There is this idiotic blog I ran across a few months back where a gaijin author complains about American drivers in Japan, specifically people in the military, military dependents or those who work on military bases driving cars with “Y” plates. I never really got in to the blog because the moronic author merely groups a small handful of bad American drivers in an attempt to portray everyone with a “Y” plate as a horrible driver. I have been unable to load the site because it appears the dumbass forgot to renew his domain.
This story is not about that particular dumbass but another one.
Stereotyping is so 1960’s and is pointless anyhow. Certainly this gaijin has run in to a few stereotyping instances throughout his time in Japan. It is inevitable. The longer you live in Japan without feeling the wrath of Japanese discrimination, the greater your chance of encountering such stupidity.
But I digress. Like I said, this post is not about the politics of discrimination, racial profiling or prejudice. My short story is a tale about an interesting driving experience I ran in to today for the first time in my 18 years in Japan. Did I just say “18 years in Japan?” Christ almighty, I must be getting old!
So this afternoon, before the surprise torrential downpour we endured, Anthony wanted to head to the pool with a couple of his friends. When we met them at our predetermined rendezvous point the weather decided there had been enough sun for the weekend. The rain started trickling from the clouds ever so slowly, but I could see a glimpse of hatred in the drops. These guys were interested in wreaking havoc, but apparently decided to start slow before their blitzkrieg. It was nothing short of shock-and-awe right as Anthony’s friends jumped in the car. Cats and dogs started falling out of thin air. It was crazy!
Instead of going to the pool Anthony decided he would rather head back to the house so he and his friends could screw around for a few hours. We got back to the house, the kids ran upstairs and I fell asleep on the couch like the old man I have become. Around 5pm we all piled back in the car so I could drop the kids back off at our previous rendezvous spot.
As I’m making a right turn across traffic off an already small 2-lane road on to an even smaller 1-lane road I notice a car is heading straight for me. The idiot old bastard driving does not stop until we are bumper to bumper.
If you have ever driven in Japan you should have a small idea of how narrow the streets are in this country. Most neighborhood streets in Tokyo are more narrow than your average, everyday narrow street. This particular road I turned on has maybe 2 feet of clearance on either side of car…maybe. Passing is not an option because it is impossible!
Let me explain something further for a minute. There is a special “neighborhood protocol” for driving on this street. About 100 meters after the turn I just made is another very small street. The protocol calls for any oncoming cars to swerve slightly in to this other street, which creates enough room for passing. This protocol has been in effect for who-the-fuck-knows how long. I know this because everyone follows this simple protocol. That is, everyone except for the fucktard I just ran face-to-face with. What’s more is he is the native while I am the foreigner, and he does not even know the rules of his own damn country!
So…here we are, two stubborn bastards staring at each other, mere inches away from each other’s car. I am definitely intent on remaining stationary until he moves out of my way. The vibes reverberating from his Chrysler give the impression he feels the same way. A gaijin driving a Japanese vehicle vs. a nihonjin driving a gaijin vehicle. Irony? Poetic? Probably some other 16 letter word to academically describe this situation exists but I am drawing a blank at the moment.
So I motion for ODB to back his happy ass in to the small street right behind him. He has plenty of room behind him as there are no other souls on the street except the two of us. This move requires little effort, is not dangerous, follows local protocols and makes the most sense! Dude screams through his windshield and motions for me to backup in to traffic, on to the busy street, so his old, dumb ass can get off the road. He wants me to backup in to what is definitely a dangerous situation because he…I do not know why, other than pure, unadulterated, godforsaken laziness.
And because this has turned in to a duel.
I throw my van in to park and sit there, intent on remaining stationary. Maybe I’ll check email, maybe I’ll surf the web. Or, maybe I’ll throw on a movie.
The old guy jumps out of his car and comes up to my drivers side door and screams in Japanese, telling me to backup. He probably thought he could scare me. I do not budge, almost willing myself not to get out of the car and beat this little guy to a pulp.
Instead, I opt to use my lungs and scream back, telling him the same thing but in English. As with his screams of war, it has no effect. He walk’s his frail ass back to his car and sits beside his wife.
I was trying to will his wife in to telling the old fuck to just backup and be done with it. But apparently she is on his side for some reason or another. Either that or very obedient, because I never once see her lips move. Maybe this is an alien couple? WTF do I know, right?
At this point I am adamant I am not going to move. I can play this game, especially because it’s just Anthony, his friends and me in the car. Junko stayed home. Had she been in the car with us then this would have never become a game of gaijin vs. nihonjin chicken…the stories movie and CNN articles are made of.
After another 30 seconds of absolutely nothing, after the old bastard planted his fragile old ass back in his car, he pulls out a pack of smokes and lights a cigarette. This is when I realized we were going to be here for a very long, long time. Alas, finally a reason to respect the man. He can fight, and fight hard!
We continue to stare each other down for what feels like an eternity but in reality is about another 45 seconds. It is at this point that I notice a car pull up behind the old fucker in front of me. I get this sinking feeling in my stomach, realizing this is the beginning of my demise. Not that this old codger was going to move before, but there is absolutely no way he will budge now. He has a reason for not moving now.
I scream “fUCKiT” in agony and wait another 60 or so seconds for traffic to clear and back-up to let this bastard out. I catch a faint glimpse of a smirk on his face as he turns on to the main road, almost as if he was thinking, “stupid gaijin does not know when to give up. I told you so!”
For those who think American’s have a monopoly on stupid driving in Japan, you are nothing more than a mere contributor to the rampant, unwarranted discrimination many gaijin face in Japan. Realize that the world does not revolve around you, and only you, and there is more to Japan than a few bad American apples.