Bret

Last month my friend Bret came to visit my wife and I in our sleepy little Japanese town. On the first day, Friday, I took Bret to Rural School #1 to show him what being an ALT is all about. Rural School #1 is a very calm place and definitely the most unremarkable of all the elementary schools. However, this is a very good thing because if I had taken him to either the Ghost School or Big Rice Field the savage students would have eaten him alive.

I went to Rural School #1 the day before to tell the vice principal that I was bringing my American friend with me the next day. For the first time in 10 months of working together I saw a gleeful smirk develop on the normally stone faced man as I described Bret’s 6’3” frame and long red hair. I also told the vice principal to keep Bret’s visit a secret to the children and the rest of the staff, further altering the stoic’s well formed facial creases of disapproval to ones of barely restrained gittiness.

The next day with Bret in tow the teachers and children greet us with dropped jaws and one-word exclamations of, “Big!” “Tall!” and “Amazing!” Word got around quickly that a new bigger and even stranger looking gaijin has come to school with Michael Sensei.

The faculty made attempts to speak to Bret in English, although the majority ended up pronouncing Bret’s name as “Brado.” Most people looked to me to translate even the simplest phrases like “how are you?” and “where do you live in America” when I know they can say it English. The now mirthful smirking vice-principal was particularly interested in my foreign friend.

The beginning of every class started with the students shouting “EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” when Bret ducked through the door of the classroom. Next questions were fielded about Bret’s life such as “Where are you from?” “How tall are you?” and “Is that your real hair color?” After the initial shock and generally timid Q&A sessions the students were mostly calm.

The only bad students at Rural #1 are the little terror 2nd graders, whom we did not teach that day. I really wanted to give Bret the full ALT experience though so after lunch I suggested we go to the younger students classrooms for a visit. One look at the uninitiated gaijin giant and it was on. Bret was swarmed by at least twenty pinching, poking, grabbing and stabbing piranhaesque seven year olds. I watched at a relatively safe distance as a couple particularly nasty boys snuck up on my occupied friend and flanked both sides to thrust their fingers into his tender nether regions. A few kids were so enamored with Bret’s plush auburn arm hair that they wouldn’t stop rubbing it and at least one lucky kid managed to pluck out a few souvenir strands. The homeroom teacher laughed and said to me, “he is having so much fun with the students.” Bret did not look like he was having fun, but I sure was.

After the last class Bret and I relaxed in the relative safety of the teacher’s room and reflected on our day as we watched the principal walk the pet goat around the playground. Intermittently students would venture into the teacher’s room to get a better look at Bret. A couple times the younger students would run away shouting “Kowaii kowaii!” (Scary, scary!”) To the urging of a PTA mom, Bret launched her child over his head and up to the ceiling. Weeks after Bret’s departure children from Rural #1 as well as other students that saw Bret in town asked, “where is your friend” and were sorely disappointed to hear that he returned to the land of giants.

Since Bret only had one weekend to spend in Tokyo we had to make it count. First stop the anime and nerd capital of the universe, Akihabara. Unfortunately the week before some loser rented a car and smashed through town before jumping out and stabbing innocent people, killing seven and wounding another ten. Akihabara was still in mourning from the attack and wasn’t teeming with cosplay freaks per usual. We made the most of it and still had fun basking in the unabashed geekiness.

Walk into any manga/toy store in Akihabara and past the innocent façade of the first floor one will be inundated with wall-to-wall porn. Porn in Japan has blurry mosaics on the sex parts, but with comics anything goes. It’s sad when hand drawn pictures are more disturbing than real life, but on the other hand maybe it’s a good thing. I’ve been to Akiba before but I am still amazed at the sheer volume of little girl lolita porn there is and how many creepy customers line up to buy it.

Akihabara is also famous for high tech computer equipment but we didn’t have the money or inclination to buy any.

We went to a futuristic arcade where gamers climb into the cockpits of a giant robots and have a gundum battle royal with other killer fighting machines. We were far too intimidated to brawl with the veteran robot pilots. Instead we played the drum game and Bret damaged his finger drumming too furiously.

We took a break at a maid café. Japanese women will dress up in frilly maid customs to serve socially awkward otakus overpriced drinks and snacks. Entering the café the first maid greets us with a formal, “Welcome home master.” At our frilly table we are given a miniature bell to ring in order to get a maid’s attention. The maid that served our coffee and cake stirred the milk and sugar in a deliberately slow and sensual way while giggling, “tee hee hee hee!”

I found the most hilarious part of this experience to be the enthralled patrons. A guy across from us ordered the $16 rice omelet. The maid used a ketchup bottle to draw a picture of Doraemon as the mesmerized otaku man looked on. The guy next to omelet man kept muttering, “moe moe moe” while obsessing over the cuteness of the maid’s act. One can buy extra services from the maids starting at $100 for talking. Foot massages and perhaps other types of massages cost extra. When we left our maid hopped up and down waving and smiling while screaming, “goodbye master come back again soon!”

Next Bret and I went to Akasaka for a ninja dinner at a ninja restaurant. In the dark restaurant we traversed though hidden passages and secret doors before arriving at our table. I wanted our ninja waiter to speak Japanese for a more authentic experience, but then I heard his English accent and it was hilariously awesome.

Ninja Waiter: “I will show my ninja power, HIYA” and with a gratuitous hand display he l the escargot on fire before serving.

The food was only good, not great, but the atmosphere was kick ass. I had to use the bathroom and needed a ninja guide to get there but then got hopelessly lost on my way back. I had to use the password, “zangatsu” on a passing ninja busboy who escorted me back. There was even a ninja magic show between the main course and dessert.

After dinner we hit up ganguro infested Shibuya for some wacky nightlife. How many women and men with overwrought tans and blond hair did we see in Shibuya that night? Too many too count, especially after several beers. Not all J-girls are cute subservient maids. Some are rebellious foulmouthed ganguros who hang out their menacing yakuza looking boyfriends in Shibuya. After taking in Shibuya’s drunken youth we decided to call it a night around 2:00 am. Since the trains stop running so freaking early in Japan we needed a place to crash.

Walking up love hotel hill we saw the most persistent prostitute EVER. She inquired if we wanted a “masajii” which both of us recently married men declined. Behind us was a short shy young man that the masajii woman quickly recognized as an easy mark. The pushy woman stopped the mark asking if he wanted a masajii, he tried to duck and swerve to avoid her but she leached onto him by grabbing his hands. We slowed down our pace to watch for awhile, but the awkward waltz continued until we were over the hill and out of sight.

Bret and I ended up at an all male capsule hotel built for cheapskate salary men to sleep off their nights of debauchery. It’s a good thing that neither of us are claustrophobic because it was like a coffin in there, albeit a coffin with AC and a television.

After a poor nights sleep we headed off to Shinjuku, Harajuku, and Omote-Sando so Bret could buy souvenirs and we gawk at more interesting characters. First we went to Shinjuku and some of the nicer department stores before finding our way to Kabuki-cho, the red light district. We declined the pushy hustlers demands to go to their strip bars and soap parlors. No I do not want to bathe and get all sudsy with naked Japanese strippers. There are tons more maid cafes and girly bars AND there is also a large number of butler cafes. Hey if men can get served and soapy then ladies should be able to get a little extra attention from primped up effeminate butlers. It’s only fair.

Harajuku was not in mourning. A full display of cosplay characters, Harajuku baby dolls, lolita girls and cutesy but a little scary goth lolita girls were strutting about the area in their intricate outfits. Bret bought more souvenirs here and at Omote-Sando.

It was a fun but exhausting weekend, maybe that’s why it took five weeks to write about it.