When I was in Japan and found myself walking past hostess bars, I was always solicited to work by the door touts. They would hand me business cards printed in English, Russian and Polish offering me glorious opportunities. I'd just toss them away. I'd read "People Who Eat Darkness" by Richard Parry so I wasn't even remotely interested.
When I was in Japan and found myself walking past hostess bars, I was always solicited to work by the door touts. They would hand me business cards printed in English, Russian and Polish offering me glorious opportunities. I'd just toss them away. I'd read "People Who Eat Darkness" by Richard Parry so I wasn't even remotely interested.
Since I often walked the same way, the touts got to know me and just say things like, "Irasshai, prease, come rady. Fun!" Once in a while, one would cup his hands and move them up and down in the universal gesture while saying oppai!, oppai!, meaning "boobs! boobs!" and laugh in a friendly fashion, flashing a gold tooth.
I'd just smile and keep moving.
Nobody ever grabbed at me in the street. But public transportation, jam packed as it usually was, was another matter. I often had to discard clothing because of the disgusting discharges I'd discover on my skirt or jeans. I wouldn't even bother washing them. So I bought a kei car and drove.
One time when I had to attend some affair at the New Sanno in uniform and later walked over to Arisugawa Park, I noticed that Japanese men would completely ignore me but Japanese girls came up to talk to me and asked a lot of questions. They were in disbelief when I told them what I did, so I invited them to come visit when Atsugi had its next open house. I didn't think they would but they did. I let them climb into my office, which they found interesting, but they went mad crazy for the pepperoni special and hot wings at Parcheezi's pizzeria. They'd never had hot wings before. Then they had to try the southwestern Stromboli and Italian sausage calzone. Nom! nom! nom!
Oh, right: while riding the Yamanote-sen once some guy began chewing on my hair. The car was so crowded I couldn't move away, so I just pulled my hair out of his mouth and stared at him until he got off at the next stop. When I got home, I shampooed my hair twice.
When my mother met my father's ship in Japan in '69, she was told after a frightening taxi ride that so many drivers were reckless because it was new and thus one of the few activities that wasn't (yet) covered by traditional rules of behavior, so they released their suppressed impulses. Perhaps public transport is another, in a literal sense.
When I was in Japan and found myself walking past hostess bars, I was always solicited to work by the door touts. They would hand me business cards printed in English, Russian and Polish offering me glorious opportunities. I'd just toss them away. I'd read "People Who Eat Darkness" by Richard Parry so I wasn't even remotely interested.
Since I often walked the same way, the touts got to know me and just say things like, "Irasshai, prease, come rady. Fun!" Once in a while, one would cup his hands and move them up and down in the universal gesture while saying oppai!, oppai!, meaning "boobs! boobs!" and laugh in a friendly fashion, flashing a gold tooth.
I'd just smile and keep moving.
Nobody ever grabbed at me in the street. But public transportation, jam packed as it usually was, was another matter. I often had to discard clothing because of the disgusting discharges I'd discover on my skirt or jeans. I wouldn't even bother washing them. So I bought a kei car and drove.
One time when I had to attend some affair at the New Sanno in uniform and later walked over to Arisugawa Park, I noticed that Japanese men would completely ignore me but Japanese girls came up to talk to me and asked a lot of questions. They were in disbelief when I told them what I did, so I invited them to come visit when Atsugi had its next open house. I didn't think they would but they did. I let them climb into my office, which they found interesting, but they went mad crazy for the pepperoni special and hot wings at Parcheezi's pizzeria. They'd never had hot wings before. Then they had to try the southwestern Stromboli and Italian sausage calzone. Nom! nom! nom!
Oh, right: while riding the Yamanote-sen once some guy began chewing on my hair. The car was so crowded I couldn't move away, so I just pulled my hair out of his mouth and stared at him until he got off at the next stop. When I got home, I shampooed my hair twice.
When my mother met my father's ship in Japan in '69, she was told after a frightening taxi ride that so many drivers were reckless because it was new and thus one of the few activities that wasn't (yet) covered by traditional rules of behavior, so they released their suppressed impulses. Perhaps public transport is another, in a literal sense.