By Emily Connor

Customer service in Japan is phenomenal.

I've never really been anywhere in the world besides the US, Canada, and Japan-- but let me tell you, I highly doubt that any other country in the world can beat Japan when it comes to the etiquette of service workers. Staff at every store greet customers with a proper 'irasshaimase' and a smile, be it truly sincere or not. Everyone's helpful, prompt, and polite to the degree that it can almost feel as if you're communicating with a robot instead of a living breathing being in  certain situations. I'm astonished. No matter how long I live in Japan, it never fails to impress me.

Back in the US, if the barista at your local cafe has had a bad day you will, without a doubt, be able to tell. Maybe you'll be given some sass, be given the stink-eye, have some spit mixed into the bottom of your cafe mocha or be told a sob story-- no matter what it is, you will in one way or another know. Or in the case of the exact opposite scenario in which your barista's sister has just gotten married and she just can't keep her mouth closed and make your latte as she's fumbling with her apron in search for the wedding photos to accompany her heartwarming story, fear not as something like this would never, ever happen in Japan. Any ounce of personality or individuality is automatically squeezed out of every person as they enter the workplace, and you will be greeted with almost the exact same 'irasshaimase' and 'mata okoshi kudasaimase' in every convenience store in Japan.

One of my favorite examples of amazing customer service in Japan is when I was staying at a hotel in Osaka, and there was a pretty suspicious sewage smell coming from the hotel room as soon as I checked in. A bit weary that there might be a sewage leak, I called the front desk and told the receptionist about the smell, and within two minutes the actual receptionist was at the door to my room, examining the bathroom and almost breaking a nail to rip the top of the toilet off so that she could see if anything was out of place. Did you read that? The actual receptionist came and checked out my room-- not one of the cleaning service people, but the little receptionist woman came and sacrificed her manicure in order to examine the plumbing mechanics of the hotel room. After confirming that something was a bit fishy, she apologized profusely and upgraded me to an even better room within five minutes, personally toting my luggage. In your average business class hotel in the US, just waiting for someone to come and check out a problem in a hotel room usually takes at least thirty minutes and getting a better room would probably take another twenty minutes of negotiation. Not in Japan, though. Everything is proficient and done properly the first time.

There are times when I miss the informal ways of Americans, though. Back in the US people might not always be as proficient, but a lot of people really bring their own personality to the workplace which can be memorable and fun. Instead of reciting prices out loud like in Japan, cashiers in America will give you their opinion about the stuff that you're buying, be it annoying or not. I'll never forget the time when I was buying some malted milk balls at the supermarket in Florida and the woman working the register froze in mid-scan, looked me in the eyes and said in her Southern drawl: ''I just can't get enough of these things, they're soooo good''. I crave knowing useless information about complete strangers sometimes; don't we all? There is no denying that customer service in Japan is top-notch, though. You really have to experience it for yourself to even begin to grasp how phenomenal it is. 

By Emily Connor


I recall someone once warning me about this before I ever moved to Japan...

''The Japanese love mayonnaise. It's on everything.''

And while it's not on everything, and not everyone in this country is a fan of the condiment, I do see it appearing in the strangest of places. On potato chips, omelets, chicken, breads, okonomiyaki-- it's even commonly found on pizza! There is a lot of mayonnaise in Japan. I think that mayonnaise to the Japanese is like Ranch dressing to Americans-- then again, a lot of people back home like it, too.

I never was a fan of mayonnaise. Not much of a fan of the substitute low-calorie alternatives, either. Not even the vegan version of mayonnaise. I wouldn't refuse to eat it, but I wouldn't ever put it on anything voluntarily. That was until I moved to Japan.

Let me tell you-- Japanese mayonnaise is delicious. Fantastic, even. Superb. It comes in small plastic bottles with a happy little anime character on it, and it's great. Not even comparable to your average American mayonnaise. Maybe this is because food tends to be more natural in Japan. Maybe it's because the produce here is fresher, and not everything is soaked in chemicals before hitting the supermarket shelves. I really have no idea, but let me tell you-- after trying the stuff, you can't blame the Japanese for loving mayonnaise.

On the news a few weeks ago I saw a special about some new restaurant in Tokyo that specializes in mayonnaise-based cuisine. While I can't say that I'll be visiting the rumored restaurant anytime soon, I can kind of understand the appeal of it. I can also imagine it being featured on some sort of FoodNetwork television program.

This blog post probably makes me sound really strange. Think of me as you'd like! Come to Japan, try the stuff for yourself, and then try to tell me that you don't understand my feelings.

By Emily Connor

    Things in Tokyo come and go so fast. Although I've only been living here for a few years, I can't even begin to count the number of stores that I once loved that are now replaced, the fashion trends that were the talk of the town and are now considered out of style, and the J-pop musicians who once rocked the charts but are now forgotten about. Tokyo is a very transient place. Maybe most other urban cities are, as well-- but since I grew up in mostly small towns in the US, all of the changes constantly taking place in Tokyo amaze me.

    I think I began noticing the rapid changes throughout Tokyo when one of my favorite cafes went out of business one day. There were always customers in the shop, so I'm not exactly sure what caused it to close down-- maybe the prime real-estate lot's monthly rent was too expensive for a small coffee shop to keep up with. Maybe the owner just decided to skip town and buy a vacation home down in Okinawa. I'll never know the reason, but I remember the day when I arrived at the previous location of the cafe only to find that a new eatery had already moved in, was open for business and customers were lined out the door to test out the new Oshare establishment. The cafe that I had so many fond memories of was gone, and everyone had already moved on to the next greatest thing.

