Firefly in Japan

I had spent one full year living in Japan. I had battled with cultural shocks, I had battled my own pre-conceived ideas about life and culture. I had sat on a crowded train carriage, to look around and notice I was the only foreigner around. I had 1 year of ups and downs and sideways curves. 1 year of struggling with the language, and just plain struggling to fit in. 1 year of stress and problems at work caused by Bill and Shane. I wasn’t yet ready to leave Japan, but god was I ready to go back home for a holiday.

When I came to Japan, naturally, I was extremely open to the Japan experience. I was a big Australian sponge, ready and primed to extract meaning and experiences from everything around me. I had eaten lots of Japanese food, I had even studied a smidgeon of Japanese. I had made some Japanese friends in Australia in the weeks prior to my trip to Japan. I was locked and loaded for Japan. As such, when I landed, nothing really took me by surprise. I had no singular “culture-shock”, that all the travel books like to talk about. I said “wow, that’s interesting”, and “hm, that’s a bit different” more times than I could count (and I still do!), but nothing seriously hit me in the face, or took the wind out of me.

When I went into a shop in Japan for the first time, everyone looked at me, smiled, and almost shouted : "Irraishaimase!". I was a bit confused, and had no idea how to appropriately respond, so I simply nodded my head, smiled awkwardly and proceeded with my purchase. I later asked a Japanese person what "Irraishaimase" means. He said : "It is for when you go into a shop. The shop people are welcoming you. If they do not welcome you, it is very rude in Japanese culture, because you are the customer. You don't even need to respond, because you are the customer!" He explained.

Even after he told me that it was not necessary to respond, I still had a lot of trouble with this. Naturally, I was brought up in Australia to respond to people who talk to you. When you walk into a shop, and 3 people drop what they're doing, flash you a big smile, and say heartily "WELCOME TO OUR SHOP!", it's hard to ignore that. Once I tried to reply back. A staff member looked right at me, and said "Irrashaimase!", and I looked back, smiled, and said "Arigatou Gozaimasu!". She looked at me uncomfortably. I looked back. She slowly turned back to her work, obviously unsure of how best to respond. I realised this approach wasn't working either. All I was doing was transferring the awkwardness I was feeling back onto her.

Another time, I went into a shop with a guy who had been living in Japan for a couple of years. He walked in first, so a couple of staff looked at him, and said "Irrashaimase!" and he brushed past them, not even looking at their faces. This horrified me. Later that week I went into a shop with a Japanese friend, and of course, the same thing happened. I started to realise that not acknowledging these people is not a bad thing, it's just a natural part of the culture.

Slowly, but surely, my view on this was changed. I became used to walking into a shop, looking at a staff person, the staff person saying "Irraishaimase", and me either nodding, or not even acknowledging it. This became the normal routine for me : walk in, Irraishaimase, ignore, proceed with shopping.

One time, someone saw me walk into their shop. They DIDN'T say irraishaimase. Of course, I'm a foreigner, and I look like a foreigner, but I was used to my regular routine, and I felt upset that someone had messed with it. I stopped in my tracks, and stared at him. He stopped and looked back at me, and after a few seconds of awkward pause (for him, I knew I was in the right so I didn't feel awkward at all), he coughed nervously and said "uh.... irraishaimase." In this case I smiled back to defuse the tension, and proceeded with my shopping.

After a while, I realised that this is the culture, and I adapted. If the FOB Firefly ("fresh off the boat") saw the "one year living in Japan" Firefly, I can tell you he would be absolutely shocked at how I was treating shop staff. He'd shake me and say "What the hell is wrong with you? She just looked right at you, and welcomed you for coming into the shop! Say something!!". Of course, I would simply smile and pat him on the back, since his conversion into the non-reactive shopper would already be in the making.

Anyway, returning to the first paragraph, I had spent one year in Japan, and I was due to go back home to Australia at Christmas time. I was brimming with excitement. I would be able to see my friends, my family. I'd be able to go to a beautiful Australian beach. I would be able to sit down at a coffee shop with an English newspaper, breathe in the fresh air, and drink a cappuchino. I'd be able to buy some Vegemite! Eat a Tim-Tam!

I arranged the administrations side of my trip, and before I knew it, I was on the plane burning a path across the Pacific Ocean. I jumped at the chance to catch up on a couple of recent movies that was showing on the entertainment system, then I went to sleep.

