satisfied with his handiwork. He walked back to his car, fanged a short burnout and took off. The taxi driver shot a look of disgust at the police, and drove off, making the first turn he could. The police shrugged, and returned to their box. We 4 coffee shop Yakuza spectators exchanged silent wide eyed glances.
It was a very interesting glimpse into the world of the Yakuza. The Yakuza have deep roots in Japanese culture, centuries of intensely Japanese tradition. Yet they exhibit many non-Japanese characteristics : walking apart from the crowd - Japanese feel most comfortable being part of a crowd. Not taking any shit from anyone (including angry car horns) - Japanese patience and tolerance is almost supernatural. Never feeling the need to impose any limit on his anger and distaste for other people - Japanese are extremely sensitive to those around them, and do their best to keep the harmony with people around them.
A final word of advice - treat a Yakuza like a highly venemous snake. Somehow mesmorising to watch, yet you wouldn't want to have one within 10 meters of you.
This is from Japanese MTV, it has English subtitles, and it's hilarious. I really love stuff like this where I can share it with my Japanese and Foreign friends, and they can both get a kick out of it.
The same friend who uses Partial Compliance to get out of doing something he doesn't want to do, also has compiled a small list of Gaijin Superpowers. I have made my own additions to this list, I'll publish them soon.
Azrael created the original idea through his awesome article on the Gaijin Smash, Gaijin Opticblast, and Gaijin Perimeter.
Here is the Gaijin Power of Partial Compliance, and it's backing theory.
If you're in Japan, you're probably already breaking some kind of rule or social custom. Right now. No matter what you're doing, or how. Most people go crazy before they come to Japan, and in the first few weeks of being here trying to work out the "culturally acceptable" way to act, but it's an uphill battle - since as you further integrate into Japanese culture, you get yourself into all sorts of new situations which have new customs, regulations and rules.
You could make an attempt to learn all of these, but it's highly recommended to just be as nice as possible to everyone, and try to enjoy the Japanese experience as much as possible.
Now, occasionally you will be placed in a situation with a regulation that just doesn't make a lot of sense. To give you a recent real life example, I was in the gym with the PC guy (Partial Compliance theorist), and this big guy walks past with a tattoo.
To give some background, Tattoos are banned from almost all public washrooms, sentos and onsens. The main reason (as I understand it), is that many Yakuza have huge full body tattoos that intimidate and scare other people. So, a good blanket way to keep out the undesirables, is to implement a blanket rule saying "no people with tattoos may partake in our establishment". Which is really kind of silly for some foreigner with a small tatoo on his bicep - it just shouldn't really apply to him.
Now, I can imagine the conversation between the tattoo guy, and the gym staff.
Gym Staff : Oh... I am very, very sorry, but unfortunately, you cannot use this gym. I am very sorry. Please accept my apologies, I have no excuse for my actions. (Japanese Humble attack -35 damage)
Tattoo Guy : Nah, it's alright. It's just a small tat. Don't worry about it. (Attempted Gaijin Smash)
Gym Staff : Um.... I am very sorry, but it is in the rules. (Nullified Gaijin Smash with Bureaucracy - 10 damage)
Tatoo Guy (realised Gaijin Smash did not work, attempting different manoeuvre) : So, people get upset if they see a tattoo? (Gaijin Power Partial Compliance Layup)
Gym Staff (missing the Layup) : Yes, exactly. I am terribly, terribly sorry.
Tattoo Guy : Ok. I understand.
Gym Staff (VICTORY!!!) : Thank you for your understanding. I'm so sorry.
This is where the Gaijin Power of Partial Compliance comes into force. 3 minutes later :
Tattoo Guy walks out of the locker room with a small piece of tape covering about 40% of his tattoo.
Gym Staff (Oh, shit) : Um, excuse me sir?
Tattoo Guy : Look buddy, I know you're doing your job, I understand. Here, look, I covered my Tattoo. Pretty cool huh? (Combo Gaijin Smash and Partial Compliance -240 damage)
Now, the irony here is that the tape covering the tattoo draws more attention to the tatoo. However, since the Gym Staff saw that Tatoo Guy made a solid effort to try to do something to comply with the regulation, it becomes much, much more difficult for Gym Staff to win. Most people simple give up here, as Gym Staff most likely did.
There is the theory and practice behind the Gaijin Power Partial Compliance - I hope you enjoyed that.
Living in Japan can be rewarding and frustrating. There a lot more rules and customs that must be followed, and naturally people can become confused or unsure as to the best way to proceed.
There are two solutions to this situation. The first is the Japanese way - keeping the wa (harmony), asking people around you, being extremely polite and careful. This sometimes works.
The second (and I would say, more popular) method is the "gaijin smash". The "gaijin smash" has been in existence since Perry decided that Japan would be best off opening its doors and begining trade. There was initial resistance by Japan, which then prompted the first known incidence in Japanese history of the gaijin smash. It is a term created by Azareal, who has now found a home at www.gaijinsmash.net. You can find the original gaijin smash article here.
