When I was working in Japan, a buddy of mine visited Japan on business. I went to meet him, and he told me a story about the black trucks, the speaker trucks the Nationalists of Japan use to pretend to be a nuisance. He said an American buddy of his was working in Japan. One day this American went to a convenience store and one of the black trucks was parked in front. The driver was taking a break, and the American walked up to him and asked him in Japanese, 'These trucks make much noise, you probably don't persuade anybody, and you're just a nuisance. Why do you drive these trucks around?' The Japanese guy replied, 'I just get paid to drive the truck around. I don't really care what the speaker is saying.'
One day when my daughter was about three years old, we were returning home after playing in Edobori park, I think.
About 2010, the Nationalists were particularly fond of the Chinese embassy, which was across the street from our home. As we were walking home, my daughter on my shoulders, I was about to enter our apartment building when I heard a truck in the neighborhood. As a buddy of mine would say, my Japanese shitometer was full.
Instead of walking in the front entrance of our apartment building, I continued walking west. I turned right, walking north on the sidewalk of the avenue with the Hanshin Expressway overhead. I continued on the sidewalk as our truck, blasting noise throughout My city, approached. The vehicle was a large van, bus/RV type.
As the truck approached at a crawl, I walked to my left off the sidewalk, into the street, with my daughter still on my shoulders. I walked up to the windshield of the truck, my fair-skinned, light-haired daughter almost eye level with the driver of the cab-over truck. As the driver stopped the truck, I clenched both fists, raised my hands above my head, and gently pounded on the windshield. The driver and my daughter made eye contact. I took the windshield wipers and turned them on their hinges to stick out.
The driver put the truck into park, opened the RV door and stepped out. With him stepped out a co-driver, and a police detective. I recognised the police detective by the distinctive web vest Japanese police detectives often wear, as well as by his demanour and his actions. One doesn't spend 60 years doing Our Thing without being able to recognise who is on one's dance card.
We had a civil conversation. Because my daughter was on my shoulders, I was unable to speak naturally, so after a bit, I took 満華 off my shoulders and went to hand her to one of the drivers. Eventually, the detective was satisfied, and they got back in the RV and drove away. Unlike most Japanese civil servant encounters, interminable haggling was unneccessary. I suspect he just wanted to get back in the truck to his Pokemon game or whatever he was doing.
I turned east to walk home, my daughter and I walking hand in hand.
When my daughter was about five years old, we were sitting in a Muji cafeteria in 南。We were enjoying our food. The cafeteria was crowded. A young lady several tables over was sitting alone, speaking on her telephone. I am uncertain if her conversation was intended for my ears or not, but she was speaking loudly enough to be disturbing our family meal. My daughter and I looked over at her repeatedly.
For decades I have watched Japan's manners becoming exceedingly American. I realised that if I did not do something, my daughter would think that this young person's behaviour was acceptable. I stood up, walked over to the young lady speaking on the phone, ripped the phone out of her hand, and threw it across the room, under the escalators. I went back and finished my meal. The police arrested me later in the day.
成田正哉と源眞久
平成二十年九月九日
SeeOpportunityBridge Station construction site
American Chamber of Commerce in Japan tour
