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Counterculture shock
Or, why it’s not always so easy to go home again
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| David Chester is a professional songwriter, pianist and voiceover actor, and an award-winning screenwriter and short filmmaker based in Tokyo |
It starts almost as soon as I exit the plane at Los Angeles International Airport. Upon approaching immigration, staff start screaming at the newly arrived: “US citizens, this line! Non-US citizens, that line!” If this were Japan, there’d be a sign clearly indicating what line is for whom, as well as a staff member to help me figure it out—without screaming at me.
At the baggage claim I notice men in vests haphazardly moving around suitcases so they don’t clog the conveyor belt. They are airport staff, I guess, but they seem unconcerned about the safety of the suitcases, and they curse loudly and freely, laughing at their potty-mouthed jokes. As I observe their antics, I am suddenly yanked aside by an immigration officer who demands my passport. Because of my apparently multi-racial appearance, I’ve been mistaken for Spanish, Russian, French, but mostly someone from the Middle East.
I whip out my passport and say, “I’m an American citizen.”
“Oh,” says the officer, letting go of my arm. No apologies. Nothing. What would have happened had I not been an American?
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Akemi Shinohara |
Exiting the terminal, I head for the shuttle buses. Before I take ten steps, I am accosted by taxi drivers trying to sweet-talk me into using their services—which I happen to know cost double that of the shuttles. It’s not because they’re twice as good; it’s because any nutcase swindler with a car can try and pass himself off as a taxi driver. When I get past the drivers, the next challenge is finding shuttle service staff to help me. Should be easy, but not only do I have to track these people down, I have to guide them through the process. In all the years I’ve been doing this, I have never noticed any level of friendliness or willingness to assist me without excessive prompting. And I’m paying for this? At Narita, there is always ground transportation staff to help you figure out what to do and, I might add, it is all done with a level of professionalism and politeness.
Back on my old turf, I encounter two problems: supersize portions and tipping. Americans know they are overweight, yet buying a lot of food on the cheap still translates as “getting a bargain.” Which translates into obesity. In Japan, while I was initially shocked at how small portions were, I now feel they are just the right size to help me maintain my weight.
Also, the Japanese take your order, bring your food, and leave you alone. In America, waitstaff, with tips on their minds, feel compelled to check on you every nanosecond and ask, “Is everything OK?” I understand this, as both my mother and sister were waitresses. Of course I tip waitstaff—that’s what Americans do. If I don’t, not only will I get the evil eye, but friends and family will talk about me, first to my face, then behind my back, about what a cheap bastard I am.
So… now I’m fat and my wallet is lighter. Next?
Shopping. Regardless of what store it is, the likelihood of receiving a friendly greeting is about the same as me waking up and having the same waistline I did when I was 22. Most Los Angelenos are nice enough, but for some reason that doesn’t seem to extend to welcoming customers. I am not saying that Japanese staff shout “Irrashaimase!” because they are all sincere and thrilled I am bringing them business. Still, enthusiastically acknowledging customers leaves a much better impression than being systematically ignored. Maybe it’s just LA—so many people who work in restaurants and shops are trying to get into show business, they feel their current jobs are below them. Somehow it all adds up to a lonely, rejected feeling.
After a week or two of these counterculture shocks, I get used to it and accept them as being part of the world I grew up in. I love my hometown: the weather, the proximity to the beach, the chance to sit two tables away from movie stars in chi-chi restaurants. But now that I’ve spent a third of my life in Japan, I can’t help wondering how much nicer it would be if Americans might consider implementing a few Japanese customs and practices that, despite the crowds and prices, make Japan a truly enjoyable place to live.
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