A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing
"Damn!" says Pierre, reading the daily news.
"怎么了? What's wrong Pierre?" I ask.
"日本人真可恶! It's those damned Japanese!" he says, slamming his fist on his desk.
"Oh. You hate them for historical reasons," I say.
There's a lot of anti-Japanese sentiment in China. It reared its ugly head a while back when the Japanese government printed textbooks overlooking the Rape of Nanjing. Chinese citizens launched bricks into the windows of local Japanese restaurants.
Which is why I never, ever tell anyone here that I am part Japanese.
"It's not just the rape of Nanjing; it's their entire bloody culture. Tell me Max, do they even have a culture? Who knows! Name one cultural product that came from Japan," he says, smiling at me and poking me in the ribs.
"Sushi?" I offer in a pitiful attempt to defuse the situation with humor.
"There's only one, and I'll name it for you: porn!" Pierre states defiantly. "That's the whole of Japanese contribution to modern culture, nudy flicks."
I think of my wonderful host mom, Masumi, frying tonkatsu for me back in Tokyo. The impish grin on this doofus' face makes my blood flash boil in my veins.
Quom, the bigger-than-life boss of the apparel department, pokes her head into the room.
"每天要洗澡！不洗会臭!"
"SHOWER EVERY DAY! IF YOU DON'T YOU WILL BE SMELLY!"
Somewhere, a young woman laughs.
"这里不准笑!"
"THERE WILL BE NO LAUGHTER IN THIS OFFICE!" Quom snaps before shuffling off.
Why can't we all just get along?
