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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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.
This is a story relayed to me by a friend in Tokyo. To set the scene, he is a British guy. He's pretty tall, shaved head. Tough guy looks. He wears a leather jacket reguarly, and he looks like a hardass. But he's also a pretty sensitive guy who looks out for his friends, and is a generally well-intentioned and nice person. This combination is a recipe for disaster in Japan.
He was riding the Yamanote line one day. The Yamanote line is a huge train line that goes in a big loop all around Tokyo. It gets very crowded in the morning, and as such it's prime hunting grounds for the most despised of all commuters - the chikan.
The chikan is a dirty, disgusting creature that is able to prey on women due to a hole in Japanese culture. These filthy creatures get close to a woman on a train, and basically fondle them.
I've spoken to girls who have been victims of these attacks. At first, they think "gee, it's crowded this morning. That guy is getting pretty close". Next, they get 'brushed' with a stray hand or arm. Since the train is often too crowded to move, they don't think too much of this. Then all of a sudden, the Chikan goes for the grope. They dive in with a hand and go for as much as they can. Right here, in a Western country, the female 'victim' would perform a spinning back kick to the perps head and drop him like a bag of potatoes. Then have him arrested for bruising her foot. Then have the police beat him. Unfortunately in Japan, there is a very strong concept of WA - harmony. And it means keeping the peace no matter what happens. So these girls stay there, silently screaming, trying to get out of the way, while the perverted piece of shit goes to town.
*cough*. I feel better now I've gotten that out of my system. Many people I know have fallen victim to these leeches on society. It makes me furious that their upbringing of these girls forces them to keep silent and say nothing, giving the Chikan free license to continue his dirty fetish.
Now, back to my friend's story - he was sitting down on theYamanote, waiting patiently for his stop. He happens to looks up, and he sees a Japanese salaryman standing next to 2 school girls. Normal enough. However his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he glances down, and he notices this particular salaryman is using his briefcase as a shield, behind which he is vigorously relieving himself, not one step away from these girls.
He looks around frantically. Surely someone else has seen this, surely someone will step up and give this man an angry lecture about spanking in public in breathing distance of schoolgirls.
The train is silent.
Except of course, for the animated conversation of the 2 schoolgirls, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking behind the suspicious salaryman's briefcase. "It's down to me!" He realises. Time to step up and protect the innocence of these 2 schoolgirls. I will protect them, where their Japanese brethren have let them down.
He jumps to his feet and storms over, shielding his eyes from the disgusting waist level display.
"HEY!" He calls out angrily, walking towards the salaryman.
The salaryman jumps, re-"sheaths", and conveniently slides out of the train just before the doors close, making a clean escape.
The schoolgirls look at this tall, bald English guy, who just stormed over, screaming. Their faces are frozen into looks of horror, as they wait to see what this unstable gaijin will do next.
The British guy remembers he doesn't speak Japanese, but nevertheless, he has to explain the situation. One quick look at these girls confirms that they're scared shitless.
An ill-conceived idea pops into his head. He points at the door, through which the Japanese Salaryman had just left. The schoolgirls eyes follow his finger, their faces still frozen. He then moves his hand down to his waist level, and performs an exaggeration of the wrist motion of the Japanese salaryman.
The Japanese school girls stand there, shocked. He performs the gestures again. They become visibly uncomfortable. The rest of the train carriage looks on.
Deflated, he realises this is not working at all. He racks his brain for the Japanese words he knows. Masochistically, his brain gives him the word for dick - "Chin chin".
His face lights up. Armed with this word, I can communicate exactly what happened!, he thinks. The school girls are beginning to edge away. He panics, he is losing his last chance to redeem himself and not look like a depraved pervert weirdo. So he gestures wildly to get their attention, once again gestures at the door, then does the hand motion, then points at the door and says "CHIN CHIN!! SALARYMAN!! CHIN CHIN!!".
Predictably at this point, the girls scream and run away. "Chikan!!" They yell from a safe distance. Suddenly every eye on the entire train is on him. He stands there mortified. He was only trying to help. An elderly Japanese man comes up and snarls something at him. He can only make out the word "chikan". The Japanese grabs his arm. He shuffles free. The train stops, and the door opens. He can feel the tide turning strongly against him, and he decides to jump off at this stop. The man stands at the edge of the train door, and points an accusatory finger directly at the British man. "CHIKAN!!" He screams. People turn and look.
The British man runs up the stairs, exits the ticket gates quickly, and makes his daring escape. If he had bothered to stick around and explain the situation, he would almost certainly have been placed into police custody, and he would have been stamped with the Japanese constitution smashing idea of 'guilty until proven innocent'.
Just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished. Be careful out there.
