For whatever reason, in Japan, you can rarely get good directions when you need them. For instance, if you ask for directions to the nearest restaurant in any given area, a long-term inhabitant of that very neighborhood will likely hum and hah, scratch their head, and wonder out loud… “Soo daa….. resutoran, ne?” Just around the corner, barely out of eyesight, a large, flashing neon sign stands high above an equally eye-catching restaurant. The neon sign burns brightly; intense glowing arrows pointing at the building. “Restaurant…. Restaurant…,” it flashes every few seconds, burning its image into the minds of all conscious passers-by. And yet, the person whom you are asking for directions, the same person who lives, works and breathes on these very streets, just stands in confused wonderment, dumbstruck by such a puzzling and yet seemingly simple question. “Resutoran…. a so des ka… hhmm… I swear I’ve seen one around here somewhere…”
I’m not sure if they don’t want to tell me, or if they just don’t pay attention to details. Regardless, getting from point A to point B on these maze-like, narrow roads can sometimes be an exhausting and time consuming task. In addition, the Japanese never seem to be concerned with finding the quickest or most direct route to any given place. Roads criss-cross my prefecture in seemingly random patterns and it often seems that all paths eventually lead to where you want to go. However, it is choosing the right combination of roads that separates your journey from being an almost effortless venture, and being a day long exploit through the entrails of hell.
This is something that my Japanese friends seem to be unconcerned with. They don’t embark down dusty side roads in search of a faster route. They don’t zip through a convenience store parking lot to evade a never-ending red traffic light. They just follow the road signs and are glad to be staring at the ass end of a pocket-sized farmer’s truck for hours on end, slowly putting towards their destination. As a result, they have a horrible habit of always over-estimating the amount of time that it takes to get to any particular place. In sum, think twice before asking a Japanese person for directions. Only when you are really lost.
There are times, however, when you are given directions that you don’t even need. At construction sites and in parking lots, you will find a Japanese person, dressed in a neatly pressed blue uniform and reflective vest, yielding an orange, glowing baton and wearing a hard helmet on their head; a gleaming, gold crest fashioned in its center. From a distance, they resemble a police officer, their black boots painstakingly polished and shining, and a variety of tools and gadgets strapped tightly to their thick white belt. They wave their baton frantically through the air in a constant, stilted motion, endlessly blowing the sparkling, silver whistle that sits perched between their lips. A walkie-talkie radio sits strapped to their forearm for easy access, and they are often seen communicating with their similarly dressed, ‘direction giving’ cohorts, who are standing just a few meters away. Their white-gloved hands are held high in the air, motioning this way and that, pointing and signaling, and making un-purposely humourous gestures while ‘directing’ traffic. These are the ‘providers of unnecessary directions’. They can be found in all corners of my prefecture, and likely all over Japan, providing useless information to drivers.
In some instances, I will admit, their presence is warranted. They are required to maintain the smooth flow of traffic on roads under construction. Yet, it is when they are spread about shopping center parking lots, more numerous than virgins at a Star Trek convention, that really makes me chuckle. Picture me rolling into the nearly empty parking lot of my favourite shopping center, driving in my dark green, compact Nissan; my music blaring to offset the penetrating racket of my squeaking fan-belt. Out of nowhere, jumps a ‘provider of unnecessary directions.’ He’s got more energy than a Jack Russell Terrier and it’s been a slow morning at the supermarket. He saw me coming for miles, watching, waiting; clenching his glowing baton in his tight fist, moistening his dry lips for perfect whistle-blowing conditions, and radioing his traffic directing friends to let them know to stay back…. he will field this one.
“Ahh!” I slam on the brakes. Rather than smoothing the flow of traffic, these guys are endangering my life! He begins waving his gloved hands in the air as he walks backwards while facing me, signaling violently for me to follow, looking side to side, and constantly checking for possible obstacles and obstructions. “Gee, should I drive straight ahead like he’s motioning for me to do, considering that it’s the ONLY WAY TO GO?!”
Without an option, and assuming that this guy has the inside goods on all of the secret parking spots in the virtually vacant lot, I follow. He gesticulates constantly as I stare in bewilderment. He then motions for me to turn by rapidly waving to the right; using his whole body, shifting his weight from side to side, his shoulders rolling gracefully beneath his tight, ironed uniform, and his knees bending and straightening effortlessly as he rhythmically bounces to the drums of over-enthusiasm beating within his own mind. I do as I am told. He runs alongside my car until we approach the parking space, where, since he first saw me barreling down the road towards the shopping center, he has envisioned my small Nissan March parked within the yellow lines. Like a sheep, chased into proper position by the efficient sheep dog, I park right where he wants me. Success! Another one down for the ultra-hyper direction provider! But there is no time to waste. Another car could approach at any time. With a bounce in his step, he quickly paces back to the parking lot entrance, watching, and waiting for the next lost soul.
While most countries would simply have a few strategically placed signs to direct traffic, Japan has employed an army of ‘unnecessary direction providers.’ Sometimes they just serve as human pylons, signaling for cars to drive around the giant bulldozer blocking the road (thanks for the help, buddy!), and at other times, as described above, they will all but drag you to where they want you to go.
But, like all Japanese employees in the public sector, they always give off the appearance of being ‘genki’, a great Japanese term which means ‘happy’ or ‘full of life.’ Nearly all Japanese people are incredibly polite, going out of their way to greet you when you enter a store, or nod hello on the street. Whether they are constantly high on the excitement of the daily-grind, or are just simply exuding this false image of happiness, is up for debate. Regardless, the rebellious, semi-non-conforming Japanese will give you the same overly-formal greetings and ‘thank-you’s’ as the rest of society; they just do it with a little bit less gusto.
Thanks to the ‘unnecessary direction providers’, since arriving in Japan, I have had no sleepless nights, worrying about where I will park at the mall the next day. Nor have I worried about driving straight into that giant bulldozer that is often blocking one of the lanes as I drive, groggily and cataleptic, to work in the morning. I’ll feel so lost when I come back to Canada!
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