It started with confidence.
I arrived in Japan with three powerful phrases in my linguistic arsenal:
I thought I was ready.
I was, in my mind, a walking dictionary with just the right tone.
Then came my big moment:
“Hey Steve, how do you say ‘I want a car wash’ in Japanese?”
Without missing a beat, I replied:
“車をきれいにしてください。”
Car. Clean. Do it. Please.
Technically, it works.
But let’s be honest:
It sounds like you’re asking the staff to give your Toyota a facial and emotional reset.
Before Chinese influence, Japanese was (in my theory) delightfully simple.
See one mountain? Say "mountain."
See two? “Mountain-mountain.” Or to make it smoother: mountain-bountain.
Same with people. One person = "hito." Two? Hito-bito.
See? Logical!
And then kanji showed up, and it all got complicated.
At Camp Zama, Americans were treated with utmost respect and hospitality.
Our Japanese hosts went all out to welcome us.
So naturally, they served us what they assumed Americans love:
Sandwiches.
But not turkey, ham, or roast beef.
Nope.
Cucumber sandwiches.
Potato salad sandwiches.
Two carbs between two slices of bread.
I smiled and said:
“美味しそう！”
(Even as my internal voice whispered, “Where’s the protein?”)
Japanese hospitality is legendary.
But sandwich expectations? Totally different.
In the U.S., a sandwich is not a sandwich unless there’s protein involved.
Cucumber? That’s a garnish.
Potato salad? That’s a side dish—not a filling.
Putting those between bread is like making a salad into a sponge cake.
Confusing. Moist. Unsettling.
So when Symeon said, “美味しそう！”
He wasn’t lying. He was translating appreciation into the best phrase he had.
Cultural appreciation often lives in that tension:
“This is lovely… and also, where’s the turkey?”
And as for the car wash?
“車をきれいにしてください” technically works.
But it sounds less like a cleaning request and more like your Prius is booked for a spa day and exfoliation treatment.
Language works.
But sometimes… too well.
—Chat-san