For some extra reading - a fantastic reverse view into the Chikan phenomena is available here. A very interesting insight into a drunken Americans battle with the Japanese law is here.
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.
So heres what happened. A really good friend of mine came to Tokyo. It can be easy to go a bit stircrazy in Tokyo without being able to speak English and being able to see your friends, so those of us in Tokyo LOVE IT when friends come to visit us. Anyway, we were excitedly planning out our week.
"Hm, I suppose I should take you somewhere that has something to do with culture." I mused.
My friend sipped a beer, and looked at me.
"I know, I'll take you to Kyoto! It's the cultural centre of Japan, and it's a beautiful place. You'll love it." I said. I made a phone call, booked our bullet train tickets, and booked a hotel in Kyoto.
A few days later we arrived and unpacked. We left our belongings in the hotel, and went out to explore Kyoto. We had a blast going to the different temples, taking in the culture, and waving to all the school kids, who seemed to think we were foreign celebrities.
We woke up early the next day. "What should we do today," I wondered out loud. Then I realised that Japan's second biggest city, Osaka, is a short train ride away. "I'm gunna take you to Osaka!" I told my friend, and we were underway.
Osaka city is pretty big. It's a huge metropolis actually, and we became lost almost immediately. This was not a major problem, because we didn't have any fixed destination, so we wandered around. After a while, we came across a really interesting looking shopping centre with a massive ferris wheel sticking out the top. We walked in to check it out. After looking about the shopping centre, I looked over my friends shoulder, and suddenly froze.
I've seen that guy somewhere before. Surely thats not possible, I've only ever been to Osaka once before. I don't know anyone here. But somehow I know that guys face. I was racking my brain trying to figure it out. All of a sudden, things almost audibly clicked into place. That guy bears a striking resemble to a small photo I saw of Azrael on his website, Outpostnine, before it moved to Gaijin Smash.
No way, I thought. The chances of meeting Azrael are so infinitesimally small, it's ridiculous. Even if we both lived in Osaka (and we don't) the chances are still ridiculously small. But it really looks like him. Crazy. Lets go talk to him.
I walked up.
"Excuse me," I said. "This might seem like a really weird question... but are you Azrael?" I looked at him expectantly.
He looked at me. "Uhhhhhhh," he said.
Oh, shit. It's not Azrael. And this guy thinks I'm nuts. Then I noticed a girl standing next to him, who was looking at him with a confused look on her face.
"Actually," he coughed and cleared his throat. "Um, yeah. Thats me."
Wow. I wasn't expecting that.
"Seriously? Wow. I didn't know you lived in Osaka." I said.
"I don't, I'm just here for the day." He replied.
We made some small talk, and then parted company.
Once again, let me pause here to re-iterate the low chances of this event taking place. On the same day, Az and I both independently came to Osaka on a day trip from completely different parts of Japan. We both happened to go to the same district, at the same shopping centre, on the same floor, at the same location, at the same time, and he happened to be facing me so I could identify him. I was floored.
Then I realised I might have put him into a weird situation. If I was shopping with a girl, and some guy came up to me and said "Hey dude! Are you like, firefly? You are, right?" I know I would feel a bit awkward. I can only imagine the conversation Az and that girl had after I walked off.
"Um, who was that?"
"*cough*, who?"
"The guy, who just asked if you were 'Azrael' ?"
"Oh, him? Um, nothing. I've never met him before. And, um, it's nothing to do with a website about my personal life. And it's not like you've been mentioned on that website and labeled with an embarrassing nickname or anything. Don't do a web search for Azrael btw. Thanks."
I later checked the forum at Outpost nine, and I found Az had wrote a post detailing our encounter. I went back to try to find it, but it wasn't there. Looks like Az upgraded the message board and lost some of the older post (this happened May 2005).
Japan, the land of coincidences.
PS - More Saga coming soon !
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.
*WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*. *WHAAAWHAAAAAAAAAA* *WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*
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.
After reading Pachipro's recent umeboshi language mistake, it got me thinking about my evolution through the Japanese language, and some of the mistakes I made. After a few minutes of pondering Japanese blunders, I came across a blank spot in my memory.
"Odd," I thought, as I delved further into the memory. My memory dutifully paused, as if to ask "are you sure you REALLY want to re-live this?". I mentally shrugged. Sure, why not. My memory, with what must pass for a wry grin said "suit yourself, bud." It all came flooding back, and with a rude shock I remembered why I kept this memory buried away.
Now, whenever I ask someone "Hey, whats the worst language mistake you've ever made?", they will think for a moment. Then I commonly see a lightbulb go off, and they excitedly tell me a story.
"Ok man, so like, once I asked someone for a pencil, right? enpitsu, yeah? But they thought I meant PEN! So I got a pen! HAHAH."
