A stranger at an American grocery store said, "I love your jacket, man."
I froze.
In Japan, when a stranger speaks to you, something is wrong. You dropped your wallet. Your bag is open. There is a spider on you.
So I checked my jacket for stains.
I checked my zipper.
I turned around โ maybe he meant someone behind me.
He was already gone.
He didn't want anything.
The compliment was the whole event.
It took me three weeks to try it myself. I practiced in my car. "Nice hat." "Nice hat." "Nice hat." Twenty minutes.
At Home Depot, I finally said it to an old man. My voice cracked like I was confessing love.
He said "Thanks, brother!" and kept walking.
Like it was nothing.
Like kindness is free here.
Since that day, I have complimented 14 strangers.
In 40 years in Japan, I never once told my father I liked his car.
Tomorrow I'm calling him.
Nice hat, America.
"You're letting me go?"
"Kirk, crackers are a family food. Happy families. Maybe single people eat crackers. We don't know. Frankly, we don't want to know. It's a market we can do without."
"So that's it after 20 years--so long, good luck?"
"I don't recall saying good luck."