“Sumimasen (excuse me)…” a colleague of my husband’s said to me.
“Hmmmm,” I answered. I had just put a forkful of pea pods into my mouth.
CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.
Alright, yes, I was intensely chewing because I was nervous. Very nervous. I was the only spouse who had come to this dinner. The only spouse.
CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.
Second, I was intensely chewing because I was hungry. In the dim light of the restaurant, I couldn’t identify anything on the table that I liked to eat, or could successfully eat with chopsticks, except for these pea pods.
CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.
And, third, I was intensely chewing because I am not a good Japanese speaker. And, eating allowed me to successfully hide my lack of fluency. Instead of speaking, I smiled. Or nodded. Or arched my eyebrows. Or winked. And, continued chewing and chewing and chewing.
CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.
And, lastly, I was intensely chewing because, apparently, I must have put the toughest pea pods on the planet into my mouth.
CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.
“Sumimasen…” the colleague said to me again. “We were noticing how you eat edamame. We are curious. In Japan, we squeeze the beans into the mouth like this. We would never eat the pod.”
CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW.
GULP.
Eda what? A WHAT? Squeeze the beans out? Don’t eat the pod? Edamame? This isn’t a pea pod? THIS ISN’T A TOUGH AND HAIRY PEA POD? No wonder I’ve been chewing this thing for hours. I was really beginning to think something was terribly wrong with my teeth.
“Hmmmm,” I answered as I quickly thought of what I should do. This is a little embarrassing. What should I do?
1. Laugh at my mistake, head to the restroom, wash out my mouth and escape out the window.
2. Tell them I am on a very unique and strict Edamame Diet.
3. Panic.
I have my integrity. I have my pride. I have my strong bicuspids. I will not be humiliated by a legume.
“Oh really,” I said. “That is very interesting because in my part of America, we chew the dickens out of these beauties. Itadakimasu.”
CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. CHEW. SWALLOW. SWALLOW AGAIN. AND A THIRD TIME.
Just for the record, edamame is a tasty treat, if eaten correctly.
Also, I will be staying home during the next company get together.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
the "Hai" and Bye
The waitress looked at me.
I looked at my husband.
My husband looked at me.
We looked at the waitress.
Although my husband and I have some Japanese language skills now, we did not understand a word of what she had said to us.
At anxious moments like this, I start to panic. I know I should say something, but what? Quickly I thought of my options.
“Moo ichido onegaishimasu.” This is the ideal response. It is a Japanese phrase. It is very polite. It is easy to say. However, I have had very little success with this phrase. For me, moo ichido actually brings mo’ trouble. I am implying that I will understand the next time around or the time after that, but I usually can’t. In fact, one time at a coffee shop, the Japanese associate actually asked if I could please speak in English.
“Ashita wa ka-yoobi desu.” Tomorrow is Tuesday. According to my sensei, this statement is one of my best sentences. At first I was thrilled. But soon I realized my best Japanese sentence is quite useless. First, it states the obvious. Second, I can only use it on Mondays.
“Kore wa pen desu.” This is a pen. I like this sentence. You can say it anytime and just about anywhere. When feeling overconfident about my Japanese skills, I can also remark that the pen is blue and short and beautiful and writes well. Unfortunately, pen conversations are usually one-sided.
“With a little milk and sugar, thanks.” OK. I admit it. Out of desperation to say anything, I have sometimes just answered with this English line. Granted it is not very helpful at the gas station or at the post office, but, frequently, I do get a cup of coffee with a little milk and sugar that settles my nerves. Then, I can usually muster up a comment on today’s nice weather. I’m pretty sure the post office personnel think I’m a high-strung meteorologist.
I looked at the waitress.
The waitress looked at me.
I looked at my pen. And, just when I thought it was time to mention my beautiful, short, interesting writing pen, I heard my husband say “Hai” (yes, that's fine.)
“You understood what the waitress said?” I asked in disbelief.
“No idea,” he admitted, “but from the context of the situation, I knew she had to be asking if we wanted our bill or if we wanted to bring home the leftovers. The context is key.”
He said “Hai.” We paid the bill. We said “Bye” and we left. No drama. No pantomiming. Just Hai and Bye. Just Hai and Bye.
Hai and Bye. It’s simple. It’s easy. It’s conversational. It’s very agreeable. It’s a bit adventurous. It works!
“Hai” I said to my hairdresser who then gave me a fantastic shoulder massage. “Hai” I said to a clerk at a favorite store who then presented me with a point card. “Hai” I said to the barista at my local café who then warmed up my cookie. He warmed up my cookie!! “Hai” I said to the hairdresser who then surprised me by chemically straightening my hair.
Just to warn you, sometimes the Hai and Bye can become the Hai and Sigh.
I looked at my husband.
My husband looked at me.
We looked at the waitress.
Although my husband and I have some Japanese language skills now, we did not understand a word of what she had said to us.
At anxious moments like this, I start to panic. I know I should say something, but what? Quickly I thought of my options.
“Moo ichido onegaishimasu.” This is the ideal response. It is a Japanese phrase. It is very polite. It is easy to say. However, I have had very little success with this phrase. For me, moo ichido actually brings mo’ trouble. I am implying that I will understand the next time around or the time after that, but I usually can’t. In fact, one time at a coffee shop, the Japanese associate actually asked if I could please speak in English.
“Ashita wa ka-yoobi desu.” Tomorrow is Tuesday. According to my sensei, this statement is one of my best sentences. At first I was thrilled. But soon I realized my best Japanese sentence is quite useless. First, it states the obvious. Second, I can only use it on Mondays.
“Kore wa pen desu.” This is a pen. I like this sentence. You can say it anytime and just about anywhere. When feeling overconfident about my Japanese skills, I can also remark that the pen is blue and short and beautiful and writes well. Unfortunately, pen conversations are usually one-sided.
“With a little milk and sugar, thanks.” OK. I admit it. Out of desperation to say anything, I have sometimes just answered with this English line. Granted it is not very helpful at the gas station or at the post office, but, frequently, I do get a cup of coffee with a little milk and sugar that settles my nerves. Then, I can usually muster up a comment on today’s nice weather. I’m pretty sure the post office personnel think I’m a high-strung meteorologist.
I looked at the waitress.
The waitress looked at me.
I looked at my pen. And, just when I thought it was time to mention my beautiful, short, interesting writing pen, I heard my husband say “Hai” (yes, that's fine.)
“You understood what the waitress said?” I asked in disbelief.
“No idea,” he admitted, “but from the context of the situation, I knew she had to be asking if we wanted our bill or if we wanted to bring home the leftovers. The context is key.”
He said “Hai.” We paid the bill. We said “Bye” and we left. No drama. No pantomiming. Just Hai and Bye. Just Hai and Bye.
Hai and Bye. It’s simple. It’s easy. It’s conversational. It’s very agreeable. It’s a bit adventurous. It works!
“Hai” I said to my hairdresser who then gave me a fantastic shoulder massage. “Hai” I said to a clerk at a favorite store who then presented me with a point card. “Hai” I said to the barista at my local café who then warmed up my cookie. He warmed up my cookie!! “Hai” I said to the hairdresser who then surprised me by chemically straightening my hair.
Just to warn you, sometimes the Hai and Bye can become the Hai and Sigh.
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