In the early 2000s, I had just joined the US military right out of high school and found myself stationed in Japan for my first assignment.
I loved Japanese culture and had started a college course on basic Japanese language so I could communicate with the locals and find my way around without getting lost in a foreign country.
One day, one of the civilians in my office was retiring and he chose a fancy hotel in the next city over to host his retirement ceremony. They had a bunch of meeting/party rooms we could host our ceremony in. It was fun, but I’m a bit introverted, so at some point, I stepped out into the grand lobby of the hotel to recover some energy by myself. There was a grand piano in one corner with some petite Japanese lady playing soft music on it. I learned against a large pillar and quietly listened for a bit.
All of a sudden, a meeting room door nearby banged open and some Japanese businessman stormed out on his phone. He was agitated and speaking angrily into his flip phone (smartphones didn’t exist yet). He stopped on the other side of the pillar from me and continued his loud discussion.
I had gotten absorbed into some Japanese drama TV shows and had learned to identify the Yakuza (Japanese Mafia) slang. This guy was using the same dialect. I got a chill down my spine; it was my first time running into a Yakuza member in real life.
The guy finished his call and turned to leave… and stopped when he saw me standing practically next to him. His anger flared up and he started speaking aggressively at me in Japanese. Probably pissed that I was listening in on his call.
I caught a few words here and there, but my Japanese wasn’t good enough for full sentences yet, especially spoken rapidly at me in an angry tone.
When he paused, I said in English, “Um… I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” I knew how to say it in Japanese, but I didn’t want to give him any inkling that I knew Japanese.
His entire demeanor changed. He grinned from ear to ear and said, “Ah! America-jin, ne? Good! Good guy!” He gave me a rough pat on the shoulder and then turned and went back to his meeting room.
I thought he was gonna drag me into the meeting room with his buddies and I’d never be found again, so I was relieved when he smiled and left me be. I went right back to my party and made sure not to go anywhere by myself for the rest of the evening.
Fortunately, a lot of Japanese folks were obsessed with Americans and American culture when I was living over there, so if you could convince them you were American, they would bend over backwards to help you with anything.
I flew back into Japan after a vacation and I had a 25-hr layover in Tokyo before flying back to my military base. I slept in a hotel that night, then went to the airport the next morning and asked if they could bump me to an earlier flight so I wouldn’t be stuck in the airport all day.
The lady at the counter said they had a flight leaving in 15 minutes and she would ensure I got on it.
Then she took off her heels, grabbed me by the hand, and literally ran me through the airport! She pushed me to the front of the security line, then we sprinted all the way to the terminal. They even held the plane an extra 10 minutes to ensure I got on it. I felt bad for holding up a plane, but damn! What service!
No, but I have dark hair and have been described as having a Mediterranean look, so a lot of people around the world assumed I was from Europe at first glance. The Yakuza guy didn’t immediately pin me for an American until I spoke English.
This was also way up in northern Japan, where very few foreigners can be found, so their exposure to us is limited. Lots of Japanese people stared at us in public if we went anywhere except the town our base was in.
Not OP but I take it that you’re asking because you’re trying to figure out why they weren’t visually assumed to be a foreigner and why they were assumed to be able to speak Japanese?
In the early 2000s, I had just joined the US military right out of high school and found myself stationed in Japan for my first assignment.
I loved Japanese culture and had started a college course on basic Japanese language so I could communicate with the locals and find my way around without getting lost in a foreign country.
One day, one of the civilians in my office was retiring and he chose a fancy hotel in the next city over to host his retirement ceremony. They had a bunch of meeting/party rooms we could host our ceremony in. It was fun, but I’m a bit introverted, so at some point, I stepped out into the grand lobby of the hotel to recover some energy by myself. There was a grand piano in one corner with some petite Japanese lady playing soft music on it. I learned against a large pillar and quietly listened for a bit.
All of a sudden, a meeting room door nearby banged open and some Japanese businessman stormed out on his phone. He was agitated and speaking angrily into his flip phone (smartphones didn’t exist yet). He stopped on the other side of the pillar from me and continued his loud discussion.
I had gotten absorbed into some Japanese drama TV shows and had learned to identify the Yakuza (Japanese Mafia) slang. This guy was using the same dialect. I got a chill down my spine; it was my first time running into a Yakuza member in real life.
The guy finished his call and turned to leave… and stopped when he saw me standing practically next to him. His anger flared up and he started speaking aggressively at me in Japanese. Probably pissed that I was listening in on his call.
I caught a few words here and there, but my Japanese wasn’t good enough for full sentences yet, especially spoken rapidly at me in an angry tone.
When he paused, I said in English, “Um… I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” I knew how to say it in Japanese, but I didn’t want to give him any inkling that I knew Japanese.
His entire demeanor changed. He grinned from ear to ear and said, “Ah! America-jin, ne? Good! Good guy!” He gave me a rough pat on the shoulder and then turned and went back to his meeting room.
I thought he was gonna drag me into the meeting room with his buddies and I’d never be found again, so I was relieved when he smiled and left me be. I went right back to my party and made sure not to go anywhere by myself for the rest of the evening.
“Don’t shoot! I’m American! I’m stupid and didn’t understand a word of what was said!”
Haha! Yup, basically.
Fortunately, a lot of Japanese folks were obsessed with Americans and American culture when I was living over there, so if you could convince them you were American, they would bend over backwards to help you with anything.
I flew back into Japan after a vacation and I had a 25-hr layover in Tokyo before flying back to my military base. I slept in a hotel that night, then went to the airport the next morning and asked if they could bump me to an earlier flight so I wouldn’t be stuck in the airport all day.
The lady at the counter said they had a flight leaving in 15 minutes and she would ensure I got on it.
Then she took off her heels, grabbed me by the hand, and literally ran me through the airport! She pushed me to the front of the security line, then we sprinted all the way to the terminal. They even held the plane an extra 10 minutes to ensure I got on it. I felt bad for holding up a plane, but damn! What service!
Wow. What a legend that lady was.
So uh are you Japanese by heritage?
No, but I have dark hair and have been described as having a Mediterranean look, so a lot of people around the world assumed I was from Europe at first glance. The Yakuza guy didn’t immediately pin me for an American until I spoke English.
This was also way up in northern Japan, where very few foreigners can be found, so their exposure to us is limited. Lots of Japanese people stared at us in public if we went anywhere except the town our base was in.
Not OP but I take it that you’re asking because you’re trying to figure out why they weren’t visually assumed to be a foreigner and why they were assumed to be able to speak Japanese?
Yes.