I'm waiting for the punchline, but after a few seconds of my friends large frozen grin, I realise this was it.
"Oh man, thats pretty crazy," I say. I often decide to keep this story to myself, since its pretty damn embarrassing, and while people may find it extremely funny, I still wince when I think back on it. All you lucky readers get a free-pass, since you're on YourJapan.
It was about 5 years ago, and right about when I had learned enough Japanese to slowly begin absorbing Japanese from various sources.
A side note on language, with a respectful tip of my hat to Ninja Magic. A lot of people come to Japan thinking "Japanese? No problem, I'll just pick it up. My friend who went to France did the same thing."
What these people fail to realise is that there are so few points of reference to English in the Japanese language structure, this idea of learning by osmosis is pretty much impossible. However, once you get enough language ability under your belt, you naturally begin to understand more, and the language starts to take form in your head. This is great, in almost all situations.
I came to Japan to study martial arts. So I have all the classic martial arts fixtures, such as classes, a dojo and a sensei. One fateful day, I was at the train station heading to a class. I noticed a sign on a handrail leading up the stairs. I leaned in for a closer look, and it said "Rail wo tsukande kudasai". For the first time, I was able to read this. I went through a short mental calculation process. "Hmm, if this sign was in English, it would say 'Please hold onto the rail". I mentally filed this away for later usage.
A couple of hours later, I arrived to the dojo. I made my greetings, and got changed into my martial arts clothes. I walked out onto the floor. A group of martial artists were milling around. I then noticed my teacher, who was struggling with a scroll.
Our theme for that particular year was studying traditional techniques, which came on these awkward scrolls written in very complicated kanji. Let me paint a quick picture of my martial arts teacher for you. He is one of the biggest guys I've ever met - his muscles' muscles have muscles that are bigger than yours. He is also a bit poor of vision, which meant he had to wear small glasses to read things like scrolls. Imagine Conan the Barbarian wearing reading glasses struggling with a flimsy leaflet with fat muscle-bound fingers, and you have an idea.
It is the custom in the dojo to show your respect, and assist your teacher every way you can. A common way back then was to assist the teacher by holding the scroll while they read it, and applied the technique to someone who wasn't fast enough to offer to hold the scroll. I walked over to him with the best of intentions.
"Excuse me, Sensei", I said in confident Japanese.
He grunted and looked up at me.
I paused. I forgot that I was unable to communicate what I wanted to say. Then, my memory helpfully dug up my experience of the same day. "Hey," my memory said confidently. "You want to ask "Can I hold that for you", right? What about the "Please hold onto the rail" thing you saw today?". Brilliant!! I thought. I then applied the correct grammar for offering to do something for someone.
"Sensei," I said, with my hands out in front of me. "Tsukande ageyou ka?"
He fixed me with a blank stare.
Hmm, I thought. My pronunciation must have been bad. No problem, I'll try again but clearer and louder.
"Sensei, TSUKANDE AGEYOU KA?"
His blank stare slowly turned to one of shock as his mouth dropped open. "What the hell did you say?" He demanded.
I was taken back, but slowly started to repeat the sentence my brain had kindly constructed for me. He cut me off halfway through, "No. No, no no, no. NEVER ever, ever say that phrase again. You say MOTTE AGEMASHOU KA. NEVER say... the other thing. DAMMIT."
I was very surprised. This is a guy who hears weird Japanese from foreigners all day - what could I have possibly said that caused such a reaction? I wondered about this the entire trip home. I then went to see my girlfriend.
"Hey, I walked up to sensei and said "tsukande ageou ka" in class, and he gave me a really weird reaction. Why is that?" I asked with genuine curiousity.
Quite some time later, after she stopped laughing, she began to explain it to me.
"See, the word tsukamu, means hold onto something. However there is a special nuance attached to this word - something must be sticking out from something else. In the case of the rail, the rail was sticking out from the wall. In the case of a human however, on a woman, the only thing you could grab would be her tits." She patiently explained, however I was already turning pale white. "Now if you go up to a man and say this, you're basically saying 'Hi there, may I grab onto your erect dick? For you?"
I sat down as the full weight of this explanation hit me squarely in the chest. I offered to grab my teachers dick 3 times, loudly, with my hands out in front of me and a weirdly helpful look on my face. AAAAARRRRRGHHHH. I almost died from the embarrassment, but I never made that mistake again. He made several jokes about it over the next couple of years, and the guys who overheard it NEVER let me forget.
So when people tell me about their language mistakes and say, "so when I asked for a pencil... they thought I meant a PEN!!" I just sip my coffee, grimace, and say "yeah... thats pretty hardcore man."