Before I left, Otosan gave me the usual speech – “You are representing the family. Don’t do anything embarrassing.” What any southern child hears every time they leave the nest for parts unknown. For the most part, I think I managed pretty well. There were a few times I made a fool of myself that weren’t really my fault. I was kind of thrown into the deep end of a culture I didn’t know a whole lot about. I read the etiquette books and did my best, but I still made mistakes. Like the white shirt episode at my first Danjiri (it was my only white shirt, and I didn’t realize anything below the collarbone was considered indecent) or any of the times Japanese men got the wrong impression because I am just a friendly person who will strike up a conversation with almost anyone. There were times I didn’t speak up or spoke up too much. Times I gave presents when I shouldn't have or didn’t give them when I should. Times I offered to help with a task that was only for students or didn’t realize I was supposed to be helping staff with another task. Times I addressed people in a less polite manner than I should have (but hey, at least I addressed them in Japanese). I was louder than I should have been. I touched people more than I should have. I made a lot of mistakes. But for the most part, my Japanese friends, and really every Japanese person I met, was so kind and understanding that these small infractions were glossed over or ignored. Some people would try to correct my bad behavior, and I am thankful for that. Mostly I tried my best and Japan accepted my minor social gaffes.
However, there were a couple of times I really messed up, and I have no excuse. 申し訳ございませんでした! The memory of one such instance still haunts me. I was coming home after a night out on the town in Namba. Obviously, I was pretty tired after staying out all night, but that is still no excuse for what happened next. Usually, I would take the Nankai line from Namba straight to Kinokawa station, my stop. But I was traveling with a friend this particular morning, and we decided to take the train from Tennoji to Wakayama. We used google to find the train we needed, but were having some trouble finding which particular platform that train left from. We knew what time it departed, but since Tennoji is a very large station, there were several trains that took off at the same time. Our train also split with some cars going to Kansai Airport and some continuing to Wakayama. We just weren’t finding it. So, we decided to ask an employee. Just inside the front gate, we found a station agent with a smile on her face and English pinned to her chest.
“Excuse me. What track for this train?” I held my phone up for her, pointing to the train name and departure time.
“Where are you going?”
“Wakayama.”
“The trains for Wakayama depart from platforms 3, 5, and 11.”
Okay. Not exactly the answer I expected. I looked at my phone again and pointed to the specific train I wanted. “This train. What track?”
“The trains from Wakayama depart from platforms 3, 5, and 11.”
I stared at the woman. I tried again. I got the same answer. Our train was arriving soon, and I still didn’t know which platform. I was losing my patience.
“Kono densha wa nani bango desu ka?” It wasn’t good Japanese, but maybe…
“The trains for Wakayama depart from platforms 3, 5, and 11.” The edge of uncertainty had been building in her voice with each repetition. Just as I am sure the agitation was building in mine.
Now this type of thing had happened before, many, many times. Communication was a constant struggle. Usually, I would just smile, say thank you, then find someone else to help me if I couldn’t manage to understand. But for some reason, that morning I couldn’t do it. Instead, I threw my hand in the air and walked away with a growl.
We did manage to make our train. It left from platform 5. We managed to score a front corner with two sets of seats facing each other. We took all four and closed our eyes. But Karma caught up with us pretty quickly. High winds stopped the train well before our intended destination. Still groggy, we were hustled off onto the platform with no idea what was going on. We spent an hour in limbo trying to figure out when the next train would come or how we could get to the Nankai line. Ironically, there was no information broadcast in English over the loudspeaker and no employees to ask for help.
A journey that should only have taken us an hour ended up taking three. I realize that the delays were a mere coincidence due to natural phenomena, but I can’t help feel that they were also divine retribution for my deplorable behavior.
I am ashamed at how I treated that woman. On many of my adventures I came across gaijin behaving badly and looked down my nose at them. But the instant I threw up my hand and stormed off, I was worse than any of them.
If I could, I would beg that woman for forgiveness. I would also apologize to all my Japanese friends who were so patient with me as I struggled to communicate. I learned a valuable lesson that day about who I really was. I wasn’t a very nice person. It was just a single moment, a really bad morning, but that is the only moment that woman and I will ever share. She didn’t know my circumstances, she was only doing her job, and she won’t ever know how sorry I am for my behavior.
Otosan, I let you down that day, and I am sorry. I let myself down, too. And gaijin. It only takes a single moment of bad behavior to ruin everything.
