Giving Notice

Nothing, but nothing escapes the notice of the average Japanese person. One offshoot of the training to be incredibly considerate of other people is the ability to note the the slightest variation or shade of meaning in dress, habit, behavior, you name it. Japanese seem incredibly perceptive when it comes to attitude, discomfort, feeling.

The American vibe must scare the hell out of them. We must seem to expend an incredibly wasteful amount of energy broadcasting our wants and needs. I think that this is, in part, because we aren’t used to a culture that is centered around noticing the needs and wants of others. We have to turn up the volume with other Americans just to get them to notice what we are feeling, and that habit, I think, must scare the hell out of the Japanese.

Last Monday, The Kaisha’s books were subjected to a rigorous going-over. (This part didn’t concern me. I don’t handle the money, so I don’t actually care about how the books are being cooked in that place.) However, this did mean that not only were the sibucho Yuki and an outside accountant (this was carefully explained to me, that this man was not from the head office, but was “from outside”)) in attendance, but a big-gu wig-gu from the head office also showed up. I was briefly introduced to this man, then I had to vacate the teacher’s prep room so that the table could be cleared and the money brought out. I had tasks to complete, and one of them required me to question the head teacher who was in the teacher’s prep room.

I walked into the room and hadn’t been standing there half a second before the head office big-gu wig-gu made a slight nod--I mean the barest perceptible nod--at the head teacher that I needed to talk to her. She immediately understood and turned around to see what I needed.

I thought, as I crouched down to talk to her: Whoa. Nothing escapes this person’s perception.

Then I realized that the same could be said for most people here.

It’s also true that they are incredibly (to an American, almost wastefully) helpful to one another. For example, last week the sibucho noticed that a small red pen mark had appeared on her pristine white handbag. She exclaimed in surprise, and no fewer than three people jumped to her assistance. As I sat and watched, the manager and two assistant managers analyzed the problem and each began to try to find solutions. One person ran for a cup of water, one grabbed a Gatsby (say gat-tsu bee) men’s facial wipe (don’t ask) and tried scrubbing away. One ran for a cup to put water in and a third ran for tissues. Each took a turn scrubbing at the red mark until it was gone.

The same happens whenever anyone misplaces anything. For example, we prep lessons and put them into envelopes so that everyone can use them. Since we all more or less teach the same lessons in the same week, occasionally an envelope gets left on the table and the teacher who is supposed to use it next can’t find it on the shelf. This usually prompts a mad dash by everyone in the room to find the envelope. Doesn’t matter who or how busy they are, everything is dropped and their attention is devoted to finding the missing envelope.

In America, I think the same dilemma would prompt no more than a “Good luck with that,” response.

This would be a completely alien and incredibly rude response to most Japanese. In fact, the Japanese response is extended even to me. For example, Masashi, who spends hours busily and exhaustively prepping his lessons, saw me digging in the pockets of my suit jacket (which was hanging up behind the door in the teacher’s room) and said immediately, “What are you looking for?” I had been looking for my lighter, but that was my business, so I had to feign finding something and say, “Oh, here it is! Thanks!”

I should say a few things here:

One is that, as an American, this strikes me as an incredibly time-wasting exercise. I’m sorry, but not everyone in the room needs to help someone scrub a mark off their handbag. Some people actually have work to do. (But again, this would not be in keeping with the spirit of the group, which requires that everyone’s feelings be considered all the time. However, I realize too, that the American independent spirit that leads me to think this has its own consequences. We learn to disregard our own feelings and the feelings of others as an offshoot. Is this always a good thing? I wonder.)

And I too, have begun to acquire this habit.

Chie the other day misplaced her name tag. This isn’t such a big deal to me--I rarely wear mine and don’t really consider them to be important things. However, since she was distressed, I jumped in to help her look. Here’s the thing: Her name tag is in kanji, which I (for the most part) can’t read. This led to a ridiculous situation where I picked up every name tag except my own and Ben’s (both in romanji) and had to show it to her and say, “Is this it?” (No, that’s Masashi’s. No, that’s Akiko’s. No, that’s Ken’s. No, that’s Rinako’s. Etc.) She was called away from the task of searching by a student who needed help, and I almost immediately then abandoned the task to go about my work of prepping a lesson that I was shortly to teach. This somehow struck me as slightly more important than Chie’s lost name tag--an admittedly American attitude. As I was getting ready to leave the break room, I checked my lipstick in the mirror that sits on the desk. There was her name tag, peeking out from behind the mirror. When I took it to her, her relief was palpable.

Here’s a funny thing: Though I’m living now in a culture of people who are trained to notice and respond to the slightest need of their companions, it has been remarked to me, by the Japanese teachers, that I don’t express what I need. This seems to cause them some distress. For my own part, I don’t need much in this place--I mean, I am learning to do without, learning to be patient, learning to take what comes. And I don’t need others to look out for my feelings because I consider them to be my own responsibility. I am not offended by others not paying attention to them (my feelings, I mean). But, too, it’s a bit distressing to my Japanese coworkers that I am so restrained. Now that’s funny.