The Phantom Poet strikes again!
Last week something very strange happened to me as I was riding the subway/Keihan train from Sanjo to Tambabashi on my way home after recording a radio program.
I was listening to Monkey Majik on Anna's iPod and studying Japanese with a textbook I had bought recently but never really cracked open, just minding my own business. Monkey Majik is a Japanese group featuring two foreign guys and two Japanese guys which recently got really popular on the Japanese music charts. The train was almost completely empty. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a form pass in front of me, and then I felt the seat shake a bit as somebody sat down immediately to my left.
Let me stop there and explain how strange that is in and of itself. As is true in America, but even to a stronger extent, people tend to spread themselves out evenly in public places in Japan (i.e. urinals, largely-empty traincars, park benches, and what have you). I guess it's just human psychology kicking in, that we don't want to interact with strangers unless we have to ask directions or we feel attracted to the stranger. Trains are much more prevalent in Japan than the states, and during rush-hour periods, I think most people are resigned to the fact that they have to be uncomfortably squashed right next many strangers. However, when the trains are less-crowded, there is a very interesting phenomenon that frequently takes place. Even if there are plenty of open seats, many people choose to stand up in the empty space between the doors on each side, or in the aisle between the two rows of seats. (I will try to take a picture of a train sometime later and post it here.) In some cases, maybe people just like to stand up, perhaps to hone their balancing skills. But I think most of these people stand up because they feel uncomfortable or embarrassed sitting next to whoever happens to be sitting down already. This sometimes happens in the so-called "Priority Seating" areas which are usually established for elderly people, people with physical disabilities, or pregnant women, and I can understand that some people feel reluctant to sit there, even if there are no such people still stuck standing on the train. Maybe they feel like they will be negatively judged by the other people on the train if they don't look like they need to sit down. I don't think it's out of politeness, because there are a lot of really rude people on the trains. One often hears stories of very fragile-looking little old ladies who body-check everybody in their path when trying to exit a crowded train without warning. I have experienced this before, though it's not fair to say that all or even many elderly Japanese women are like this. On the other side of the coin, there doesn't seem to be a public consciousness that you should give up your seat for people who look like they need to sit down more than you do. Anna and I both routinely give up our seats to elderly people on the bus or train, and they almost always seem to be incredibly surprised that we would do such a thing. One woman bowed deeply to us about seven times, and then continued to smile at us and bow slightly whenever our eyes met during the rest of the train ride. That much is common sense to most Americans, and we didn't feel particularly benevolent after having done such a minor thing. Younger Japanese often don't give a shit, which is quite disturbing to us. Another important piece of background to the story I'm about to tell is the fact that Japanese trains are usually dead quiet except for the rhythmic sound of the tracks clunking by.
Anyway, that bit about the trains was a big deviation from what I wanted to talk about, which was my recent encounter with the Phantom Poet. I hope I was able to convey a microcosm of the atmosphere in Japanese public transportation. So there I was, listening to my music and studying Japanese, when this guy sits down right next to me. Due to the fact that I had earbud-style headphones, the entire world was muted by my music, but the man had brandished a typed piece of paper and was looking at me and his mouth was moving. That was also strange, as the average bloke out there understands that people wearing headphones and listening to music don't want to be bothered. For the first three seconds or so, I sat uncomfortably as he spoke to me unheard, hoping that he would give up. He didn't show any signs of stopping, though, so I took out my earbuds, stopped the song, and looked skeptically at him. He was already in the middle of a sentence talking about the grammar of a phrase written on the paper. I can't remember it, but it went something like this:
I was listening to Monkey Majik on Anna's iPod and studying Japanese with a textbook I had bought recently but never really cracked open, just minding my own business. Monkey Majik is a Japanese group featuring two foreign guys and two Japanese guys which recently got really popular on the Japanese music charts. The train was almost completely empty. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a form pass in front of me, and then I felt the seat shake a bit as somebody sat down immediately to my left.
Let me stop there and explain how strange that is in and of itself. As is true in America, but even to a stronger extent, people tend to spread themselves out evenly in public places in Japan (i.e. urinals, largely-empty traincars, park benches, and what have you). I guess it's just human psychology kicking in, that we don't want to interact with strangers unless we have to ask directions or we feel attracted to the stranger. Trains are much more prevalent in Japan than the states, and during rush-hour periods, I think most people are resigned to the fact that they have to be uncomfortably squashed right next many strangers. However, when the trains are less-crowded, there is a very interesting phenomenon that frequently takes place. Even if there are plenty of open seats, many people choose to stand up in the empty space between the doors on each side, or in the aisle between the two rows of seats. (I will try to take a picture of a train sometime later and post it here.) In some cases, maybe people just like to stand up, perhaps to hone their balancing skills. But I think most of these people stand up because they feel uncomfortable or embarrassed sitting next to whoever happens to be sitting down already. This sometimes happens in the so-called "Priority Seating" areas which are usually established for elderly people, people with physical disabilities, or pregnant women, and I can understand that some people feel reluctant to sit there, even if there are no such people still stuck standing on the train. Maybe they feel like they will be negatively judged by the other people on the train if they don't look like they need to sit down. I don't think it's out of politeness, because there are a lot of really rude people on the trains. One often hears stories of very fragile-looking little old ladies who body-check everybody in their path when trying to exit a crowded train without warning. I have experienced this before, though it's not fair to say that all or even many elderly Japanese women are like this. On the other side of the coin, there doesn't seem to be a public consciousness that you should give up your seat for people who look like they need to sit down more than you do. Anna and I both routinely give up our seats to elderly people on the bus or train, and they almost always seem to be incredibly surprised that we would do such a thing. One woman bowed deeply to us about seven times, and then continued to smile at us and bow slightly whenever our eyes met during the rest of the train ride. That much is common sense to most Americans, and we didn't feel particularly benevolent after having done such a minor thing. Younger Japanese often don't give a shit, which is quite disturbing to us. Another important piece of background to the story I'm about to tell is the fact that Japanese trains are usually dead quiet except for the rhythmic sound of the tracks clunking by.
