Big Trouble in Little China

This weekend I went to Chinatown, here in Tokyo.  I took an 45-minute train ride south of the city to Yokohama with a friend, and we spent the evening and night exploring, eating dim sum, eating food from street vendors, and drinking in a jazz bar, before catching the last train back into the city.

Jazz here is very popular, and jazz bars are a fun thing to see.  The bands are usually very good -- they make me want to play an instrument.  Everything makes me want to play an instrument except for actually playing an instrument.  Playing an instrument makes me want to read.  And reading makes me wonder what I’m missing on TV...I think it’s about time for Lost...

One thing that continues to amaze me about Japan is how good they are at being a society.  You have 130 million people crammed into an area smaller than California, and most of those people are in a few major cities.  So there are certain social graces that are almost always observed.  

Every request is followed by a “kudasai” or “onegaishimasu” which means “please”, more or less, and almost every other kind of statement has a polite word or honorific shoved into the word order.  It’s a social lubricant.  And people are great about waiting in lines.  You’ll never be passed in line at a grocery store or coffee shop.  It’s just not done.  You won’t see people walking across the street against the light: even if a car can’t be seen in any direction a crowd of people will wait until the sign says “walk” to make their collective move.  That is unless I come along, look both ways, mumble something under my breath and cross.  Then the whole crowd will cross because it’d be rude to let me cross alone.  

If you ask someone for directions it’s very likely that, instead of pointing you where you should go and going about their day, they will put aside what it is they’re doing and personally walk you where you need to go.  And they might just help you carry your bags and apologize for making you walk.  On the subway it’s very quiet.  The only people you ever seem to hear talking are Gaijin (foreigners).  Japanese people will sit quietly, looking straight ahead or at their feet or, if they’re particularly gutsy, having a whispered conversation with their companion.

These rules are universal.  You will only see them bent in one circumstance, albeit a commonly occurring circumstance...beer.  And you’re nowhere more likely to come across a drunk Japanese person than one of the last subway trains home on a Saturday night.  That’s where I met this guy, and he was diligently bending one particular rule to it’s breaking point...

What was particularly funny about this, in addition to the obvious, was the complete disinterest that the young lady to his left was showing.  Lost in her own thoughts, and either unaware or uncaring that the grunting, moaning, coughing hulk of a man beside her spent 20 minutes tickling his brain.  

And as if God himself were whispering sweet nothings into my ear, five minutes after I took this picture he fell asleep and dropped his bag to his feet revealing that his fly was completely undone and gaping open!  At about the same time the heretofore victimized girl opens an adult magazine -- presumably designed for men -- and begins casually flipping through, reading the articles I'm sure.  

It was quite a picture.  Sadly I didn't have the guts to snap it: this blubbering man inebriated beyond measure, drifting out of consciousness only to chase a remaining chunk of booger that had so far eluded his chubby finger, his briefcase spilled out at his feet and his pants spilled out at his crotch, sitting next to an attractive woman who was so turned on by this situation that she couldn't wait until she got home to peruse her fresh copy of Juggs.

I LOVE TOKYO!!