Bob Sanchez’ BS

I don’t have a lot of good things to say about my time in Fukushima in 2005. It was the darkest, lowest point in my life and I didn’t have a great attitude about it.

I’m going back this winter to exorcise the demons and, as I tell people in Japanese, finally admit that I was the bad one.

I did receive a great pearl of wisdom from my boss at the time, and it came from a story he told me over some cigars on a Sunday morning.

As a kid in Hawaii, he played baseball well and enjoyed being at the top of the heap. As an older guy, he understood Japanese people very well because he remembered thinking that the world ended and began with his island. A good number of people here think that way, and let’s face it, not all islands are surrounded by water…

He exhibited that mindset in front of an old man, who pulled him aside and pointed at a bucket full of crabs that was settled in the sand a few paces away. The old man and the boy watched as crabs tried to escape from the bucket.

When one crab got a claw over the side of the bucket, the other crabs pulled it back inside. Over and over again this happened, and not one crab would escape.

“That bucket,” said the man, “is the island of Oahu. These boys you hang out with are just like those crabs. Get out of the bucket the second you have a chance.”

It was a little too simple for me to take at face value, but it was easy to imagine and I understood the lesson.

The image reminded me of that analogy of Hell where everyone is sitting at a table with a huge pot of delicious stew in the center. Everyone has a spoon with a long handle. When they try to feed themselves, they find that they can’t get the food to their mouths. They try in vain to feed themselves for eternity.

Heaven, of course, is where everybody turns to the side and feeds the person next to them with the long-handled spoon.

Back to the crabs. That little anecdote stuck with me and I find myself using it often, especially when dealing with negativity. Most recently, I pulled it out at the Kochi Driver’s License Center.

If you grab an International Driver’s License at Triple-A in the United States before you leave, you are allowed to drive in Japan for a full year from your date of entry into the country. I don’t have a car, but I’ve rented them several times in order to get to baseball games that were far enough off the beaten path to justify renting a car instead of taking a train and a cab.

I also love road trips and like to be able to contribute.

When your year is up, you either stop driving, risk getting caught without a license, or have your American license changed to a Japanese license.

This involves the headache of applying for the change at the DMV, which is just a bureaucratic and inefficient here as it is in the States. Then, you must pass a written test and a road test to make the change. Canadians, by the way, just have to fill out an application and pay a fee.

The written test is cake, ten questions that are pretty intuitive and offered in English, no less. The road test is the hard part. It takes place on a closed course that resembles Mario Kart more than it does an actual road.

There are intersections, railway crossings, and S-curves jammed into an area a shade larger than a football field. In the middle sits a four-way intersection with a traffic light, about the only thing on the course that both makes sense and is realistic.

Some intersections are marked with a number, but most are not. There are no buildings, just a couple of walls in one area that are supposed to be visual obstructions.

You must demonstrate proper scanning technique, but on the closed course you have to imagine the danger and check over your shoulder for stuff you know is not there. It’s very easy to miss checking an intersection, for example, because it doesn’t look like a real interesection (no shops or rice fields) and because you know that you’re the only one on the course.

You must drive in a car furnished by the license center for a mere $16 each time you take the test, which costs another $24. Grading is very strict and proctors are picky, and it is not unheard of for people to have to take the test as many as ten times. What a racket.

You are graded from the moment you step on the course, so if you don’t adjust your seat the proper way, you could fail. If your wheels are not close enough to the edge of the road when you make a left turn, you could fail.

It’s a rather silly way to test someone’s actual driving skills, and foreigners and Japanese alike know that, but this system is in place and it’s not going anywhere.

I signed up for a couple of driving classes at a nearby driving school to test out their course and see just how nitpicky they would be. It really helped out, and I went out to the license center certain that I had a chance at passing the first time.

An English teaching buddy was there taking it for the seventh time, and I was the only one there for the first time among five foreigners. A gloomy mood permeated the room, and I tried my best to joke with the other test-takers that I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed just because it was my first time.

A siren sounded at noon, and we were allowed to walk the course for an hour. That’s actually pretty important because they announce the course in the morning and you have to memorize it as part of your score. So an ideal test should be done in complete silence, no communciation between the proctor and the driver. You only talk to him at the beginning, and again at the end when you “get advice” on your driving.

