A slip of the tongue in a different culture? It happens. I made a mistake with tattoos

When you are in America, there are tons of people with tattoos.

Before, every time I saw someone with a tattoo somewhere on their body,

the sentence, "They won't be able to get into a hot spring if they go to Japan..."

would pop into my head every single time. It's none of my business. In the first place, for them, sharing a space completely naked with a total stranger is what's actually crazy (and a certain number of people probably think that too).

So, of course, I don't say it out loud. It's just that the formula of tattoo equals no hot spring inevitably comes to mind.

But in this country, tattoos are so casual that I've become so used to them that I can no longer think about such things one by one.

Even so, when it comes to tattoos, I am reminded of a past mistake.

It was not long after I first came to America.

My husband's old friend offered to give us a desk and chairs for children. He has a child who is a little older than ours, and apparently, they don't use that desk and chair anymore.

My husband and his friend (let's call him Steve) used to share a room back in their student days, and they occasionally go out for drinks or visit each other's homes.

That day, Steve arrived in a new car he had just bought. It was one of those pickup trucks that are popular among macho men in America. Steve is more of a tall, slender build, but it seemed he also had the intention of showing off that macho car to us.

He had kindly loaded up and brought over a fairly large desk that could seat six children, along with six chairs, in that truck.

My husband and I went out to the parking space in front of the entrance and were chatting excitedly about Steve's new car. While we were talking about how cool it was or how much it cost, my husband said as if he had just remembered.

“Come to think of it, you got a tattoo, right?”

In response, Steve unbuttoned the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt and began to slowly roll them up. Seeing that deliberate manner, I realized that he hadn't just come to show off his pickup truck, but that he had also intended to show us that today.

As I watched Steve roll up his sleeves, I unconsciously expected that there would surely be a small, one-point design on his arm. Connecting his age, his gentle personality, and his doting fatherhood, I had arbitrarily imagined a modest tattoo based on my own selfish values.

However, what appeared before my eyes was a large tattoo covering his entire arm. I can no longer remember what the design was. Anyway, being shown a bold tattoo that covered his whole arm, I was taken aback. It was quite different from what I had imagined.

Before my husband could make any comment, I blurted out, almost reflexively:

"What happened to you?!!"

No, I mean, I thought there must have been some trigger for him to suddenly get a tattoo on his entire arm. A change of heart. Like being strongly influenced by someone, or suddenly wanting a drastic change, that sort of thing. Conversely, I couldn't imagine getting such a massive tattoo without any dramatic reason, just in a lighthearted mood.

I actually felt worried, wondering if something terrible had happened to Steve.

Upon hearing my comment, my husband burst into laughter, and Steve gave an obvious wry smile. They must not have expected such a reaction.

In my defense, I hadn't been in the U.S. for very long at the time, and I was still viewing things through the lens of a typical Japanese person. I didn't yet fully understand the standards of American society.

I understand now, but if you're an American, you would never make a comment like that when someone shows you their tattoo. You would say something positive like, "Wow, you did it!" or "Cool!" Steve must have been implicitly expecting that kind of reaction.

I realized immediately that I had said something awkward, and thought, 'Oh no.' The entire sequence of my inner thoughts was probably written all over my face.

"No, no, that's not it. I just felt like maybe you had some kind of major change of heart!"

I thought I was covering it up, but I wasn't at all. Kind Steve just laughed it off as if it were nothing, saying, "No, no, it's fine." But I felt like I had poured cold water on his slightly proud mood.

After Steve left.

"You need to properly explain to Steve why I made that comment about his tattoo."

I strongly urged my husband to do so, including the differences in how tattoos are treated and their level of casualness between Japanese and American society.

My husband, who has lived in Japan, understands those differences between Japan and the U.S. That's why he burst out laughing at the time, but he just brushed it off, saying it was fine not to go out of my way to explain it to Steve, and to this day, he hasn't explained anything.

I'm probably hated by Steve.

My husband really liked this story of my cross-cultural failure, and when our relatives gathered, he turned it into a one-man comedy routine and got a big laugh.

More than that, I want him to explain it to Steve properly.

(The End)

Thank you for reading.
When entering a different culture, failure is inevitable. I have mountains of these kinds of failures.

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