Culture Shock: Part 1

People keep asking me what kind of things have been a real “culture shock” for me since coming to Japan. Well, folks, fasten your seatbelts, because I have had a wild time of this.

Before that, though, I just wanted to apologize for the belated entry. For those who did not know, I have been sick for much of these past two weeks and spent the vast majority of the weekend (aka my “writing time”) knocked out like a boxer with a glass jaw. Seriously, no amount of tea, loud noises, or, well, anything could keep my eyes open.

Those of you who travel may be familiar with some of traveling’s many pitfalls, one of which is constipation. Between the vast distances I crossed, the stresses of getting from place to place, and the sudden dietary changes, well, I did not manage to escape. It had been several days, actually, since I had managed a bowel movement. I was still in a hotel, undergoing training for my new job, and this place was decked out with everything from a gym to a garden and waterfall feature in the center of the building. On top of all of this, the toilets were similarly overdone.

Japanese toilets have gained something of a reputation, between their various functions. They can be all-in-one toilets, bidets, music players, white sound generators (to allow some privacy), and a number of other things. I even heard one person refer to these things as “a gift from the future.” Well, the future knew my needs one way or the other. One evening, I thought I felt something and decided, for the sake of my health, I should at least give it a shot. Well, the toilet in my room was so heavily rigged that, the moment I sat down, I activated a pressure plate that started a loud and turbulent pre-flush cycle. The sudden noise and the unexpected gale beneath me actually scared me enough to loosen my bowels in an instant. So, I guess I should count that as a victory? I still find myself poking toilet seats around here, though, just in case they decide to erupt into geysers when I sit down.

That same evening, I walked to a nearby 7/11 (yes, they have those here) and saw that they sold alcohol! Not only did they sell alcohol, though, they sold cheap alcohol! Aside from wanting a little something to unwind and being something of a beer fan, I thought I would try the local flavor. Looking through the options, I saw some titles I had tried in the states, such as Sapporo and Asahi. Being the adventurous (and miserly) spirit that I am, though, I grabbed something new and almost half the price: a blue can that I think had the Suntory label on it.

A word to the wise: If you’re in Japan and see a beer in a blue can, don’t drink it, because that stuff is weird. I mean, really, it was salty! Who makes a beer SALTY?!?!

But the strangeness just kept coming! After purchasing the beer, I tried to use some of the little Japanese I knew to thank the store clerk.

The Japanese must think Americans are nuts.

When I did, this smiling, pudgy, unshaven guy about my age said “Oh! You are so gentle!”

I’m sorry, but the last time someone said that to me, it was from a girl and I had just made love to her for the first time, so excuse me if that comment set me a bit off balance!

Apparently, though, what he meant was that my “thank you” had been too polite; I had used too many honorifics. See, Japanese is an exceedingly polite language and is built around a whole system of etiquette. Just off the top of my head, I can think of six ways of saying “thank you,” each suited for a different context. The speaker and listeners’ relative social statuses, the action that elicited the gratitude, their familiarity, and a number of other factors all determine which version of “thank you” is appropriate. Thing is, I am terrible at Japanese, so there are probably another two dozen versions that I don’t even know yet! And that sort of linguistic etiquette permeates nearly the entire language.
I knew that before coming to Japan, but still, hearing a grown man softly say to me “Oh! You’re so gentle!” was not expected.

Speaking of expectations, I had anticipated that, upon coming to Japan, I would have left the religious crazies behind.

WRONG.

The first time I went into one of the main train stations, I found Jehovah’s Witnesses and various other evangelicals standing around handing out fliers and calling for people to listen to them. I suppose I wasn’t too surprised by that, since hanging around public transportation and harassing people is kind of their M.O. worldwide, what really hit me in the gut came a few weeks later in the form of a coworker. This Japanese coworker told me that he does not believe in the theory of evolution. I mean, seriously? There are even priests in the Vatican who have accepted evolution! I knew that ignorance and crazy were kind of human universals, but I was hoping to at least leave that particular brand of crazy behind me in the states! Looks like there are just some things that you cannot escape here.

Such as Pachelbel. You know, from Pachelbel’s Canon in D? Goes a little something like “Da da-da da da-da da da-da-da-da-da-da da da-da da da-da da da-da-da-da-da-da…” Yes? No? Well, you hear it EVERYWHERE. That same chord progression is in tons of pop songs, folk, country, even punk rock. You know, in stuff like “As we go on… We remember… All the times we… Spent together…”

That’s all Pachelbel.

See, I don’t have a personal beef with the man, but that song is so catchy and repetitive, it drives me NUTS!!! Now that I’ve written about it, I expect that I won’t be able to get the melody out of my head for the next four days.

Now, normally I wouldn’t complain about something like this. It’s so ubiquitous, what’s the point in whinging? It’s all fairly harmless anyhow, right? Well, some time ago, I found a kindred spirit on YouTube, so now I feel entirely justified in expressing my frustrations.

I didn’t expect to escape this composer completely and I was fine with that. I listen to songs that have the same chord progression, though disguised cleverly enough that I don’t notice unless I pay attention. However, the school I work at seems to take particular joy in tormenting me. During lunch period every day, they tend to play music of some sort and, guess what?, every couple of days, the original, true-blue Pachelbel’s Canon in D comes over the speakers and that’s it! Game over! Song’s in my head for the rest of the day! I’m starting to think that I would be listening to this damned tune even if I was doing Peace Corps work in Nicaragua.

If you’re curious and need a good laugh, here’s the Pachelbel Rant! It’ll give you an idea of my thought process.

Anyhow, it’s erring on 10:30pm here, I get up at 5:30am every day, and this post is long enough. Before the Song of the Week, though, let me just leave you with another little tidbit:

I went to an Okinawan restaurant with some coworkers a couple of weeks ago and accidentally ate a pig’s ear. I mean, it was food and was definitely meant to be eaten, but I didn’t realize that I’d just chewed up a pig’s ear and swallowed it until five minutes later. I just thought that it was octopus or something else comparably chewy and cartilaginous.

Whoops.

Song of the Week: I have been playing some songs for a few elementary school classes this week. “Hungry Like The Wolf” by Duran Duran happened to be one of them and, ever since I had the idea to play it in class, I have not been able to flush it out of my head. Still, it’s better than Pachelbel!