One of the safest things you can bet on in the consideration of moving your entire life to Japan, is that you’ll come across customs that are seemingly otherworldly. For example, on the first Sunday in April there’s a festival in celebration of the second most import thing God gave to man (female companionship being the top spot). Care to guess before I start in on the details? Here’s a hint; it’s both a tool of destruction and construction. No, not quite a pry-bar think sexier. That’s right, it’s the festival of the penis. For the entire day processioners gallivant about toting phallic floats, the women sometimes ride large wooden tributes, and it’s even been reported that children, oblivious to the shame their post-pubescent predecessors feel, entertain themselves with aptly shaped lollipops. Strange, obfuscating, un-relatable, these are some of the words that don’t succeed in fully capturing the tribulations one’s sure to encounter in such an unfamiliar place. I remember thinking just before takeoff (LAX to Narita) “I hope I can keep my head above water and my foot out of my mouth” but idioms and wang-worship aside, nothing prepared me for the introduction I received on the train a few weeks ago.
It all started innocently enough (it always does) with a friend’s going away party in central Tokyo. The night itself progressed as though it’d been casually rehearsed a thousand times, and in a way I’d seen it all before. The script read something like this: The frugal youth in an attempt to rationalize their spending of 2000 yen ($23) on an all-you-can-drink try to imbibe from here all the way to the event horizon. In this way they can part the painfully sharp, piss-stained curtains of the next day’s hangover with the knowledge that each of their 14 drinks cost them only one dollar and 47 cents! Japan, you’re a booze-hound’s freshly painted fire hydrant! But I digress, when the clock struck 10 and last orders were taken, the reality of life began to creep back into everyone’s veins. There were serious classes to be taught the next morning and accordingly, last trains to be caught.
A female coworker and I headed back towards Shinjuku (the busiest train station in the world servicing an average of 3.64 million people a day, and therefore the connection hub for all of Tokyo). On the train I was approached by a Japanese man about my age who slovenly spilled a few thickly accented words in my direction. They came out something like this; “ehhh toohh, yuuuu Amayrican?” “Yep” I replied, though my answer wasn’t quite up to par with him apparently, because the next thing he tossed at me was not more sloppy words but rather his fists. Now I suppose it should be noted that except for about .03% of the male population in Japan, I’m guaranteed a height advantage over anyone by around 9 inches, so his first blow didn’t land squarely on my chin but on my shoulder instead. I had a short flashback to the numerous no-face-shot scruffs I’d had in high school, but thankfully the nostalgia lasted only an instant. He was frothing with rage, so as a reaction I grabbed his wrists. For what seemed like the better part of 5 minutes we waltzed about on the train, him screaming and struggling to free his bound hands and me minding the spittle he was flinging at my face in fury. How long had it been since SARS had passed? When was the last time he brushed his teeth? I mulled the questions while we danced in time. When the stop for Shinjuku arrived I pushed him away and attempted a hasty dismount, but my coworker having a much better command of Japanese than I, was appalled. She advanced on him trying to talk some sense into the rabid man. Pop, without even a hint of ironic shame he socked her in the face. A crowd enveloped him (where was sympathy for me?) and we were ushered off the platform. Realizing that a police report would cost us our last train we got her a bag of ice and said goodbye. The next day I had to teach a lesson titled “Stranger than Fiction” and although I didn’t get to talk about the penis festival, the discussion was anything but lacking in character.