Its basically where you impose your outlandish foreign will onto a person or group of people to achieve your desired outcome. You basically give a Japanese person the choice between extreme pressure and a possibly angry foreigner (for a Japanese person raised on avoiding conflicts, never a good thing), or the easy choice of simply giving the foreigner what they want. If applied correctly, you'll almost always get what you want, often bending or breaking the rules (which in defense of foreigners, are mostly nonsensical).
I don't advocate the Gaijin Smash for anything but the most dire of emergencies or the most ridiculous of rules/regulations, since it does cause a good amount of anguish and frustration for the receiving Japanese. Having said that, it is extremely effective and worth having in your back pocket.
Although it's not something I'm particularly proud of, I am very good at this. When I really require something, few gaijin can match the power of my smash. I have an American friend whos special power lies in partial compliance, which is also a deadly weapon against inefficiency and unnecessary rules and regulations. More on partial compliance next time.
Tokyo is a pretty magical place. Nowhere else in the world can match it for it's size, events, bustle and blade runner aura. I love all of these things about Tokyo.
I love the fact that there is a shop in Akihabara specialising ONLY in selling English games, magazines and paraphernalia.
I love being within 30 minutes of a fully featured themepark with 2 rollercoasters.
I love hopping on my scooter and exploring the strange and often overlooked jungle of backstreets and eccentric shops.
I love being within a 5 minute scooter ride of every class of food imaginable, and plenty of high quality, low price healthy Japanese food.
I love going out with friends and having unlimited choice as to where to go, and what to do.
There are a lot of things to like about this city. But at the end of the day, it's still a city. A sprawling, grey metropolis. Millions of people packed into a small city, rushing about their Tokyo lives. It's enough to fascinate you if you've been here for a few days, and enough to drive you stir-crazy after a few years.
It's also hard not to be affected by the pressure of Japan. All Japanese people have a set of expectations and guidelines imposed onto them by all other Japanese in the vicinity. As a foreigner, we're generally not expected to conform to these guidelines. However after years continuously living here, it's hard not to conform on some level. Conforming to Japanese social regulations is uncomfortable at best. More on this in another post.
Whenever I start to really feel boxed in, I look up my calendar. I almost always find that my trip back to Australia has surreptitiously passed the 1 year mark. This time, I have been in Japan for 14 straight months. I need a break. I need to go to a beach, drive a car, visit a small town, sit outside next to a beach on a sunny day drinking a cappuccino and eating bacon and eggs.
Soon, I will return home. Once I have recharged my batteries and have enough English conversation with friends and family to last another 12 months, I hop on a plane and begin the process all over again.
Interesting enough, I now get homesick wherever I go. When I'm in Tokyo, I feel homesick for all the pleasures and comforts of home. When I'm home, I miss good sushi, excellent service, amazing efficiency, the unique and powerful Japanese ability to persevere and sort things out. Hopefully one day I'll be equally comfortable in either location.
Right now, I am sitting in a Starbucks in Roppongi, the same building as the now imploded(?) LiveDoor. There was recently a big scandal as the likable and affectionately named Horiemon was found to have manipulated stock and performed some rather underhanded things in order to make some cash.
This is not the point of my blog post, however. Right now, there is a young Japanese lady sitting to my right. She is drinking a Starbucks coffee, and writing something in her diary, which is covered in stickers and purikura (google it!). She just did something mindlessly that just reminded me of the cultural gap between Japan and other countries.
She stood up, leaving her purse/bag/private belongings on the table. She stepped away from her seat, and went on a walk, presumably to the toilet. She took her time, and returned after about 7 or 8 minutes. The possibility that me, a dodgy looking gaijin (in a suit, however) would take her stuff, and calmly walk off, never seemed to enter her head. Despite the fact that everyone around me would be too polite to stop me from stealing this lady's belongings, and it would be even easier than taking candy from a baby (since a baby holds on, right? er, not that I know), she was not even slightly concerned about losing her stuff.
This is a theme I see repeated all over the place. I remember one particularly memorable occasion, when another lady with a very nice shiny NEW red porsche stopped outside a convenience store on a street behind a main road. This was not a terribly busy street, but still many people were walking along it. Now - I guess in order to save a bit of time, this lady left the engine running, and got out of the car, and went into the shop. I could have very easily opened the car down, sat down and smoothly driven off with my brand new red shiny porsche. However after lurking for about 10 seconds in the shadows, I decided against it and kept walking. Still, the implications here blew me away.
Recently at the office, a delivery person arrived to find that no-one was around. This person then left an expensive piece of intricate equipment sitting outside the front door. This piece of equipment happened to cost $2,500, and was a brand new model. When someone came back to find this device, they were shocked, and put the piece of equipment inside immediately. This was pretty incredible, and an extension of these examples. I couldn't help but muse that if this happened in America, the equipment would already have been found, opened, re-packaged and sold before anyone even got back.
Such a fascinating country full of all sorts of paradoxes and contradictions, but thats why I love it. Many people express surprise and shock at the many 'different' parts of Japanese culture, and sometimes even implore Japanese to change - however a clever person mentioned to me once that if Japan changed to the way some Westerners perceived as ideal, we would no longer find it fascinating and enjoyable.