While walking the course in a big group, the other test-takers started complaining about the ridiculousness of the whole ordeal, shuffling their feet and moving slowly. I was prepared to be frustrated and to take “advice” on something I’ve been doing for a decade with a straight face, but I was not prepared for such negativity.

I didn’t say much, and we were only able to circle the course twice together. The one o’clock siren blew and it was time to take the test. I had drawn the first straw, so I bowed to the proctor and carefully entered the car.

I did everything in the right order - check both ways, open door, get in with a hand on the steering wheel, close the door, lock it, adjust the seat, adjust the mirrors, fasten seatbelt, foot on the brake, start the car, emergency break, put it in drive, signal, check over the shoulders, check the mirrors, ask for permission to drive.

Whew! I got permission and stepped on the gas, but the car didn’t move. I hadn’t started it! I thought I had but the engine didn’t catch on and I couldn’t hear it because of the air conditioning. Nice way to start a perfect test!

I finally got that all sorted out and got onto the course. There’s a section where you have to get up to 25 MPH, which is a lot harder than it sounds because you’re coming out of a curve at less than 10 MPH and you only have about 100 yards to do it in a tin can of a car. Of course remembering to check fake intersections the whole way.

All of the turns and lane changes were on me before I knew it, and when I finally got to a straight section, I forgot where to go next and just went through the intersection with the stoplight. The proctor told me to stop the car and, in an annoyed and condescending voice, told me the proper route.

I continued and handled the S-curve and the crank (a tiny backroad in the shape of a digital five) just fine. I was doing hand-over-hand and was never out of control of the car or the situation.

I took my advice and put a remorseful look on my face, hoping that that might work. It didn’t. I failed for not being close enough to the center line when making right turns, and for forgetting to wait three seconds AFTER signalling to check for a safe lane change. That was the first I had heard of the three-second rule.

The crabs looked happy to welcome me to their bucket. One fellow said, “I know this isn’t a driving test. This is a culture test for me.” But he pressed on complaining about the differences between the Japanese test and the test he took in high school and doomed himself to continue making the same mistakes.

I listened to that on the train the whole way home and encouraged him to be more positive about it, but he wasn’t having it.

I wouldn’t be able to return to the license center for another week due to a scouting trip to Tokyo, but I did my best to use my time there to commit the “great advice” to memory.

Any time I wanted to go to the right, I got my body close to the blind lines on the sidewalk. Every time I wanted to move to the right, I pretended to signal and then WAIT three seconds before checking over my right shoulder. That move was totally against my intuition, because when I drive I throw down the signal and check right away.

It probably looked dumb, but the test is dumb and that’s what I had to do to pass the test. I thought positively about it and dreamed about nailing every turn and checking every intersection.

Finally, Day 2 arrived. Many of the same crabs were there, having failed twice more each in the time I was away. The noon siren wailed, and we were out walking the course. I realized that I could not be with them for an hour the way I had been last time; I had to remain positive.

When we hit the 25 MPH zone, I began running. Running to get out of the bucket, but also to speed things up and properly choreograph the checks I would have to do on that section. It worked. I got around the course three times, planned all checks, signals, and lane changes, and felt prepared for the test.

Once I went to signal and turned on the windshield wipers (the rod is on the opposite side of the steering column here), but it went perfectly otherwise. I didn’t hear the proctor write anything down, and when I went to get my precious advice, it sounded more like a send-off into the world of driving in Japan than tips on how to get a better time on Mario Kart.

Poor Mr. Culture Test failed again, but a couple others passed along with me. We sat through a short lecture, got pictures taken, and escaped with shiny new driver’s licenses. I felt sixteen again and remarked that I didn’t think I would get this day twice.

I strongly believe that mental preparation in Tokyo and maintaining positivity by avoiding the crabs are the reasons I passed the second time. I also strongly believe that I would have been Mr. Culture Test if I had tried to take this test in Fukushima in 2005.

I empathized with him, but I could not make him hear the message. He may still be taking the test.