Every Japanese person can spot an American from a block away.
Before you say a word. Before we notice your height. Even if you're wearing a kimono. Even if you're bowing correctly. Especially then.
I didn't believe it. So I asked people all over Tokyo how they do it.
Nobody had to think. Everyone had a method.
Here are your tells, America.
A salaryman, 44:
"If a stranger smiles at you in Tokyo, you check your zipper. If the zipper is fine, it's an American."
A barber, 70:
"A Japanese man sits in my chair and says nothing for forty minutes. An American sits down, and by the time I'm done, I know about his truck, his knee and his daughter's softball team, and I'm invited fishing in Montana. I have been invited fishing in fourteen states. I have never fished. I keep every invitation."
A man who sells roasted sweet potatoes from a truck, 72:
"Japanese customers say thank you. Americans tell me it's the best sweet potato of their lives. No exceptions. By now, I have sold the best sweet potato of about twelve thousand lives. My wife says I have become unbearable."
A mother of two, 34:
"On a train, Japanese adults pretend babies are invisible. Americans make faces at them. By the third stop, my son has picked the American as his new father."
A karaoke bar owner, 63:
"When a Japanese man sings terribly, the room goes silent out of respect. When an American hears it, he grabs the second microphone. Now they are terrible together. Musically, it is a crime. Spiritually, it is the best thing that happens in my bar."
An office worker, 27:
"If a Japanese person bumps into you, he apologizes to the floor. An American apologizes to your face. Then asks where you're from. Then shows you all nine of his grandkids in Idaho. You came for the train. You leave with a grandfather."
A station attendant, 58:
"You can tell by the walk. Japanese people walk like they're late. Americans walk like they're going somewhere they'll be welcome."
Then I asked Mrs. Tsurumi.
She's 78. She has run a small massage clinic two doors from my apartment for 41 years.
She has been blind since she was nine.
I asked her as a joke.
She didn't laugh.
"Oh, that's easy," she said.
"On my way to the station, I hear everyone. Hundreds of footsteps. They all bend around me, like water around a rock. Very polite. Very careful. Nobody touches me. Nobody says anything.
Then one set of footsteps changes direction.
It turns toward me.
That's always an American."
She says they never just help. They narrate.
"Hi there. Step coming up. I've got your elbow. That's a beautiful scarf, by the way."
"Japanese people help me too," she said. "But quietly, so I won't feel embarrassed.
Americans help me out loud. So I won't feel alone."
Once, a big man walked her all the way to her clinic, calling the whole street like a football game. "Bicycle on your left. Nice lady on your right. She's smiling at you. Now she's smiling at me. Ma'am, I think we're famous."
Then he booked a massage. He was asleep in four minutes. She says he snored with an accent. She guessed Boston. When he woke up, she asked. It was Boston.
Once, she asked a young Marine why Americans always turn around.
He seemed confused by the question.
"Ma'am, you were by yourself."
I asked her what Americans look like.
The last face she saw was in 1957. She took her time.
"Like someone turning around."
Then I asked her about me. I've lived two doors down for eleven years.
She knew my footsteps right away.
"You're the one who goes around me every morning," she said. "Very polite."
She said it kindly. It still hit me like a truck.
The next morning, I heard her cane at the corner by the station.
I stopped. And I turned around.
"Good morning, Mrs. Tsurumi. Step coming up."
She stood very still for a second. Then she smiled the biggest smile I have ever seen on her.
"Well, look at that," she said. "Where are you from?"
So, America. People say you're too loud. Too friendly. Too quick to talk to strangers.
Please don't fix that. It's catching.
A blind woman in Tokyo can pick you out of a crowd of a thousand. Not by how you look. By which way you walk.
Every morning now, she guesses wrong once.
It's me.
@HakHinton I can attest to this. Just moved from Miami to West Palm. I work in sales, took me forever to find a job all bc I don’t speak Spanish. It’s not right.
@kbmullen5@AzRepGillette@Rep_Grijalva Them respecting our laws & us enforcing our laws. That’s how we prevent deaths. Not enforcing our laws is making people think they can come illegally & get away with it, which is stopping the prevention of death.
@kbmullen5@AzRepGillette@Rep_Grijalva We’re not letting them die. They are making that choice. There are consequences to every choice. That’s a risk they take. If they obey the laws then there would be no problem.
This is my Opie.
I don’t like talking about my personal life a bunch so I put on & off If I should post anything. But I want him remembered forever. No one will probably see this, but that’s okay. I love you Opie, fly high & we’ll be together again one day! 🪽🙏🏻🎾🦮
@ReeveAndSasha That’s 500 miles away from me or I’d take him. It’s a little early bc I just had to put down my Opie a couple weeks ago, but if it was Gods plan to get another dog I’d welcome it.