Do You Like Your Figs Toasted?

So, in the grand spirit of blogging and general advice giving, this entry is especially pertinent to the men folk out there in the audience.  You see, there's a part of the body on a guy that is very sensitive and off limits to any sort of violence, no matter how warranted.  It's the heart, right?  No.  Let's call them figs, as they're low hanging fruit.  Now, say I killed your father.  You can do pretty much anything you want to get justice but leave the figs out of it, okay?  I never gave you back your Best of Celine Dion CD.  What are your options for reprisal?  Don't care, leave the figs out of it.

So, when my host mother, Suzie offered to take me to a Japanese fitness center, I thought, why not?  I will suffer international humiliation all for the chance to write to you faithful readers.  Plus, how much adventure can one experience at a gym of all places?

We arrived at the Konami Fitness Center and used a few discount coupons to enter.  Something you should know about Suzie: she invests in a lot of things all of which are completely useful in her life.  She invests in the Konami, beef bowls, the Keihan bus/train company, etc.  Meaning, she is constantly getting coupons for free food, train/bus passes, and free passes to the gym.  This also translates to her bringing me along to the gym, giving me a bus pass, or buying random food, making me feel guilty, and then explaining that none of it cost her anything.  The only caveat being that all of her stocks are going down the tubes, and yet, they continue sending her coupons.  I'm not saying this is a clear situation of cause and effect, but the sheer number of coupons these companies send out for free goods must not be helping much.

Suddenly, my parasitic instincts took hold of me once more and like a hungry tapeworm, I heartily accepted Suzie's kindness at face value and headed to the locker room.  At once, I found myself in the unfamiliar world of fig trees, stretching out as far as the eye could see.  They were of all shapes and sizes, and some bore fruit that lay closer to the ground than others.  Urban translation: dudes be all walking up in the hizzouse struttin surefire nakedness like it was going out of style.

I quickly changed and headed out to meet Suzie.  We worked out for around seventy-five minutes before Suzie told me she was hitting the showers/ofuro (bath).  This would take around an hour, she explained.  I was free to do whatever I wanted as long as I met her on time.  I worked out for another twenty minutes before I headed back to the locker rooms.

It was here that I made a crucial decision.  If I was to truly live in Japan, I should embrace their cultural practices, no?  So, tossing my clothes haphazardly into the locker, I strut awkwardly towards the showers and got my shower on.  In Japan, shampoo and body soap are provided for free and for a few minutes after, I smelled of lime and oranges, with just a hint of not belonging.

All my life, I've felt isolated from what some consider the realm of "manliness".  As a supposed, "man", I'm supposed to enjoy certain activities, drink beer, make uncouth comments about the opposite sex, wield a drum stick like a prehistoric caveman, *insert uninformed cliche here*, etc.  Unfortunately, my main interests include playing a video game called "Dance Dance Revolution" and zoning out, really eliminating me from the cultural brotherhood known as men.

So, now thrust into a situation of all out nakedness with a side of "we don't care because we're dudes and that's how we do things, am I right?" I decided to hope into the open air bath and just relax in the warm water.  That went okay.  New guys would hop in and I was allowed to give them the slight look of "hey buddy, it's okay.  You're safe here.  But don't touch me or talk to me".

By now, I only had fifteen minutes until I was to meet Suzie.  It was then that the first event that would bring me into mortal jeopardy happened.  I opened my eyes to realize that I was the only one in the bath.  The last man had just stepped out and I was greeted by the sight of two oversized, boneless--I'll just stop there--  The man walked not towards the locker room, but into a door that led into a secretive looking room.  Possessing the mentality of a twelve year old, I was compelled to solve the mystery and follow him.  So, I emerged from the water like a proud whale with my blowhole proudly--okay, I'll stop here as well.

As soon as I entered the room, my fate was truly sealed.  Four or five guys looked up at me through steam filled air.  I was in a sauna, surprise.  The guy I was tailing sat down on one of the benches and I took a spot away from the rest.  As my tuckus began to lower onto the wooden bench, reality was warped into a slow motion montage of images: the other naked men were sitting on something mysterious and white...towels.  A drop of perspiration rolls off a man and hits the wooden bench, sending wisps of steam into the air.  The crackle the drop makes is akin to bacon frying.  All of these images register, but it is too late.  Out of awkwardness and gravity, I am going to sit down, without a towel on the wooden bench.  My body is drenched from the bath and the room is silent. 

All of these thoughts evaporate as I sit down and instantly, hear the sickening sound of applause burst forth from my quickly drying body.  The other men look over at me, while I look straight ahead and act as nonchalant as possible.  This is hard to do for two reasons:  one, the room is currently filled with the noise of my own body being cooked, and two, my "figs" are currently being burned.  After a few moments, the men go about their own business, leaving me to improvise a solution to my problem: sitting on my hands.

That's right, as a man who just alerted the rest of the naked fellows to the fact he did not bring a towel and has just seared his birthright, I can't simply walk out of the room in defeat.  No, I must stay for a few minutes and then leave, seemingly of my own accord.  The next five minutes pass in agony.  I don't know if you know, dear readers, but besides the intense heat of the room and seat, I'm also not the most dainty fellow, and sitting on my hands is also crushing them, guaranteeing I won't be playing any more piano concertos for the various charity benefits I put on for orphans...and wealthy, beautiful widows.

When I'm done proving how manly I am, I quickly retreat back to the locker room and change into my street clothes again.  I meet up with Suzie and she quickly asks me if I engaged in public bathing, which I did.  "You must not have a lot of shame," she said with a smile.

She had no idea.

"It's normal in Japan but in America, you never do that, right?" she asked.
"Not so much."

As we walked to her car, Suzie looked at me and even though she was my mother in a much different capacity, her mother genes took over and she asked me a dubious question.  "You must want to go to an Onsen!"  An Onsen is a hot springs where people engage in public bathing.  The baths are separated by sexes, so no worries.
 
"Yeah, I'd like to go someday," I replied.
"We should go together."

Oh dear lord.