I am not one to blame the French. In the case of the empty seat next to me on trains and buses in Japan, it's not the French who are to blame as much as it is my French heritage. I accept this fault because acknowledging the other truth is more hurtful. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
A Facebook posting by someone whom I don't know well but like and respect sent me reeling. In short, he wrote about large, foul-mouthed foreigners on his train who dropped the F word with too much ease, who were loud, and thus ill-behaved. No one shushed them. No one paid them any attention. He laments their behavior and wondered whether he shouldn't have said something to quiet them down to the level of noise commonly heard on any train in Japan. Which is to say, no noise whatsoever.
Step onto any car of any train or subway in Tokyo and the place is quiet. Everyone is in their own zone reading books, newspapers or reports; playing games on their phones or texting; sleeping; putting on make up (quietly, of course). Two people having a conversation is almost rare. There's no buzz, no rowdiness, no out-of-the-ordinary happenstance for the most part. (Crowded trains at night after the drinking-schmoozing-networking events are different.) Throw in some large gaijins who already don't blend, who don't know (or don't care) that laughing or talking in a group only calls unwanted attention to them and we've got a problem. Or so my friend says.
Here's the thing. Other foreigners in Japan may have different stories (which is where the French come in) but the seat next to me on any given train car or bus is always, ALWAYS the last seat taken. I am not exaggerating. People will stand rather than sit next to me. I've pointed this out to friends who are seated next to me. "Watch," I'll say. "See if this seat next to me isn't the last one filled." I am proven right. Always.
This gives me no pleasure, this "being right" part of what I only see as a form of shunning. I console myself by saying I smell. My French lineage comes out loud and strong when it comes to perfume. I simply will not leave home without spritzing myself. As a ritual reserved usually for women of the night, that I leave behind me a cloud-wave of scent sets me apart. I can't smell myself, of course. Once the perfume is on, it's on. I don't stop and smell my wrist or my clothes. Others can, evidently. Smell me, that is. I decide it's this she's-wearing-perfume thing people object to, aren't used to, and that's what keeps them away from me. The other truth, that they don't want to sit next to me, that they don't want to sit next to a foreigner is what hurts.
My friend on Facebook called these foreigners "wild beasts." Certainly, there are gaijins in Japan with beastly, horrid behavior. They make the rest of us look bad and for that, I don't like them. That we're all now lumped together as "wild beasts" hurt. I told my friend as much.
One more thing. I'm not proud to admit if Tokyo wins the bid for the 2020 Olympics and news programs are filled with Japanese commentators shaking their heads at the millions of loud foreigners on trains, planes, buses, and any other mode of public transportation I will have the last laugh. No, this isn't the most mature of responses. It is, however, honest. We are not beasts simply because we are large and don't use our indoor voices on trains. If we are, Tokyo will be filled with these beasts in 2020. Beware.
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