Don't Lie, Stupid!

Japan is a place of image. Everything you are is summed up in how you act, what you say, and how you look. Are you in or are you out? Are you part of the group or are you a cast-asideable loner who no one should associate with? I am already at a major disadvantage, in that I am white as a snow weasel. My very appearance screams, “I laugh at your group mentality! I am Individuo, great and terrible! HA-HA-HA!”

One of the first phrases I remember reading was “Be sure to [do thing] to show you’re part of the group.” Almost every essay and cultural point JET gave us had something about showing you’re part of the group.

I, as a person, am incredibly self-conscious and always worry about what others think about me. This is a deep personal flaw I am working on, but you can be sure it was not resolved when I was getting ready to come here. So that fear, coupled with that advice, birthed the indefatigable notion of “Whatever you do, don’t screw up!”
And so it was settled. In everything I did, I would show the Japanese people I lived and work with that despite my appearance I wanted to be part of the team. Go Team Nihon! Woo-hoo! This was a bit more difficult than I thought it would be.

On my first day in Shiga, I had to dress up in a suit and tie and meet my superiors. This was it. After a week of dawdling seminars and talking to non-Shigans I would never see again (except Erik), I was finally going to meet the people I wanted to impress. My bosses. Unfortunately, the first thing they ever saw me do was give an introduction in Japanese that I had written nary ten minutes before. So I basically just looked like a nervous, mumbly fool. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t part of the team. Even nervous, bumbly fools have their parts to play. Like Billy on the Power Rangers or George Harrison. Yes, despite this I could still be part of the team. I just had to prove it to them.

In the car, I began speaking with Atsuko, my supervisor (who is awesome), with my Board of Education Supervisors listening in. I established my interest in Japan and talked about how beautiful everything was. “What a beautiful lake!” I would say. “Oh! What beautiful green trees!” I would remark. “Oh, what a beautiful crossing guard! His face is so taut!” Yes, I was well on my way. I just had to not screw up for another three hundred fifty-four days and I would be home free.

“So what sports do you play?” asked Yamada-sensei, the gray-haired man beast who sat in the front seat. Sports are very important in Japan and playing them is even more important. Being part of a team shows you’re a part of the team. So I scrambled for an answer.

“Basketball!” I blurted out. ‘You idiot!’ I thought. ‘You haven’t played basketball since the third grade. And you sucked then too.’

“Oh! You could join the Basketball team!” Atsuko remarked.

“Oh that would be great!” I lied. Now I was in it. Okay, don’t panic. There’s an easy way out of this. Smash your tibia with a hammer. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Problem solved, but no more lying. I knew I couldn’t keep lying.

“Do you like baseball?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Oh! Who is your favorite team?” I scrambled to think of a name. Any name. ‘Just use an American team name. They won’t know it and the conversation will be over.’

“The Atlanta Braves,” I lied, saying the only team name I knew.

“Oh, they’re not so good this season,” remarked Yamada-sensei. I began to sweat. “Who’s your favorite player?” I needed a good lie to get out this one or I was really screwed. As I made up each word, my English became more smattered and incoherent.

“Oh…uh…” I mumbled. “Well, you see, they are my favorite team, but I don’t watch them anymore…” Yamada-sensei looked at me with the expression of someone who suspects non team-members. “Because when I was young, my best friend loved the Braves…and we…were…went to games…on TV…a lot. But he moves away…so with his…leaving…also he took my…spirit of baseball.”

Yes, friends and relatives, that is no exaggeration. I actually used the phrase “Spirit of Baseball.” Even to a non-native speaker, that has to sound pretty stupid. And I knew he thought it was stupid because he said, “Oh,” and then nothing else for a good fifteen minutes.

So after these two incidents in the car you would think I’d have learned. After all, that’s what mistakes are for. That’s what human beings do. We learn from our mistakes and grow into healthy individuals. I, however, don’t have the intelligence of a human being. Maybe the intelligence of a hamster at best, and even then, the hamster in the class for special hamsters.

At my school, I made friends with one of the English teachers. His name is Mano-sensei. Mano-sensei likes me. I talk to Mano-sensei. On the day of our enkai (big drinking party with ALL the teachers), Mano-sensei asked me a very serious question. “Do you like magic?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. Who doesn’t like magic?

