Lost in translation
I received one of the worst bollockings of my life when I went to work in Japan for a 3 month project.

My company was paying for everything, which was great. Unfortunately, the serviced apartment they had provided didn't contain any consumables so I had to venture out to the shops to buy some on my second night in town. I didn't speak any Japanese but my then-flatmate in London had supplied me with some essential phrases to help me get by. For anyone who's been to Tokyo, you will know that often shop staff don't speak any English at all. He tipped me off that many English words had been 'Japanglified', so if in doubt, guess by adding a vowel to the end. For example, McDonalds is Mac-Donald-O. Simple!

I went to the closest store and spent ten minutes hunting around the myriad of products, all in identical garishly-coloured plastic bags and all with cartoon characters or alien symbols explaining what was inside. It was hopeless, so I approached a middle-aged shop assistant and, in my best attempt at Japanglish said... "Soap-o wa doko desu ka?", as I hoped that would suffice for “Where is the soap?”

She looked shocked, presumably at my poor language skills so I repeated it more slowly. She muttered something at me and then spun around and disappeared into the back of the shop as I was preparing for my third attempt.

Feeling knocked back, I went round the shop again thinking that I might have more luck this time. I didn't, and after another few minutes of fruitless searching I remembered I had almost no cash on me. Japan is a cash-based economy. Even large stores sometimes don’t accept cards, but I didn’t know where the ATM machines could be found. I went back to my favourite assistant again and thought about a suitable word for ATM. It certainly wouldn’t be “A-T-M-o” so I settled on looking for the bank instead. “Bank-o wa doko desu ka?” I asked the lady, as she glared at me in silence. Nothing. I asked it again but before I could finish she started shouting, nay screaming at me. She slapped my arms a couple of times and continued with the most amazing tirade for what felt like minutes as I stood prostrate and unable to respond, before finally she ushered me out of the shop and slammed the door behind me. I’d no idea what had just happened, but sensing defeat, I went back to my apartment soapless and cash-poor.

The next morning at work I told my Japanese colleagues this tale. They chuckled as I recounted the erratic behaviour of this clearly-mad woman when I merely needed some soap, then my friend Hanada-san explained what had happened. It would seem that in Japan there are various ways for disgusting Gaijin to entertain themselves, one of which is the bathhouse, known locally as the “Soap-land-o”. It’s essentially a brothel, and the local vernacular for these establishments is “Soap-o”. I’d asked an ageing woman shopkeeper for directions to a whorehouse.

I continued with the anecdote and they practically fell off their chairs when I got to the second part. My voice is a litte nasal at times, so my attempt to locate the bank with ‘bank-o” was mistaken for another Japanese word, ‘manko’. To all intents and purposes, after failing to get the address of the local knocking shop, I’d asked this middle-aged woman “Manko wa doko desu ka”. This translates to “Where is your pussy?” so naturally she must have thought I was desperate enough to try it on with her as well.

Ironically, the next day I ended up going for a slightly dodgy massage in Roppongi, originally intended to relieve my jet lag. It ended up including a complementary (and really rather excellent) ‘happy ending’ from the very sweet girl who was giving it, apparently because she liked the look of me. So I am a disgusting Gaijin after all.

It wasn't so much the length I should have apologised for, more the mess.
( chart cat has an itch, Sat 22 Sep 2007, 12:58, Reply)