So, there I was, walking down the street- Old jeans tucked
into a very unstylish pair of mens gumboots, greasy hair (thanks to the
freezing temperatures, lack of hairdryer and the ‘high shine’ conditioner that
actually makes hair look greasier after washing), a complete lack of makeup and
sporting a swollen donut man ‘layered look’- When suddenly behind me I hear
a “sumimasen!” cried loudly.
Usually in Japan this means that the silly Gaijin
(foreigner) has dropped something and a kindly Nihonjin (Japanese Person) is usually running up behind trying to return it (This has happened many times in the past
with wallets we have dropped and the like). In Oz, or any other country for
that matter I would have kept walking with my ski jacket hood and ear muffs on,
pretending not to hear- but it is the land of the sweet and kindly.
Next thing I knew, a panting man carrying a microphone and a
flag (yes, like one of the ones that they have waiving outside of a used car
dealership) came running up with a slightly portly camera man bringing up the rear. It looks
like they spotted the illusive Gaijin and wanted the scoop on all the exciting
and covert things that we get up to.
After I had used up about all of my vocabulary on the trival
things (what I do, where I live, why I live in Japan, about my
darling husband etc), he wanted to know what I was doing for the day. Very
vaguely (mainly from lack of vocabulary) I told him that I have been shopping
(Hence the rather large bag of groceries I was carting) and am going home. His
response…
“Excellent, we will come too.”
This is about the time he started speaking a bit of basic
English, which I was very grateful for as my basic Japanese was about as dried up as
their delicious Umeboshi (sour plums).
I explained to him that it was quite a long walk, about
30mins, but neither he nor his camera man seemed to mind. It seemed that the subtle
nuances of my astonished and slightly alarmed look were lost on him. From what
I gather from what little Japanese TV I have seen while waiting at the train
station, it is quite an honour to have a TV crew inside your house… They come
to your home and you proudly show them your treasures and serve them tea
ceremoniously in your finest room in your finest china, all the while laughing
at their jokes and enquiring about health of Mr Rochester.
Not only are we lacking the above, (unless he cared for a
bit of Lipton, and I know no Rochesters in the area) but this is also the part
where I must mention that my housewife skills need a bit of polishing (much
like the state of the house). In other words, they are about as good tying two brooms to the arms of a bear. Not
to mention I had absolutely nothing else to say to him, and if he was expecting
a bit of a foreign 'adventure' with him and the camera man...well, awkward!
Luckily, after many times of me repeating: “you want to come
home?” “You want to come home to my house” “You want to come back with me” “To
my house?” I was able to explain that my husband and my non-existent baby (his
poor English skills translation skills, not my Japanese may I mention) were not
at home.
It was then that he and the camera man exchanged awkward
looks and decided it might be best if they do not come to my house after all…
So, if anyone gets the local prefectural television station
and they see a tall, greasy looking (at least I fit the stereotype) foreigner
with ‘Crapanese” (bad Japanese) looking awkward on TV, that would be me.
Watch out world, it’s Milhouse’s time to shine!
