My Runaway Foreign Exchange Student's SF Tenderloin Adventure

"He's my firstborn, please keep him safe." Those words haunted me once I learned where my runaway exchange student was, and there was little I could do about it.

Our foreign exchange student from Japan wasn’t a randomly assigned deal.  Taka was the son of a very good friend.  In a former life, I was a Mormon Missionary in Hokkaido, Japan.  Japan’s Alaska, it can best be described.  The vicious wind blowing out of Siberia sliced straight through you.  After 8-9 hours outdoors, on bicycles, it was physically painful no matter how many layers you were wearing.  Our cheap, old apartments were so poorly insulated, we had to put our shampoo, toothpaste and toiletries in the fridge, so they didn’t freeze.  Sounds like “20 miles uphill both ways in the snow” type s**t, but it’s true. 

Taka’s old man, “John” had no interest in religion.  John chose his name because in his words:  “John Wayne, berry, berry badass dude.”  So, John it was.  He was our ace English class student in the town of Asahikawa.  He and I connected immediately and became good friends.  There is something special when sense of humor translates in a different language.  Similar to music, with the power to unite and connect humanoids of every different type imaginable. 

“Taka is my firstborn son Matty, my only son, please, please, look after him.  Don’t let anything bad happen,” echoed in my ears when I realized Taka had disappeared.  Not one day, or week, or two weeks.  It was about to get a whole lot worse when I realized where he had disappeared to.  The tenderloin district.  San Francisco’s skanky red-light district.  Once, a couple friends and I stumbled in there, while searching for a particular Italian restaurant.  It was definitely a gnarly place.  Amsterdam had nothing on it. 

I realized Taka was a different kind of cat the very first week he arrived at my Mom’s house in Utah.  I had corrected the miscalculation of attending a semester at BYU after Japan, and transferred.  The first day of school, University of Utah in Salt Lake.  Taka and I always rode together each morning.  He planned to ride the bus home a couple times weekly.  On the very first day, s**t went all wrong.  “Taka, okay, you got the bus schedule, here is where you catch it, you know where it drops you off.  Right?”  I communicated with Taka in Japanese only.  He repeated my instructions and seemed well prepared to handle the return trip lone-wolf.  His bus was a 5 minute walk from Mom’s house.  He should have been home about 3:30 that first afternoon.  5pm.  6pm.  7pm.  Still no Taka.  This was before cellphones.  My bunghole was puckering with each passing hour.  “He’s my firstborn.  My only son.  Please, don’t let anything bad happen,” 

John’s words echoed around the inside of my skull.  At 8pm, I drove around, wondering if somehow he got lost on the straight walk from the bus stop.  I didn’t dare break the news to my Mom, not needing the extra stress.  Just after 9pm as darkness was setting in, from my perch on the bench of Mom’s front porch, I saw Taka walking up the street.  I stood up and began walking to him.  He began waving wildly, smiling, and calling out, “Matty, hey.  Honey, I’m home.” 

I was glad he was home, yet quite irritated.  As he approached, I could see he was haggard and majorly sunburned.  Especially his neck and arms. “Dude, where have you been?”  With a big smile, “Walking. I walked home.”  I assumed he was kidding.  It was more than 20 miles.  It was probably 92F that day.  Taka decided 30 minutes was too long to wait for the next bus.  He would just walk home.  “I thought it would take 30 minutes maybe.”  We had made the drive several times, I couldn’t understand the miscalculation.  Nevertheless, I was glad he was safe.  I should have realized he wasn’t your average Japanese kid.  Like his old man, he was f*****g fearless. 

Once John called me from a gas station next to the downtown Oakland bus station.  Two years prior, I had dropped off a Japanese friend at the same bus station after a trip to San Francisco.  I was only inside five or ten minutes, and my car already had ten shady dudes milling around it when I exited.  John’s calm words freaked my s**t out completely.  “I decided not to do the tour bus thing.  Boring old farts!  I rented a car at LAX and drove North.  Ford Mustang, baby!  But, I can’t find the freeway.  I’m trying to get to San Francisco, I exited too early I think.  Yeah, umm, I think maybe this isn’t the greatest neighborhood.  I’m right by the Oakland bus terminal.  It’s like a zombie movie, ha.  First, they asked me if I needed to score. Whatever that means.  Everyone is asking me for money and won’t let me leave until I pay them.  There is like ten people now.  Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled out my whole wad of money while paying for gas.”  Not good.  I’ve witnessed Japanese tourists pull out a fat wad of 100 dollar bills many times.  To  pay for a $5 trinket.  

