Thursday night I called the Kusabirakis, my adoptive family here in The Oaks. I hadn't seen them in about four months and felt really bad about not having been in contact for so long, so I figured I'd use the cherry blossoms opening (the latest in recorded history!) as an excuse to get back in touch.
I caught the husband on the train. I've always had a hard time making people out on the phone, even in English, which is one of the reaons why I’m not a big telephone talker. This time was no exception, and the fact that he speaks with a very provincial accent and was on a crowded train when I called him didn’t help.
Eventually I realised that I'd been asked to dinner at their house, and thus rushed out to be picked up. It was a warm night, and I was in pants and a short-sleeved shirt. I discovered upon my arrival that I still hadn't heard correctly, because his wife was out of town, he'd just got off of work, and he'd actually asked me to go get yakitori with him.
I love yakitori, so I was all about it. We ended up going to a little yakitori joint I'd never eaten at before, in the 第一 handjob alley. He'd apparently already started his meal while waiting for me to show up, and was red in the face from drinking (although with most Japanese this happens after one to eight sips).
And then things got a little uncomfortable, because we were the only two people in the place, he's a good 30 years older than I am, he'd just come off work, his wife was out of town, and I was dressed provocatively (by Japanese standards - wearing a skirt your ass hangs out of is fine, but showing one's arms, neckline, or back? Posititively tarty. Go figure.). I got some really strange looks from the head chef and his attendent.
Luckily, the chef also runs the karaoke joint upstairs, which I frequent, and drives past me on my walk to work every morning. This gave credence to our protestations that I was a friend of his guest, and not a particular friend. (Incidentally, I apparently grin ear-to-ear as I'm walking to work every morning. I hadn't been aware of this, and it was nice to hear that people I've never met think I'm にこにこ and cheerful because of it.)
So we have a few sticks of yakitori, and then I was ready to head home, as it was getting late and I had work on the morrow. Unfortunately, Kusubiraki-san's coworker called him, and by this time he'd had enough to drink (four glasses of shouchuu – this guy is not a lightweight by anyone's standards, and I was thoroughly impressed), that I found myself being invited to the snack bar he frequents after work.
Snack bars are always an interesting experience, because the women who work at them – their job description is to pour drinks, raise the roof during badly sung karaoke and flirt with the customers – really don't know what to do with foreign women when they show up.
This was no exception. It wasn't a hardcore snack by any means. There was only one middle-aged woman behind the bar, although it did have the requisite exclusive bottles, dim lighting, jazz music and oil paintings of tits on the walls. (This is standard at snacks; you get used to it.)
Then it did get a bit uncomfortable, as the master and Kusabiraki-san's friend took one look at me and assumed that I was a prostitute. Of course, we both convinced them that I was a neighborhood acquaintence, but by this time Kusabiraki-san and his friend were both drunk enough that things started getting a little inappropriate. (No, I'm not going to marry you, Mr Friend I've Never Met Before. And I’m not going to marry Kusabiraki-san either.) We had a few more beers at this place, and Kusabiraki-san was kind of getting into it by the end, which freaked me out. Not that I think he'd ever try anything, but you could tell that part of him liked the idea that these people still weren't 100% sure that I wasn't a sex worker.
This isn't to say that I wasn't enjoying myself at all – I wouldn't have hung around if I hadn't been, and those of you who know me in person know that I have no problems whatsoever telling a guy that he's gotten out of line. But man, this was the first time I've ever been slapped in the face by the nastier assumptions people make about women just for showing up, and it was eye-opening. (And somewhat amusing. I can’t count the number of times my short hair, broad shoulders, and assertive posture have had me mistaken for a guy in this country.)
We hung around until 10:30 while I answered the requisite Gaijin Questions - I like beer, I can drink a lot by Japanese standards, we have rice in the West, there are four distinct seaons where I'm from too, the standard checklist. I should have gone home after the snack, but I was a little wound from my adventures, so I popped over to High Tiems for a(nother) drink before heading to bed. There I hung out with some friends of Haruka's who were my age and assumed that I was just there to have a good time, which is pretty much what I’m about wherever I am.
So, certainly an interesting experience.
That will be all.
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