Gateway Engrish

Between my trips to Japan, people in the states would often kid and nudge me with words like, "Ruke," poking fun at the typical mix up Japanese people confusing their "L's" and "R's." Some people find it really funny when they check out of their hotel in Tokyo and see "Key Dlop." Or maybe they laugh when they're looking for some cold cuts in the supermarket, and see "Dericatessen" on a sign above.

But come here for an extended period of time and that kind of stuff won't even phase you anymore. The L's and R's? That's what marijuana is to crystal meth: Gateway Engrish. Come down to southern Kyushu and you can get the hard stuff.

Last week, Meg and I were invited to go shopping in Kagoshima, a nearby city of
600,000 people, to go shopping with a couple other girls. Meg asking me to"facilitate a friendship," and translate while they looked at fur hats, high heels and one piece suits that most mothers would never let their daughters walk out of the house in. It was three against one, and the girls insisted that I go. I needed to go shopping like I need a hole in my head, but I agreed.
The first couple of hours of shopping went smoothly without a personal meltdown. As Meg can attest to, when I go shopping, my body shuts down. I get headaches, I begin to walk slowly and drag my feet from shop to shop, and I constantly yawn. Needless to say, I'm a terrible shopping buddy. But this time, the "Engrish" got me through the day. The shirts with gibberish splattered on them are limitless. If they're good enough I'll often buy them. The other day, I bought a shirt that had a band of monkeys surfing on clouds with swords. Under the picture, a caption read:

High Stouthearted

I fight against bad guys with lots of other self on top of cloud.

There's two kinds of people in this world. Some that look at this kind of stuff and shake their head and walk away. Then there are others who look beyond the shirt and ask the bigger questions:

Who made this?

Why?

How did something like this get to production?

Who the hell wears this stuff without picking up a dictionary first.

Or a copy of Hustler.

Enter the boutique, "Laundry."

Its one of a thousand boutiques that are packed to the gills with slutty women's clothing and unrevised Engrish shirts.
At this point it was around 3:00. My lower back was killing me. But I put on my nice face and browsed. Meg sifted through a rack of shorts. The other girls were in back, looking at socks or something. Out of my peripheries, I noticed a pregnant women, probably six months along or so. Her and another woman working the floor were picking out an outfit for her. The clerk held up a long dark brown jacked on top of a long maternity shirt. Under the jacket, I noticed a couple of Roman letters, so I moved in for a closer view.

Then I took a step back.

Then moved in again.

They laughed, smiled, and nodded to each other about how cool her new outfit was.
I stood behind a rack of bras, peering over at the shirt. I shook my head and pulled Meg over for confirmation.

She glanced and looked away.

We looked at each other with our jaws dropped, then parted ways to individually process what we just saw.

In my introduction to this blog, I always assumed it would be an over 18 audience. Who knows what hands my words will fall into, but my words are in no way meant to offend.

"Cocksucking."

Sorry, I had to say it. I was as shocked as you are. I mean whats to say? A lot actually. For one, she was about to a buy a shirt that said, well, "cocksucking" on it. Everyone who I talk to agrees. It was not enough that she advertise herself as a cocksuck'er', which strangely wouldn't be as bad(?). But she felt so strongly that she needed to advertise the entire activity. She wasnt just representing herself, but the entire act as one. Not just the Yankees, but Baseball.

There's part of of me that wanted to save her. What could I have done? I think my Japanese is pretty good at this point. But to find an unintrusive way to tell a pregnant woman that shes about to buy a shirt with "cocksucking" written on it? She thought the shirt was so cool. Like really cool. The shirt WITH the jacket? Forget about it. I would have crushed her. You know how pregnant women can be. Which is worse? Crushing her vision on her unbelievably explicit new purchase, or letting her walk out of the store with it?
I didn't have the heart.
So I hung back in the shadows and watched the transaction. The deal was final.
She was going to wear it. I'm so glad I bore witness. Call me dark, but knowing that someone is roaming the streets in something like that, well, its pretty awesome.

Every clothing store I enter, I sift through the tshirts, hats, sweatshirts, and occasionally maternity shirts, and find nonsense. Sometimes I laugh out loud and the people around me stare. Sometimes I just snicker. Other times shirts are just nonsense, with stray words phrases and random pictures covering the front and back. Sometimes to the point where I get a headache trying to make sense of it all.
Then other times a gem comes along. I saw the process from start to finish. She had the shirt, loved it, didn't question it for a second, and bought it. There was absolutely no regard for what was printed on the shirt. Completely trusting the store and manufacturer that what they were selling was legitimately cool and harmless. Ignorance is bliss.

Engrish after this? Maybe there will be a second coming.