Anyway, that bit about the trains was a big deviation from what I wanted to talk about, which was my recent encounter with the Phantom Poet. I hope I was able to convey a microcosm of the atmosphere in Japanese public transportation. So there I was, listening to my music and studying Japanese, when this guy sits down right next to me. Due to the fact that I had earbud-style headphones, the entire world was muted by my music, but the man had brandished a typed piece of paper and was looking at me and his mouth was moving. That was also strange, as the average bloke out there understands that people wearing headphones and listening to music don't want to be bothered. For the first three seconds or so, I sat uncomfortably as he spoke to me unheard, hoping that he would give up. He didn't show any signs of stopping, though, so I took out my earbuds, stopped the song, and looked skeptically at him. He was already in the middle of a sentence talking about the grammar of a phrase written on the paper. I can't remember it, but it went something like this:
It is far away from a station Green light waiting for a dancing snow help traffic light ...
He basically ordered me to help him fix the English. To be honest, I didn't hear the first three seconds of what he said, but judging from the way he behaved toward me, I'm absolutely positive it had nothing to do with "Excuse me, but could I have a few minutes or your time?" or "Excuse me, but do you speak Japanese?" or even "My name is ..." The cheeky bastard just started explaining his bloody poem in Japanese, going on and on and on about what he was trying to say in the poem, but without really making any sense. My Japanese listening comprehension is not 100% when it comes to the news or something, but I understood 100% of the words and grammar he used, and he just wasn't making any sense. He continued talking for about two minutes straight, and then paused, waiting for my response. Taking a shot in the dark, I suggested that he change the first two lines as follows.
It is far away from the station Waiting for the green light
a dancing snow help traffic light
Then I said that I couldn't for the life of my understand what he wanted to say in the third line.
a dancing snow help traffic light
I asked him to please clarify exactly how the dancing snow was being helped by the traffic light. He responded (in Japanese), "A green light means 'go ahead, please,' a red light means 'stop, please,' and a yellow light means 'hold on a second,'" and then looked back at me. I said (in Japanese), "Yes, what you've said is true, but how does the traffic light relate to the dancing snow?" He responded, "The snow is blowing very hard because it's the middle of the winter." We continued this pointless, frustrating conversation for another six minutes or so, and then I was happy to see that I could make a getaway because my transfer station was the next stop. When I told him that I had to transfer at the next stop, he looked at me blankly and said "Oh." Then he waited a few seconds, as though deep in thought, and then said "By the way, I have to transfer at the next station too." I just ignored that comment completely. He tried to get me to help him fix the last line again, so I said (in English) "The traffic light illuminates the dancing snow," knowing he wouldn't understand what I said, and to my relief, he stayed on the train. He didn't say "goodbye" or "thank you for helping me" or anything.
I imagine he's crazy.
The kicker of the story is that when I got home, I told Anna what had happen, and her eyes got very wide, much wider than they should have gotten given the fact that it was merely a bizarre story, and we are used to bizarre stories from Japan.
No, her eyes got wide, it turns out, because exactly the same thing happened to her last year when she was riding the subway/Keihan train from Sanjo to Tambabashi, the same route as me! Her description of the man matched my observations, and his ungracious mannerisms and nonsensicalness matched exactly in both our stories. The one difference was that in her case, the man shoved a box of strawberries into her hands as she exited the train.
So this nutcase evidently rides around on the train system, looking for foreigners and attempting to have them fix his English. I would like to tell him off the next time, if there is a next time.
What do you think of this guy? Have any of you readers experienced a similarly bizarre encounter?
I imagine he's crazy.
The kicker of the story is that when I got home, I told Anna what had happen, and her eyes got very wide, much wider than they should have gotten given the fact that it was merely a bizarre story, and we are used to bizarre stories from Japan.
No, her eyes got wide, it turns out, because exactly the same thing happened to her last year when she was riding the subway/Keihan train from Sanjo to Tambabashi, the same route as me! Her description of the man matched my observations, and his ungracious mannerisms and nonsensicalness matched exactly in both our stories. The one difference was that in her case, the man shoved a box of strawberries into her hands as she exited the train.
So this nutcase evidently rides around on the train system, looking for foreigners and attempting to have them fix his English. I would like to tell him off the next time, if there is a next time.
What do you think of this guy? Have any of you readers experienced a similarly bizarre encounter?
posted by jeremy at 1:48 PM
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