“Do you do any magic tricks?” As a child, I never studied magic tricks. I never got magic books out of the library so I could wow my friends. In fact, I’m not even certain I’ve ever seen a magic trick performed. So of course I said, “Yes.”

My mind snapped at me. ‘Did you learn nothing?’ I thought. ‘That was a lie and you know it.’

“Calm down, mind,” I thought back. “He’ll never know. That’s the beauty of lying. You never get caught.”

Night came. I was relaxing with my fellow teachers and doing my best to ingratiate myself with their drunken selves. I laughed, I cried, I ate squid. Maybe I was finally showing I was part of the team. Soon, our MC of the night came up to my seat. “We’re ready for your magic trick,” he said. I almost choked on my squid.

“What?” I replied.

“Mano-sensei said you had a magic trick to show us.” I looked at Mano-sensei. He gave me the thumbs up.

“Right. I’m a magician,” I mindlessly said as I searched the annals of my brain for any trace of a magic trick. Nothing. I tried to refuse and say I was too embarrassed. No dice. Everyone had heard I could do magic and I was going to do it.

In this, my darkest moment, a moment I had created for myself mind you, God shuffled his feet along the carpet of Heaven and shocked my brain into remembering a trick. It was a dumb, dumb trick one of my friends showed me in Middle school, but it was all I had. “I’ll need a paper towel,” I said.

In five minutes, they had a paper towel for me and I stood up in front of everyone. Half of the eyes were on me. The other half were drunk. I had that going for me. I placed my cup on the table. “Hello everyone. Tonight, I am going to make this cup…disappear.” Mild response. I covered the cup with the paper towel, making sure to mold the towel into the form of the glass. I began to chant with my hands over the glass.

“It’s not working. I need a volunteer to perform the magic dance.” Japanese people hate dancing by the way, especially forcibly in front of others. At least I assume so, because the lady I picked REALLY did not want to dance. But I made her do it anyway. This part was crucial. In the dance I had to knock the glass off the table in an accidental fashion, and pick up only the glass-formed paper towel. It couldn’t be too difficult. I knock things over all the time.

I began the dance. Arms up, arms down, arms to the side and…I hit the glass!! But it didn’t fall off the table. Everyone started murmuring. “That was close. One more time.” Arms up, arms down, arms to the side…I hit the glass and…it didn’t fall off again! The sober people began to wish they were drunk. The drunken people began talking louder. “One last time!” Arms up, arms down, arms to the SIDE! I back-handed the glass dangerously off the table. Thank God it didn’t break.

“Oh no! My glass! I’m so clumsy.” I picked up the glass-formed paper towel and set it on the table. “The magic is complete aaaaaaaaand HA!” I smashed the towel down with my fist!

“Oooooooh!” exclaimed the one sober lady who was still paying attention. At least it impressed somebody. I proceeded to give my speech about how I was so glad to be working with such great teachers and to be on the team (wink wink), but no one was paying attention at that point. And speeches lose their impact when you have to stop and wait for it to be translated into your language.

I sat down, only slightly embarrassed, but very sure I would never lie to Japanese people again. At least not without immediately correcting myself, lest I am forced to conduct a symphony for the Prime Minister.

The point is, I noticed I lie. It’s a bad habit born out of insecurity and wanting to be accepted by people completely different than me. Maybe you can chalk it up to culture shock, but I really don’t want to let myself slide on this one. Lying is lying no matter the reason, and I don’t want to be an untruthful person. Besides, it’s way too much work. I spent a lot of time at my job trying to impress the teachers and students with things I really couldn’t do. But once I got tired of that and started acting crazy at school, I had a lot more fun. I’ll elaborate on the craziness later.

For now, I must go to bed. Thanks to all who made it to the end of this post. I actually have my self-intro videos up on Vimeo if you want to take a look at them. They’re password protected mostly because I don’t want just any random fool getting introduced to me on the internet. So I assume if you’re here it’s because I know you. But if I don’t know you, then don’t use the password “ghibli” to watch my videos. I’m off to sleep. Tomorrow it’s off to Osaka!

Me:

Me from Joe Smith on Vimeo.

My Family:

Family from Joe Smith on Vimeo.

My House:

My House from Joe Smith on Vimeo.

North Carolina:

North Carolina from Joe Smith on Vimeo.