your eye will be for details," rejoined the famous Tokyo editor/publisher.
"But I'm not out and around much," said Max. "I'm always working."
"The more objective you'll be," rejoined the famous editor/publisher.
"All my spare time, what little there is, goes to my wife and children," said Max.
"The more wholesome your opinions for my readership," rejoined the famous editor/publisher.
"I can't write," said Max.
Someone dropped a tray of teacups and saucers in the rear of the restaurant.
"That could be a problem," the famous editor/publisher admitted after a minute or so. He had been making little mountains of sugar on the table and shaping them with his thumb and index finger.
"But," he continued, "if you submit the stories, I'll critique them for quality and then you'll rewrite them."
Max watched his companion playing with the sugar. By dipping his fingers in the tea, he was able to sprinkle little droplets of liquid on the white mountains. Instant erosion, with lakes and rivers.
"So it's a deal then?" asked the famous editor/publisher. He covered the table with his palms as the waitress brought the check.
"It's a deal," confirmed Max, giddy from the éclairs.
They shook hands, and Max spent the rest of the day at Kabuki licking his fingers.
It was a dark and stormy night when Jack Armstrong, President of the American Chamber of Commerce in Japan, savagely murdered his Executive Director and took off for Brazil with the Chamber funds. . . .
"Ah, actually you might want to be a little less specific when writing about existing institutions," suggested the famous editor/publisher after Max had submitted his first manuscript. "You don't want to write too close to home."
It was a dark and stormy night when General Mayhem sent the combined U.S. air, naval, and ground forces on maneuvers in Shimoda without first informing Japan's Self Defense Forces. . . .
"I know you've never been to Yokota, Yokosuka, or Shimoda, but that's not what I meant by not writing 'close to home,' " counseled the famous editor/publisher. "Besides, subtlety plays a role in good writing."
It was a dark and stormy night when Biff Straight, President of the Tokyo American Club, announced that members violating any rules at the Club would be lined up at the edge of the uncovered pool and summarily executed. . . .
"That's better," agreed the famous editor/publisher, "but just a little too dramatic. Think about what you do at work."
It was a dark and stormy night . . .
"Doesn't anything happen to you in the goddam daytime?" queried the famous editor/publisher.
It was a cold and grey afternoon when Bart Holstein, CEO of a major international conglomerate and my boss' boss' boss, arrived in Tokyo and began to chew ass. . . .
"You know Max," advised the famous editor/publisher, "I had in mind something a little different. For your own safety, if nothing else, write about commonplace things."
The day they discovered poisoned meat at National Azabu Supermarket, . . . "
Could we get together again, Max, and discuss this project?" suggested you-know-who. "I'm interested in reevaluating our editorial thrust."
It was during this second meeting of editor/publisher and prospective writer—a meeting held at the very same teahouse near the LaForet Museum—that the idea struck both men. Such a clever idea it was too, both men agreed. The project began at once.
Since that red-letter day the foreign community in Japan has had the benefit of the type of wisdom readily available in the syndicated newspaper columns and journals back home. A real community service was born in the personification of politeness itself. The beloved Mr. Etiquette made the first of many regular and helpful appearances. And what would we all do without him?
Mr. Etiquette
DISPENSING RULES of etiquette—be they social, sexual, or business—is a bigtime industry. And it has been so for many years.
The leisure class particularly has always been concerned with "proper behavior" and its attendant rules and regulations. (It's one of the few things peasants, sloshing about in the mud, seldom worried about.)
Schools and academies, wherein the study of manners and form comprised the bulk of the curriculum, flourished in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Europe. Later, Victorian England managed to combine empire-building (and the accompanying new wealth) with heavy doses of "civilized propriety." ("Correctness in manner and speech must follow, even whilst in association with local inhabitants and related peoples of colonial jurisdictions."—Standards, J.L. B. Clarke, 1885. Author's emphasis.)
Many of the earliest schools in the New World, particularly the New England "women's seminaries," were merely transplanted fabrications of the Old World finishing-school concept. "Hard" academic disciplines were disdained in favor of the "softer" (and therefore more civilized) literature and manners curriculi. Trade-school laborers built the bridges, gentlemen owned them.
The situation in Japan was not much different historically. Traditional pursuits such as flower arranging, the tea ceremony, and brush painting were in the domain of those of leisure. The restraint and control necessary for accomplishment are the precise requirements for evolving rules of polite behavior and standards of etiquette. It's all so civilized.
Things have changed a bit, however. Even the masses now have leisure. They must be instructed. The sheer number of people interested in the rules of etiquette necessarily alters the nature of instruction. Personal guidance, as in the days of yore, can no longer deliver the product. ("Sir Humphrey, one never wears boots to bed," or "Midori-san, you holding teacup upside down desu.")
Rules, guidelines, and general information regarding proper behavior are now in the hands of mass media. With that in mind, and with the understanding that not all situations in this respect have been covered in the past, Max Danger offers the following as a service to the expat community in Japan.
1. Never bow from the waist while standing with your back against shoji. Hindquarters, in extension, will rip paper and break wooden slats, thereby dislodging the paper doors from their framework, which in turn will collapse on and about your person. Japanese rarely see this sort of thing, and it therefore detracts from the good impression originally intended by the bow. Plus, one never knows who will be embarrassed by whatever's behind the now-demolished screen.
2. When bowing in close quarters, the bower should strategize the manuever so that the head dips to the left of the bowee. No one else knows this rule, but common sense dictates the creation of a practical custom so that concussive injuries to the head and shoulders are avoided.
3. Never experiment with the knobs and dials on toilets in modern Japanese homes. Not only might fuses be blown in the immediate neighborhood, but powerful jets of "body-heated" water can lead to an environmental mishap difficult to repair with toilet paper