    This same exact situation has happened to me at least 10 times, and I've only been in Tokyo for a short while. Imagine people born and raised in Tokyo; imagine how many times their favorite cafe has been relocated or replaced. A cafe is just a cafe, I suppose-- but they're also sort of comforting. It feels nice to be able to go to the same place and sit in the same seat, drinking the same coffee a few times a month. A home away from home, in a way. Maybe that's why chain cafes are still bustling with business in Japan, even when they're almost being boycotted in some regions of the US. Even if it's cliche, the chances of huge corporate cafes going out of business is slim to none compared to the life expectancy of local cafes in Tokyo.

    I didn't intend to write an entire blog post about cafe experiences in Japan-- things besides cafes are always coming and going in this city, as well. Restaurants, clothing shops, book stores-- you name it. But I suppose the thing that has affected me on a personal level most of all are the cafes. I love drinking coffee, and spending hours reading books or chatting with friends in small cafes-- it's relaxing, and reminds me a lot of home. I suppose the only way for me to solve this predicament is to open up a cafe of my own. On the other hand, maybe not.

by Emily Connor

    One of the things that has always confused me most about Japan are the cold masks. You know, the masks that you see doctors wearing throughout the hospitals in the US (and the rest of the world, too, I'm sure)? Many people in Japan choose to wear them on a daily basis to protect themselves from pollution, allergens and sicknesses from those around them. Sick people also wear them as a courtesy to keep germs away from people nearby.

    Don't get me wrong; I think they're a great thing at times, especially in a metropolis like Tokyo where everyone is surrounded by thousands of people every day. What I don't understand is when people don't even bother to wear the masks properly in the first place. Those of you who have been to Tokyo and witnessed this up-close probably understand what I'm saying, but for the rest of you I will explain a bit better.

    Cold masks are made in several different sizes depending on if you're a female, male, and have a large or small face. It's pretty self-explanatory and never too difficult to figure out the appropriate size to fit your face. Despite this, I see so many people walking around with huge gaps between their faces and the sides of the masks, obviously meaning that the mask isn't doing its appropriate job. A friend of mine once summed it up well:  ''Those would have to be some pretty lazy germs to not figure out how to penetrate through the huge gaps on the side of that mask.'' It's not as if masks are a grand fashion statement or anything, so if you're not going to bother to wear it properly, I really don't see a point.

    Not only do some people wear masks with huge gaps on the sides, some people don't even bother to pull the things up around their noses. If that's the case, then the person just looks like they have a feeding bag strapped to their face and there's no way on Earth that they are being protected from the germs or allergens, or whatever it is that they were afraid of in the first place. Maybe by having a cold mask halfway on their face, it's just a sign for people not to come around them. I honestly have no idea.

    My favorite thing though is when people wear cold masks, sunglasses and a hat all at the same time. It's really a phenomenal look and quite aesthetically appealing. I always assume when I see a cold mask-sunglass-hat person strolling by that they're either famous and trying to go undercover, or that they just really want to look famous. I think that most often it's the latter, because wearing such a combo only draws more attention.

    Be sure to try out the face mask look for yourselves if you ever make it to Tokyo. Everyone should experience it at least once.

by Emily Connor

I hate Valentines Day. Always have, always will. I suppose that I just never saw the point of such a holiday. Sure, the original concept of the holiday was to celebrate St. Valentine and the wonders of love and affection, surprising your special someone with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates-- despite all of this I still hate the day. I think I can recall purposely skipping school on pretty much every February 14th of my high school years.

If you thought that Valentines Day wasn't burdensome enough already, the Japanese spin on the holiday will really get you going. There are two Valentines Day-type holidays in this country; the usual February 14th Valentines Day, and another one on March 14th called 'White Day'. On February 14th, women are expected to hand-make chocolate for their significant others (and also male friends), and on White Day men are expected to give back chocolate to the important women in their lives. Although White Day has been around since the 1970's, Korea and Taiwan are the only two countries besides Japan to celebrate the day. (Actually, in South Korea they also seem to have similar holidays called Rose Day, Yellow Day, Black Day and Orange Day, but since I'm no expert on South Korean holidays I won't go into that.)

Yes, by the way, I did say 'hand-made chocolate'. Simply buying nice chocolates doesn't quite cut it in this country, and hand-made chocolate is much more preferred than store-bought chocolates. Buying chocolates at the store is not taboo by any means (you should see the chocolate section at some department stores on February 13th!) but unless you're willing to dish out a reasonable amount of money on the candy, you're better off to make it by hand. Many stores sell kits just for the occasion; box-mixes for making chocolates accompanied by molds in every cute heart-shape imaginable and small doilies with ribbons for packaging up the chocolates after and if one succeeded in making them. I guess it's the thought that counts when it comes to gift-giving, but I just can't imagine making chocolate for anyone. Not even myself.

I'm not sure exactly why I despise Valentines Day and White Day so much... I suppose that in a way they are just nice days to promote loving the people close to you. On another level thug,it just seems like another commercial holiday, especially in countries like Japan when chocolate companies actually make up their own holidays in order to boost sales. White Day? Give me a break. I say that the Japanese do like the (most the) rest of the world, and that men and women exchange chocolates on the same day of the year at the same time.

I rest my case there, world.