I English Speak Good

Last night I happened to have dinner with a visiting U.S. co-worker and relayed a story that happened in May that I have not yet blogged about. He found it very amusing so I thought I would share in the blog.

My apartment has two restaurants in the building although they’re both part of the same restaurant called Sakura (Cherry Blossom). Although the first floor restaurant is a pretty sad affair (it doubles as the breakfast room in the morning), the VIP Lounge on the Penthouse floor (24th) of the apartment is very nice with a limited menu. So one Friday night in May I found myself bored and looking for something to do so I decided to go and visit the VIP Lounge. I figured it might give me a chance to meet some of my fellow apartment dwellers and I knew there were quite a few Westerners, including Americans, staying at the apartment complex. I entered the lounge around 8:30 PM and there was not another soul, other than myself, in the bar. Sad, very sad. I sat down at the bar anyway and after about ten minutes the bartender/waiter/busboy/chef appeared. Although he didn’t speak English it was easy enough to order a beer (Belgian Hoegaarden at $10/bottle, pretty typical). After trying to talk with the bartender/waiter/busboy/chef for a few minutes, he signed for me to wait and disappeared. A few minutes later he returned with the Manager and we performed a formal introduction.

A quick side story before I continue. Formal introductions are very important in Japan especially with respect to business. Business cards, therefore, are treated with the utmost respect. When you first meet someone in business, you hold the card with two hands and while bowing formally present the Japanese or English side depending on their expected language preference. You clearly pronounce your name and then let them know what you expect them to call you. Since the Japanese have trouble with the letter “v” in my last name, I always tell them to just call me Craig. They will always add “-san” on the end which is the equivalent of “Mr/Mrs/Miss” so I’m called Craig-san or Mr. Craig. The other person will then formally present their card and you are to take it with two hands and carefully read everything on the card and especially their title. If it’s in Japanese, you pretend to read it. The card must be treated very respectfully. You shouldn’t write on the card or stuff it in your pocket or make an origami animal (although cool) from it.

So as I made my formal introductions with the Manager, I learned that her name was Nahomi-san (Mrs. Nahomi). She spoke very little English but through a combination of her broken English, my broken Japanese and simple hand signals, I learned she briefly lived in Montreal with her husband who is a chef and I explained a little of my background and family. We carried on a broken conversation for another thirty minutes or so and then, amazingly, someone else joined us in the lounge. The third person was an Indian gentleman and after briefly speaking to him I learned he was a computer consultant temporarily in Japan supporting a contract for a telecommunications company. Here’s where the fun starts. After Nahomi-san formally introduced herself to the Indian gentleman, she asks him, in English, “What would you like?” The Indian is looking at her like she has two heads. I realize he couldn’t understand a word she said not because he didn’t speak English but because he couldn’t understand her accent. So I “translate” which in this instance was to repeat exactly what Nahomi-san said. “Oh, I see” said the Indian. “I’d like to see a menu”. Now it’s Nahomi-san’s turn. She looks at him and then at me. Same situation. Although she understands some English, she can’t understand his accent. Craig the parrot to the rescue. In English, I tell Nahomi-san he wants to see a menu. “Ahh”, Nahomi-san mutters. She quickly provides an English-language menu to the Indian. I have a feeling at what’s coming next since I’m familiar with the menu and there are almost no vegetarian items on it other than a few vegetable side dishes but certainly not enough for a meal. The Indian asks Nahomi-san if the chef could make him a stir-fry of just rice and vegetables. Once again, she looks at him and then at me. I dutifully repeat. “This is getting ridiculous”, I’m thinking. “You’re both speaking English!”
“Daijoubu”, Nahomi-san says which is slang for “No problem”. Off she goes to the kitchen and I tell the Indian she understands. He says to me, “I’m glad you’re here, I don’t speak Japanese.” “Neither do I”, I tell him. “She’s speaking English to you.” With all seriousness he looks at me and says “You’re kidding me!” The rest of the Indian’s dinner proceeded as before with me “translating” English to English between the two of them. Eventually the Indian left to go back to his apartment.
I was still drinking and talking with Nahomi-san. Once she knew the Indian gentleman wasn’t around, she says to me, “What room are you in? If he comes back another night I’m calling you up to translate for me. I couldn’t understand anything he said!”

If my current job doesn’t work out it looks like I might have a second career as an English translator. “So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.”