My First Sheiku - I remember....

My First Sheiku
I remember the first time I stumbled into a McDonald's in Japan. The year was 1991. The Soviet Union had recently collapsed, the Wall had come down, and American style fast food was becoming the rage the world over. As American pop culture spread its tentacles to all corners of the globe, I sought refuge in the ancient culture of Japan, where I imagined time moved a bit more slowly, like in Kurosawa's ponderous "Seven Samurai." I wanted to go to a place where I imagined stirring a cup of green tea, or composing a haiku poem on the swaying of bamboo trees was a national sport.

But on one day in Japan, I was in a rush. It was approaching six o'clock at night and I was running late for work at the mom and pop language school where I had been teaching English for the past several months. Usually I ate out at one of the local restaurants - maybe one that specialized in ramen, soba, or udon noodles. The latter was my favorite - large and fat white noodles soaking in a steaming hot broth. If I had some time afterwards, I would take a leisurely stroll or watch the old men play Japanese Chess, or 'Go', in one of the local parks. On days where I had to hurry, I might cave in to fast food, but in the form of a convenience store bento - Japanese style TV dinner, usually consisting of dried-out fish, some cold sticky rice grappling with a sour plum in the middle, and a few slices of raw cabbage. But after several months of subsisting on only the local cuisine, my palate was itching for something that tasted like home. Feeling just a twinge of guilt, I headed for the closest McDonald's, or "Makudonarudo", near the school where I worked.

When I ambled through the sliding doors, the first thing I noticed was that the menu board was in English and also Katakana - the script the Japanese people use for foreign loan words. I had developed a fair facility for reading this by my sixth month in Japan but for some reason I just couldn't find a Big Mac anywhere on the board. Perhaps it was just my hunger clouding my vision. Perhaps I just didn't expect to see another script in this context. "Ah, there it is," I said to myself finally, "Biggu Maku". I had also wanted a vanilla shake and some french fries. I found the vanilla shake, or "banilla sheiku", but the fries eluded me so I thought I would just ask for them at the counter.

I waited behind several people at the counter. And I waited, and waited. Then I noticed what was happening. I watched as the counter girl brought each item to the counter for the family of four in the front of the line. First the Biggu Makku was placed in the bag, then the Teriyaki Burger, then another burger. Then fries, cokes, and so on. She carefully, and rather delicately, added napkins as though they were fragile porcelain. She then pressed the open ends of the bag together, tucked the corners inward and pressed them succinctly together, making sure they were the same size and shape. Finally, slowly and with great care, she rolled the top of the bag downward and then gave a final crease to the bag. She followed this origami procedure with each bag she used and got another bigger bag to put the smaller bags into. Just as I thought she had finished she went and got a tray to put all the items on. I half expected her to turn the tray 360 degrees and bow as in a tea ceremony as she delivered the meal to her customers. On most days, I would have appreciated all this as one more expression of the Japanese way of doing everything with great care and grace. But this was not one of those days.

After some time, I was second in line and almost ready to order. I perused the menu board one last time to see if I wanted anything else: "gureen salada", "orenji juice", "hambagga", "isu kureemu", "cheesu bagga", "teriyaki bagga", "douborru cheesu bagga". When the man in front of me turned to go, the counter girl smiled sweetly at him, bowed and said "arigatoo gozaimasu." When she turned to me her smile brightened even more, as though she found the whole idea of working for a foreign fast food restaurant and serving a genuine foreigner to be the quaintest thing in the world.

"Irrashaimase" or "welcome, honored sir" she said to me, still flashing that beatific smile. I flashed herback a wan smile and said, "Biggu Maku" foregoing politeness.

"Hai, Biggu Maku," she fired back.

"Banilla sheiku."

"Hai, Biggu Maku, banana sheiku."

"Chigau (no, that's not it), 'banilla', banilla sheiku," I said.

"Hai, wakarimashita," she nodded.

"Etto (hesitation word)....frencha furaiza," I added.

She looked at me blankly and began blinking rapidly.

"Etto....er...frenchie furaizu.." I tried.

Faster blinking.

"Anno......etto, er...furaizu, frenchu furaizu"

Squinting.

I looked at the menu board for clarification and squinted in return.
"Asoo ka," I said, "furied potato"

Her eyes widened and sparkled happily; she was about to total up my whole order when I said,
"...Etto... ketchup....mo (also)."

Her face fell.

"Ketchup...kechiupa? kachiupi?....kechiupun?..." I explored but to no avail.

She turned tentatively to the busy girls to her left and to her right, who looked equally puzzled as I continued flapping my lips gymnastically, "KechiupAAAHHH?...Kechiiipoo...Kechupoo?"

Finally one of them beamed a smile of comprehension, bobbed her head up and down and said "Ah, kechupoo!" "Yes, kechupoo!" I cried, and the girls behind the counter all laughed and clapped their hands in misty-eyed joy. The girl helping me scurried around and collected my order. After she brought all the items out she asked if I would eat there or take out. "Mochi kaeru" I said, meaning "take out". She looked like I just shot her. Was it my pronunciation? I tried again, "Mo-ochi Ka-e-ru-u.." She bit her lip, "moment," she said, and turned around, running off like a girl who just found out her boyfriend was cheating on her. When she returned she brought an older, more authorative looking feminine species with her, who wore a bold, solid-blue shirt to distinguish herself from the striped novices around her.
The solid-blue shirt looked serious and said, "Did you wanted to take your meal out?"

"Uh...yes..." my eyes shifted slowly to the left then over to the right, "...that's right...." "

"Sorry......mmmm, we can't give you ketchup...for taking out. ''

"Really?... why?" I asked, not trying to hide myboorish American look.

"It's the rules."

Flash back to several months before. I had only been in Japan a couple of weeks when I decided to try out the local pool. As I was about to jump in the water, the life guard motioned me over, pointed to my regular swimming trunks and said, "you must wear Speedos."
"Honto(really)? Nande? (why?) I asked genuinely perplexed but in, unbeknownst to me, not the most polite register of Japanese.

She thought a moment and said, "because.... it's difficult for you to swim."

"Oh," I assured her with all the ah shucks American sociability I could muster. "It's no problem, I can swim in these just fine," I said, flashing her what I thought was a winning American smile.
She looked at me blankly for a second and then got out her English/Japanese dictionary. She rifled through it a few moments and then said, "Mmmm....it's...an invasion...mmm... of your privacy."

While not knowing exactly what she meant and not knowing exactly sure I wanted to know, I still felt some small amount of need to unravel the mystery. "Hmmm," I said, "I don't really understand."

She thought a few seconds and said, "It's the rules."

Back to Mcdonald's. I figured it was no use arguing. Besides this form of bureacratese, American style, was not entirley foreign to me anyway. "Okay, I'll eat it here...mochi kaerinai... but could you give me a bag as well." Surprisingly she complied with my request without hesitation. When she brought me the bag, I moved my tray just off to the side but not out of her view and smugly began to apply the ketchup on my fries. Very quickly and with no grace at all, I dumped all the items into the bag and stomped out of the restaurant, the very image of the ugly American I had always abhorred. As I drove off in the car munching my hamburger, I was still savoring my small victory over "by the book Japan" and "just follow the damn rules" people everywhere. I pulled up at a red light and reached for my vanilla milkshake. I put the straw in and gave it a long suck. It was banana.