Reason One Billion and Nine Not to Talk to Strangers

I stand here as living proof of the fact that you can take the village idiot out of the village but you can’t take the idiot of the village girl…Unfortunately, this isn’t Greenwich Village we’re talking about but a little town in British Columbia that I’ve come to think of as Podunk, Anywheresville, Planet Earth. Despite having lived longer (12 years) in New York than anywhere else in my life, I still retain a somewhat hickish core – had I only stayed in Manchester, England, an event such as that which I’m about to relate would probably never have occurred. However, the fact is, I did have a sojourn in Podunk, B.C. during those critical adolescent years, and their impact on my ability to assess a situation as either “safe” or just plain not right is apparently everlasting.

Not that I believe for a moment that all the folks in Podunk are friendly and benign – far from it – just a couple of trips into Podunk, Alabama, Podunk, Texas, Podunk, Georgia and Podunk, West Virginia as part of an interracial couple were enough to confirm that--at least in America--Podunk is filled with squinty eyed, snaggle-toothed, proud, trailer-owning locals who “don’t have much “truck” with those who aren’t from around these here parts…” However, apart from witnessing a guy beating off on the platform while waiting for the F-train in Brooklyn, that one awful time when some guy rubbed his balls against my butt while on a crowed D-train, that one time when a friend (who'd soon go on to become the greatest impossible love of my life) and I, while out for an stroll on a balmy, breezy night on the upper east side, were verbally abused by a homeless black man for being an interracial couple, and that one time when the cabbie who was dropping me off at my apartment on the Upper East Side at 4:00 am asked if I was “still working,” I’ve had few truly unpleasant experiences (with complete strangers).

Anyway, here’s the story…(step into my shoes!) It’s early June; the weather is good; you have finished your afternoon teaching sessions and now stand smoking at a designated outdoor smoking spot before making the return journey home. You know you shouldn’t smoke – and in many parts of Tokyo and Yokohama there are armies of elderly Japanese wearing some sort of uniform (complete with armbands) ever at the ready to stop you, if you even think of walking and smoking, to remind you that while they don't give a toss about the state of your lungs, you should really "think of the children" (lest they get burned by a careless dangling ciggie). The idea of quitting has been festering for some time in your brain, but you’re doing it anyway. And today it will be your undoing…

Here comes a guy – just a regular Japanese guy. He strolls up to the communal ashtray and pulls out a ciggie. He throws you a sidelong glance. You shift slightly so that he has room to ash his cigarette without invading your space. This is the moment when you should have run for your life. But you didn’t. Because you didn’t know. Anything.

He clears his throat and turns to you. You know he wants to talk but you are only slightly on guard. Maybe he just wants to practise his English, you think. Apparently, lots of Japanese people will approach foreigners in the hopes of a free lesson. It has never happened to you but you don’t really mind…You are feeling generous with your knowledge of English. The sun is shining. You don’t mind.

He finally speaks: “Speak English, okay?” “Sure”, you say. He begins to “speak English.” Actually, it’s a mixture of English and Japanese but the Japanese is basic enough for you to follow. Inwardly your chest expands proudly – you are thrilled to understand – outwardly you graduate from an A-cup bra to a B-cup – all in a matter of seconds. Later, you will wonder if your puffy chest was part of your undoing….

It turns out that he’s from Hawaii – 1^st generation – and comes back to Japan every spring for a couple of months. He’s a teacher – social studies or science or something. His parents live in Kyoto. He’s leaving tomorrow. He loves Japan but doesn’t have many friends here. You feel sorry for him--in a kind of disinterested way. You light another cigarette and he offers to buy you a drink while he talks to you some more. You say no thanks, but he insists so finally you say yes (because you are really, really dumb). He buys you a beer (ah the wonder of vending machines in Japan!). You sip and talk, explaining that you’re married, have been here for a year and a half, teach English, etc.

The conversation starts to wane.. Out of nowhere, he says, “I’m feeling very generous today!” You query politely as to the cause of this – after thanking him once again for buying you a drink. He explains that he received his annual bonus today. You say, “Good for you,” while in the background alarm bells begin faintly to ring. You start to notice things about him – superficial things, trivial, physical things which to that point had perhaps been registered but not fully processed by your hickish little mind. He’s around forty and slightly balding. He has strange teeth – teeth that seem almost fused together – like seamless and slightly lopsided discount dentures. He is thin, not quite gaunt, but approaching that state, although you note that his clothes are tasteful. He is unmarried….He is around forty.

Like most creeps, he’s a creep in nice guy’s clothes…

He explains that he wants to go to a hotel for a "rest" and just have you take your clothes off –he is willing to pay you the equivalent of slightly less than $100. “No touch. Look only.” You laugh. You say, “You’re kidding, right? Not kidding? Well, no way!!! Gotta go now!” He says, “I’m sorry, no mean rude. I lonely. You nice girl” You say, “I’m married and I’m not that kind of girl!” He says, “I have big penis. How big your husband’s penis? Maybe mine is more big…” You say (in Japanese), “I have to go now, but my husband’s penis is 47 centimeters.” And you walk quickly away. You are not sure whether you're more offended that he thought it possible that you'd take your clothes of for him, or that he was willing to offer only a measly $100 for the privilege of seeing you in all of your glory...

And the moral of the story is: hicks in Japan should not talk to strangers who want to practice their English....but if they do, they should be prepared to be COMPLETELY TRUTHFUL about the size and/or splendour of their loved one’s privates…