I was nudged awake by a member of the Quantas staff. "Noodles or the eggs!". Groggily, I opted for the eggs. Both choices are incorrect actually, but the eggs are the lesser of 2 evils. A short while after consuming the packaged meal, the sun intensified within the cabin, and the captain came onto the intercom, and advised us that we've already commenced decent into Sydney, and we'll be landing at 6:35am. I bounced up and down in my seat.

Finally, the plane landed. I didn't even wait for the seatbelt sign to turn off, I jumped up from my seat, grabbed my bag from the overhead locker, and bounced to the front of the queue. Some of the cabin crew shot me a distasteful look, but immediately softened their expression upon seeing the excitement in my eyes. The hatchway opened and I bounded into the terminal. I was overcome with emotion. The air was clean and fresh. All of the signs were in English. People walked past me, speaking in English. I walked through duty free - all foreign products! I mean, all Australian products!!

I bounced along to immigration. The main sitting behind the desk took my passport, looked at me, and asked :

"Where have you been young man?"

"Tokyo, Japan!" I replied, excited to speak English.

He looked at the computer screen, and paused.

"Welcome home." He closed my passport, handed it back to me and smiled warmly.

I smiled back, grabbed my passport, and went through to baggage collection. I waited for a few minutes for my bag to appear from the conveyor belt, and walked out the exit. My parents were due to meet me, but a quick glance around confirmed that they weren't there. I stood in the airport, among the English din, surrounded by foreigners (I mean, Australians), and just smiled.

I suddenly realised my throat was dry. Mount Franklins water!! My favourite brand of bottled water. I looked left and right, and quickly located a convenience store. I walked over, and entered the shop. Behind the counter was an Indian guy, looking busy with his work. I walk into the shop, plant my feet down, and look at the Indian.

He looks up at me for a moment, and then returns to his work. I remain frozen in place, staring at him. He continues work for a few more seconds until his eyes flick up, and he sees that I am still there, staring at him.

I'm excited, but also very tired since I didn't sleep much on the flight, but on some level I dimly realise that I am waiting for him to say "Irraishaimase." I continue to stare.

He drops the papers he had in his hands, and looks over to me. He opens his mouth to speak. My eyebrows rise in anticipation.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" He says, in a thick Indian accent.

"I... er... what, the... what?" I stutter back.

"Are you going to buy something? Or do I need to call security!" He continued, enunciating the word security with a sharp poke of his finger. He leaned back, waiting for my response.

"Oh, right, yes, I'm sorry. Mount Franklins water please. I apologise." I shake my head to try to rattle out the fog, and hand him over some Australian money I had already converted. He looks at me like I crawled out of a drainpipe, hands me my chance, and doesn't even say "thank you".

I was stunned for 30 minutes after this interaction. For the first time in my life, I had experienced the elusive "reverse-culture shock".

Welcome home.

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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.

I want to continue writing my story about how I got started in Japan and what happened to me, but as I write I'm remembering a lot of other stories and happenings that I want to share. So I will prefix the Firefly saga with "Saga:", and intersperse this blog with stories that happened to me as I recall them. This particular story holds a special place in my heart. For a brief moment, I transcended culture and social programming with a Japanesesalaryman on a crowded commuter train.

It was 8:40am, and I was late for work. My heavy bag weighed down and dug into my shoulders as I ran through the crowd. My stomach grumbled, a rude reminder that I hadn't eaten any breakfast. I paused, as I very briefly considered my two options. Go to work starving, be extremely unproductive and in pain until lunch time - or run into one of my local favourite shops and pick up a sandwich and a coffee.

Food.

I altered course, and crossed the road. I jogged into the crowd, and for a moment caught a glimpse of a hundred tired, sagging Japanese faces, marching across the road in unison, heading to their workplaces to power the Japanese corporate machine. I absentmindedly wondered if I fit into that crowd. I arrived to the sandwich shop called Cafe de Crie, and ordered the egg sandwich and cappuccino set. 8:43am. Time slowed down as the staff casually constructed the sandwich.

"Excuse me, I'm in a rush," I said, as the clock ticked 8:44am.

"I understand! We'll make it faster!" The young Japanese girl enthusiastically chirped. She calls another Cafe de Crie girl to come over to help out. The other girl immediately begins making the cappuccino.

As a side note, one of the many things I love about Japanese culture is taking pride in work. In Japan, you can be a garbage cleaner, but godammnit, you're going to do everything your job responsibilities require and more - and you're going to do it with HEART. These ideals apply to people at every level of the workforce. I really love this attitude, and it really pisses me off when I go overseas and I see people at work just slacking off, and not caring about the work and the customer.

