Japan Trip Part 5: Miscellaneous Anecdotes

[joezu]

(The fifth in a five-part series about my Fall 2017 trip to Japan)

I stopped in a donut shop in Sendai to have a little snack and some coffee. As I sat there eating my donut, I noticed a straight couple in their 20s sitting across from me. They kept staring at me and snickering. I checked myself to see if I had spilled something on my shirt or if my fly were open, but no. I had no idea what was so amusing so I did my best to ignore them. A few minutes later, an elderly woman got up from where she was sitting. On her way to the door, she stopped at the couple's table and fairly spat at the young man—“FUCKHEAD!”—then left. What on earth? Had she seen the way they were treating me? Had they been doing the same to her before I arrived? And how on earth does an elderly Japanese lady know the word “fuckhead”?

In those four weeks, I didn't encounter a single speed bump. I also didn't see any barbed wire or razor wire, except around one post office in Ikebukuro, Tokyo. And I didn't hear a single leaf blower.

One morning I was watching a children's show on television in my hotel. A bright computer animated sun with a human face appeared and began to speak. The voice was familiar: was it actually drag queen Akihiro Miwa? Upon my return to the States, I did a little research and yes, it was indeed Miwa. The show was Nihongo De Asobo*, which roughly translates as “Let's Play With Japanese”.


In the photo, the four characters to the left are different emotions (from top to bottom, “joy”, “anger”, “sorrow”, and “ease”), and as each character was highlighted, Miwa would act out the emotion.

*This is curious; the volitional conjugation should be asobou. Perhaps this is a colloquial variation?

A couple of times, I was surprised to see guys in drag in public, but not “fabulous” drag the way we think in the West, like RuPaul or Violet Chachki or the aforementioned Miwa. In one store, I saw a guy of about 40 with long hair (possibly a wig, but I don't think so), sneakers, striped knee-high socks, a skirt, a long sleeved shirt, and a maid's white apron and cap. He did not wear any makeup. He wore a backpack and glasses. He certainly made an eccentric looking character, a bit on the frumpy side despite his brightly colored apparel, and definitely did not “pass” as a woman. He was just making his way through the store like the other customers, looking at books and minding his own business. Nobody else noticed him, or at least they didn't bother him. In the West, a man dressed in fabulous drag would attract attention, but most people would think he was doing it for a reason—perhaps he was there being filmed for RuPaul's Drag Race—and certainly not just to do a little window shopping. I suppose this man might have been transgendered—there is no requirement than any trans person, male or female, must “pass” (nor must cis-gender people). Such a man, except perhaps in a major city like New York City or Los Angeles, would probably be hooted at or hassled in America. I got the impression, however, that if this man had dressed this way in a small town in Japan, he would still be let alone.

I went to a Yoshinoya in Osaka for breakfast quite early one morning (I was in the mood for beef and raw egg). I was the only customer, except for a young man at the other end of the counter with his head buried in his arms, apparently asleep. After the server brought my food, she went to the man and said softly, “Okyakusama, daijoubu desu ka?” (Sir, are you okay?) a couple of times, then again, a little less softly. By now other customers had come in and were all watching this little drama. Finally, the server gently shook the man and repeated her question more loudly. At this, the young man stirred and dazedly began eating his food. He was probably hung over and had stumbled into the restaurant by chance. He got up to leave—without paying. The server called after him, loudly again, “Okyakusama!” but he paid no heed because he was wearing earphones. As he headed out the door, the chef heard the commotion and came running out of the kitchen. The server pointed to the customer and said “Iyahon!” (earphones). The chef gave chase and managed to get the customer to come back inside, who then paid his bill and stumbled outside again.

While in Osaka's Umeda area (a major shopping and entertainment district), I saw a man begging for change on the street. He wasn't the first homeless person I'd seen in Japan, though he was the first one I'd seen begging for change. What made him stand out in my mind was how he was begging. He was kneeling on a cardboard mat with his head touching the mat in a kowtow position, and a bowl for money a foot or so in front of him. He was absolutely motionless. I've never seen any homeless person, in Japan or in the States, in such a position of abject humility and supplication.

The Japanese don't seem to be afraid of certain colors. I saw utility vehicles, like dump trucks and steam shovels, painted bright pink or lavender! Few, if any American construction workers, except perhaps an LGBT one, would be caught dead in such a vehicle.

Part 1: Fisting in Shinjuku
Part 2: Porn, Porn Everywhere!
Part 3: Going to an Onsen
Part 4: Japanese Bondage
Part 5: Miscellaneous Anecdotes