Drunk In Public & Baka Gaijin

Public Displays Of Affection They Don’t Do, But...

Two different Canadians, on two different nights, exclaim some delight of how you can, in Japan, wake at dawn in some warehouse after a night of partying, sans shirt, sans shoes, your wallet intact, and the policeman who shook you awake will be perfectly understanding when you explain, “I was drinking.” Probably you’ll even be given a ride home.

That is, by the way, a true story.

Drunk in public is a god-given right in Japan. Drunk in public doesn’t mean that you are worthless or penniless. In fact, I’ve seen some very rich looking guys who were very drunk get very sick on train platforms.

I have been drunk in public in Japan more times than I care to admit. And I spent most of my early 20’s drunk it seems.

Baka Gaijin

On the night we went out to baseball, Ben wore his t-shirt with the kanji and romanji that spelled out the words Baka gaijin. Baka means stupid. Gaijin is the slightly derogatory word for foreigner.

People stifled their laughter on the train, even when Ben spoke Japanese (to joke with two women who, mistaking Ueno-hirokoji for Ueno, ran for the train exit, realized their mistake, and sat down again, blushing, embarrassed.)

The shirt was a joke, perhaps, but the Gaijin Card (as Seth calls it) is not.

Here is how it breaks down: Single, we gaijin are something to be stared at, pited perhaps. As a group, we have the ability to inspire disdain, fear, annoyance, and loathing in the public.

Traveling with Yuko, as we often do, she bears the brunt of it. Usually we are drunk and louder than usual. (Japanese people are very sound-conservative and make little noise even when drunk.) Because she is Japanese with a group of gaijin, she is subject to some kind of judgment that I don’t quite understand. When we are alone, we get the looks, but when Yuko is with us, she gets The Looks.

The other night, coming home on the train, Ben wanted to kick some guy’s ass because, honto, this guy was being really disgusting about it, turning completely around to glare at Yuko. “Is he a friend of yours?” Ben asked Yuko rhetorically. “Because then I’ll be a little sorry when I kick his ass.” The man glared and Yuko was embarrassed. “What the fuck you lookin’ at, mate?” Ben said loudly. The man turned around. After a few seconds, he turned back to glare at Yuko. I apologized to her. “It’s only because I’m Japanese,” she said.

I went through training with a guy whose parents are Chinese but who grew up in America. Once when we were out as a group, he said to me, “Look, I’ll put myself at the front and watch the dirty looks I get.” He mimed some of the looks that he habitually get from people who think he is Japanese out with a bunch of baka gaijißn. I watched. He was right. People gave him looks of disgust and betrayal.

You Are, Baby

I am joking with one of the students. I indicate the group of women, asking him, “Which one are you interested in? C’mon, tell me! I can help set you up!”

We are buddies, American style. We have been drinking and I am feeling loose, jumping around the bar like a fool, teaching Japanese how to drink tequila like beginners do, with lime and salt and beer chasers. This young man is very shy and he is obviously interested in one of the women.

“C’mon, tell me,” I needle him.

“It’s a secret,” he says.

I laugh, try a different tactic. “Which is the most beautiful?” I ask.

He says, again, that it’s a secret.

I turn to Ken, my fabulous manager, who I always joke about marrying. (“Kenni,” I tell him when he looks stressed, “when we’re married, you won’t have to work so hard because I will support you.” He jokes back, “I will call your father.”) I say to Ken, “Ken, who is the most beautiful woman in the bar?”

He replies, with no hesitation, “You are, Blendy. You are!”

I give him a high five and tell him, “You are the man, Kenni. That is the answer a man should always give! You are a rock star!”

I turn back to the student, to needle him again. “No, really,” I say. “Which one do you think is the best?”

He replies, “You are.”

I laugh and laugh. “You are a quick learner!”

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