The Jazz Guy

I stumbled upon a jazz band in Nagano City. As I took a position on the footpath to watch, an old guy sidled up beside me to practise his (pretty good) English.

"Where are you from?"

I cringed.  I always have to endure this formality whenever I meet someone in Japan, and I get tired of it.  The thing is, often when people ask you this question, they're hoping for a particular answer.

"Australia."

Disappointment crumpled his face.  Wrong answer, I guess.  I would bet my left arm he'd travelled or homestayed or lived in the US, or some other Western country.

He kind of hovered by my side, coming up closer whenever he thought of a question.  I was neither rude, nor did I have any real desire to speak with him.

"Do you like jazz?"

I played jazz for years when I learned trumpet, and I used to love seeing my trumpet teacher's band perform live every week.  Jazz is one of my favourite genres of music to see live - it's really fun.

"Hmm, not really."

His face fell in disappointment again.  Okay, so I may have lied to him.  But I really wasn't in the mood to prolong the conversation or make new friends or talk about jazz when I could instead be watching it live.

"What kind of music do you like?"

"Alternative."

Disappointment again.  Correct answer, I guess.  I figured alternative was a safe bet - too broad to continue the conversation in the direction he wanted to.  And it was very clear by this point he was simply fishing for avenues to talk about himself.  He had no real interest in me as a person: only me as a bridge to talk about his own overseas adventures.

Then he had an idea, and he lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Are you staying here in Nagano tonight?"

Nagano gets a lot of Australian tourists, and now he was sure he had me pinned.  He pointed in several different directions, knowing that no matter what my answer was, he knew where it was and would no doubt give me directions or take me there or, hell, follow me there until I relented and let him talk about his time in the US.

"No.  I'm going back to Suwa tonight."

Aaand there it was: the blow that crushed him.  Now he knew I lived in Japan.  Suddenly, I was no longer a real foreigner.  I was just another resident, and I was no longer his bridge to the exotic times of a life he could brag about.

He drifted away, a bit like a piece of fish food caught in the wrong current.  I had failed to make a new friend.

I smiled and continued enjoying the jazz band in peace.