Karen Pond - Getting Genki in Japan: The Adventures and Misadventures of an American Family in Tokyo

excuse me

Ive started to say Excuse Me. A lot.

A lot. A lot. A lot.

And, its not because Ive done something wrong or improper. I dont think so anyway. On the contrary, Im finally, finally learning how to do something right.

It was just a week ago that my familymy husband, myself, three sons, one border collie, 11 suitcases, 36 tubes of our favorite toothpaste, a few Sudoku puzzles, numerous stir fry cookbooks and our fork collection moved from Maine, USA to Tokyo, Japan.

Well, boys, I said to my three sons as we were crowded together on our first Tokyo subway train. Can you believe it? Just a few days ago we were in Maine. Now look at where we are. They nodded at me. Seriously, I said again (trying to not sound too panicked), Please look around. Where are we? Can you help Mommy? I really need you to help Mommy. We really need to figure out where we are.

It is at lost and confused times like these that I am extremely grateful our Tokyo Relocation Coordinator had already taught me the all-important, extremely-helpful, very-courteous, easy-to-pronounce Japanese phrase: sumimasen (soo-me-ma-sen). Of course, she also mentioned other crucial information, such as how to find my way home, how to thank someone for helping me find my way home, and how to use my new Japanese cell phone to call her when I couldnt find my way home. However, after an exhausting 24-hour journey across the globe which included traveling in rental car, shuttle bus, two planes, city bus and taxi, plus the 14-hour time difference, not to mention a tummy full of diet soda and airplane food, topped off with my high level of anxiety about moving to a country where we did not read or speak the language, I could process one thing and one thing only. And that was sumimasen.

It was my first Japanese word. It meant excuse me. I loved it.

Sumimasen, I said to a fellow subway passenger as I tried to squeeze by him to get out the door. Sumimasen, I said again as I accidentally and repeatedly stepped on his foot.

Sumimasen, I said to the taxi driver later that afternoon when I fell out of the cleanest and most beautiful taxi I had ever seen. It was not my fault. I was mesmerized by the cleanliness. Not only was the taxi immaculate inside and out, but the driver wore an impressive blue uniform, complete with shiny cap and white gloves. Plus, in the back, the seats were decorated with most beautiful white lace doilies. This was not a public transportation vehicle, this was a mobile museum.

Drive around the block on more time, please, and dont step on it, I said to the driver as I tried to think. After such an enjoyable taxi ride (The cleanliness! The professionalism! The white gloves!), I wanted to present the driver with a special thank you gift. But what?

I know. I know. Of course!

Clearly he appreciates the ornamental, so I will just quickly crochet another doily for the back seat. A heart-shaped one should do the trick. Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!

Not so perfect. Actually, on second thought, a doily may not be such a good idea after all. First, I dont have crochet needles. Second, I dont know how to crochet. Third, I am not artistic. My doily gift would probably look less like a heart and more like a droopy bottom.

I know. I know. Of course! Tipping. Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!

Heres the fare, I said to the driver when we pulled up to the curb. And, this is a tip for you.

No tipping, he said as he graciously refused the money. He actually looked confused and a bit insulted.

Sumimasen.

Because I was so transfixed by the meticulous details of the taxi driver, his taxi and his refusal to accept a tip, I failed to notice that the passenger door had silently and magically opened. One, two, three, ichi, ni, san, I said to the driver. With a smile and dramatic flourish, I gave the already-opened door a big birthing hip shove which immediately landed me on the curb.

Of course, the foreigner standing on the sidewalk was worse off than myself. He saw me in a very unladylike posture.

Sumimasen.

But, not even the taxi incident stopped me from continuing to use my first Japanese word.

Sumimasen... chicken? I said to the grocer the other day while grocery shopping.

Sumimasen... Wii game? I said to a clerk while trying to find a birthday gift.

Sumimasen... starch? I mentioned when dropping off dry cleaning.

Sumimasen... shoes? I asked the woman at the store. USA 8 medium? Cushioned insole?

Sumimasen... goodnight, I said to my son as I tucked him into bed.

Dad! my son yelled. Mom called me Sumimasen again. Cmon, Mom. My name isnt Sumimasen. Its Ed.

Maybe, just maybe, I might be a bit too enthusiastic about my first Japanese word.

soy to the world

CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. Mmmmm, I said to my husbands colleague as I put another forkful of pea pods into my mouth. In the dim light of the restaurant, I couldnt identify anything on the table that I liked to eat, or, more truthfully, that I could successfully eat with chopsticks, except for the pea pods. This was my first company dinner and I did not want to embarrass myself. Mmmmm, I said again as I rubbed my tummy.

CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.

At first, I was extremely appreciative of the pea pods. As soon as my husband and I entered the restaurant, I quickly realized that I was the only spouse who had come to the company dinner. The only spouse. The pea pods could help me hide my anxiety.

CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.

Also, I appreciated the pods because eating allowed me to successfully hide my lack of Japanese language skills. Instead of speaking, I just smiled. I excitedly nodded. I gave thumbs-up signs. I enthusiastically winked.

You havent flirted with me like this in years, my husband winked back. I need to take you to company dinners more often. Easy tiger.

CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.

However, despite the benefits of eating the pods, I was now tired of them. Really tired. They were incredibly difficult to chew.

Call Guinness Book of Word Records , I said to my husband from the side of my mouth. There is no doubt that I am chewing the toughest pods on the planet.

CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.

Excuse me... one of my husbands colleagues said as he walked over to us. We are curious about something. In Japan, we squeeze the edamame bean into the mouth like this. We would never eat the whole bean. It is very fascinating that in your culture you eat the whole bean.

CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.

GULP. GULP. GULP. GULP. GULP.

Eda what? A WHAT? Squeeze the beans out? Dont eat the bean? Edamame? This isnt a pea pod? THIS ISNT A PEA POD? No wonder Ive been chewing these things for hours. I was really beginning to think something was horribly wrong with my teeth.

I have my integrity. I have my pride. I will not be humiliated by a legume.

Oh, that is fascinating, isnt it? I said as I continued chewing. This is exactly how I eat edamame in my area of the States. Its tradition, really. It is good for the character. Mmmmmm...

CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW....