Uh, Japan...dude?

So, if you remember, I told you a while back that I was an alleged "Grandma Killer." I'm comfortable with this title now, and have embraced my role as a weekly receptacle for candy, cake, and leftovers from the older women in my Tuesday Night English Class. But it has, however, come to my attention that I am also a "Grandpa Killer", although with this title comes a slightly more unsettling role.

I belong to a gym here called "Water Water" (clever isn't it?). But to call this place a gym is, I believe, slightly inaccurate. Were it left to me, I would call my gym "Flabby Old Man Land." Every time I go, I am encountered by a massive herd of old Japanese men of all shapes and sizes. They all come to do one or two pull-ups, call that a "work-out," and then cram into the gym's little hot-tub to gab and hur-rumpf in a nearly unintelligible dialect know as, "Flabby Old Man Dialect." And many of them are still attempting to make sense of my existence in Japan.

I've had every type of interaction possible with these men. Some of them are just wonderfully nice old dudes, and just wanna practice a little English and find out what I think of Japanese culture and what not; others want to know some of the more superficial stuff like what I can and can't eat, what I think of Japanese girls, what's my blood type; and some of them just want to examine me as though I were a puzzle piece and they are trying to figure out just where to place me in their world of weights, saunas, and hot-tubs. One man asked me if I would marry his daughter. I said no, but thanked him for the offer. But I've found that the common thread in all our interactions is this one, underlying exchange of greetings: The Naked Self-Introduction.

I like the hot-tub because it's warm and it feels good, especially after I work out. Call me strange. But, I don't necessarily agree with the Japanese style of cramming as many naked old farts as possible into a 5 foot by 5 foot pool of hot water and then call it "relaxing." Many a times I'll be soaking in the tub by myself, and then, just like they got out of school for the day, an influx of crusty old men will come in pack that damn tub as though it were a can of sardines. And did I mention that they are all naked as they day they were born? Then, once they spot me and do their double-takes, the question asking begins. Usually, they don't even offer their names as an ice-breaker. The exchange goes something like this:

"Ehhhh?America?
"Yup."
"Ehhhh?Why are you in Japan?"
"I'm teaching English."
"Ehhhh? Where?
"In a high school."
"Ehhhhh? You are dating many of the girl students then, yes?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because that's evil and wrong."
"Can you eat Japanese food?"
"Yes, but it took a lot of practice and discipline."
"Can you speak Japanese?"
"Yes, a little." (although what I really want to say is "What the hell have we been speaking in up until this point, dude?")
"Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too." (The last two lines are typically done in English, as that seems to be the extent of most of their vocabularies.)

At this point they typically digress into the aforementioned "Flabby Old Man Dialect" which is usually a long string of words I don't understand, topped off with an occasional self-appreciating giggle. An example:

"GrruuuhhhfriinnjhjkdjjdjkAMERICAmkoeuryuinvlslwuyJAPANjksdhserwjhlsdioJAPANESE GIRLSqouwjgpkjjksdlfdhHA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

OR:

"Grruufffklfiuorpdukddfgjidfiriwwwwwiutyyrrrrrrr KA?"

In Japanese, the asking of a question typically ends in the sound "KA," a sort of verbal question mark. When speaking with Flabby Old Men, hearing the sound "KA" usually fills me with an intense anxiety, as I know that my chances of answering their unintelligible question correctly are not good. So, I usually go with one of two responses:

"Yes, that's very funny. I agree completely."

OR

"Well, yes. Perhaps. I think so. Or not?"

So far, these responses have yet to fail me, as both answers elicit either a hearty handshake or a grandfatherly pat on the shoulder. They then tell me that I am, indeed, "a good boy." I usually make an excuse at this point to get out of the tub, because, well, we're naked, and I don't feel like having any more of a conversation like this, but sometimes the questions and comments come at such a rapid speed that there is little room for me to interject a polite plea to leave, let alone answers to their questions. This being so, I often find myself trapped in my sports gym, unable to escape the space that is found between a Flabby Old Man and a hot tub.