8:44 and 50 seconds. The girls work together as one team, efficiently assembling my set breakfast. They perfectly pack my breakfast into a small bag, and include serviettes and sugar. "We're very sorry to have kept you waiting!" They both chime together at the same tone.

"Thanks!" I grab the Cafe de Crie bag, and I'm off again, running through the street crowds. I arrive at the train station, and after fumbling with my metropass, I push my way through the gates and bound down the stairs, careful not to spill my cappuccino.

I turned the corner, to see a train. Judging by the droning noise, and the train official waving to another official, the doors were about to close. 8:46am. If I made this train, I would arrive to work at about 9:04am, which was pretty forgivable. If I missed this this, I would arrive at 9:08am, which would definitely get me a reprimand. I cursed under my breath, and took off at a run.

The Japanese people that were paying attention and looking ahead suddenly froze as they saw a gaijin flying towards them at top speed, with a large backpack and a Cafe de Crie bag. They wisely moved and allowed me to sail straight through the narrow, crowded station. The doors were beginning to close. Shit!! Faster!! I jumped, and landed inside the carriage, just as the doors closed. I breathed a sigh of relief. I will get to work pretty much on time, I get my egg sandwich and a coffee (coffeeeee), and I probably will manage to avoid a reprimand. I smiled a relieved, happy smile. Great start to the day. But....

My foot feels oddly warm. I look down. My mouth opens in shock. I made it onto the train, my backpack made it into the train, but my Cafe de Crie egg sandwich and coffee bag wasn't quite as lucky. The doors had closed forcefully on the bag, crushing my sandwich, and exploding my coffee. The bag had lasted for about 3 seconds before it had a mini explosion in turn, and was dripping down my pants into my shoe. I then directed my vision to the left, to see a Japanese man reading a newspaper. He was standing next to the door, on the left hand side. And his pants and shoes had taken most of the fury of the exploding cappuccino. I gulped, as I waited for the coffee to seep into his shoes.

The coffee seeped into his shoes. With a start, he put the newspaper down as he looked down at his cappuccino coated pants and shoes.

"What the," he started, as he looked up to see me. I was standing there with an embarrassed, sheepish look on my face. He looked over at the train doors, to see the Cafe de Crie bag suspended halfway between the floor and ceiling. The coffee continued to drip onto his shoe. Then he looked at me, with a shocked, angry look on his face.

I frowned, raised my eyebrows into a sympathetic expression, and shrugged my shoulders in the international "whoopsie, I don't quite know how that happened!" gesture. I braced for a punch to the head.

I knew from experience these salarymen can be dangerous. 40 years of working in the same company doing the same things, going home to a family they don't know, and drinking night after night to relieve the stress and pressures of their job.... they're like tickingtimebombs of frustration and anger. Anything can set them off. A rude comment. A loud noise. CERTAINLY a sheepish gaijin with an explosive cappuccino bag.

I recoiled slightly to give myself time to react if he attacks me, and I looked closely at his face to try and gauge his expression.

He was still in disbelief. He looked from his soaked pants, to the bag, to me repeatedly, until the reality of his ruined pants and the clumsy gaijin finally set in. He looked me right in the eyes. I looked back with an expression as innocent as I could muster, given the fact I was preparing for a punch to the head.

He guffawed. He guffawed?? "Heh."

My expression of innocence suddenly shifted to match his previous expression of disbelief.

"Hehhe. Heheh. Hahaha." He started laughing. "HAHAH".

I looked at the whole situation again. And suddenly I found it very funny as well. My pants were also soaked and pleasantly smelling of coffee. We had coffee squishing in our shoes. My sandwich was ruined. And this Japanese guy, who I just sprayed with cappuccino was standing there, laughing like a crazy person. Despite myself, I joined in. "Haha. Hahahah."

For a few seconds, we shared in a laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. The rest of the train people looked at us like we were nuts. After a while, our laughter died down. The coffee started to feel a bit colder in my shoes.

I started to apologise, "Um... sorry, uh,"

Still with a smile on his face, he just shook his head and waved dismissively in a good natured way.

The doors opened, and I was able to retrieve my coffee soaked sandwich bag, as I waved goodbye to him and ran off to work.

Oddly and inexplicably, I feel like I connected with him on some level. For a brief moment, we transcended culture and social parameters, and just laughed. I also ate the coffee/egg sandwich, and it wasn't as bad as I thought.