Knowing I couldn’t do s**t about it, I was panicked for the adventurous John.  Living up to his namesake.  He quickly ended the call and I assumed bad s**t had happened, or was about to.  30 minutes later, another call.  His demeanor was triumphant.  “Hee hee, I tricked those dudes trying to borrow money from me.  They saw all the money I had.  I said hold on, let me get the money out of my car.  I slammed and locked the door and did a Starsky and Hutch skid  and almost went airborne entering back onto the street. Haha, I fooled those idiots chasing me.  Do you know Starsky and Hutch?”  I was speechless. John wasn’t even slightly rattled.  For John, it was just another story for his adventure archives.  When I said they were robbing him, he calmly said “yeah, I realized that, I just told them to get a job if they needed money.”  A line Taka would deploy in his own San Francisco adventure. 

It was soon confirmed, the apple doesn’t fall far.  Hokkaido, the northernmost island, does breed a hearty, individualistic type of character. The people from the main islands of Japan often say: “They aren’t like Japanese people. They are weird.”  I considered them different, in a positive way.   The day after school ended for the semester, Taka just disappeared.  Without a word.  No explanation.  The following day, the very first phone call from Asahikawa.  His Father, John.  He didn’t even request to speak with Taka.  Thank God.  He just asked how his son was doing.  “Good, yeah, real good.  He’s a, um, a real adventurous kid.  Just like his old man.”   I wasn’t ready to inform John that Taka was AWOL. One week passed.  Two weeks.  17 days later, the phone rang at midnight. Being a night owl, I snatched it before it woke my Mom.  “Matty, how’s it hangin’ dude,” Taka said in English.  “A little to the left, as always bro.”  He let out a squeal of laughter.  “I understood every word.  To the left, you’re funny Matty.”  “Dude, I’m not funny, I’m f*****g pissed off.”  Silence.  I could hear him breathing hard, taken aback by my harsh words.  “Yeah, um, I know.  I should have called you sooner.”  “Sooner, you should have told me you were f*****g leaving,” I vented my weeks-long frustration.  “Hey, um, are Missionaries supposed to talk like that?”  The sincerity of his question cracked me up.  “Ha, well, all pissed off people speak like that.”  I expected some serious apology and explanation.  He offered nothing beyond he “should have called earlier.”  He did give me a breakdown of his situation.  I thought he was probably in Salt Lake or maybe Vegas. Nope.

“Matty, you should have come dude.  I’m in San Francisco, been here the whole time.  I’m in the filet mignon area,” saying the word in English.  I immediately knew what he meant.  “Tenderloin? Oh hell no. What are you doing there dude?”  “Well, I ran out of money on day 5.  So I got a job here in the Filet Mignon district.”  I was speechless.  He continued, it only got crazier.  Culminating with a mugging that is surely the most comical in recorded history. 

“Taka, what are you talking about?  Dude, your Dad said there’s $16k in your bank account.”  “Yeah, so?”  “Well, have you ever heard of an ATM?”  “Oh yeah, I could get all that money instantly if I wanted.  I have two credit cards too.”  I can’t recall a time when I was more confused.  If we were speaking English, some lost in translation is to be expected.  I’m very fluent in Japanese.  This was no miscommunication.  I realized the extreme direct approach was the only way to cut through his bizarro communication style and thought processes. 

“So why don’t you use that money.  Get a bus or plane for home.  Now. What the hell do I do if John calls here again?  Dude, if something happens to you, John will never forgive me.  Come home, now.”  “It doesn’t matter.  You can tell my Dad where I am.  He told me I needed to be adventurous.  Be my own man.  Make my own way.  He says Japanese foreign exchange students huddle with fellow Japanese people and never learn proper English or experience the countryside.  I have to make it on my own.  By my own wits.  I couldn’t just take the easy way out.  So, I did what I had to do.”  

It was beginning to make more sense.  “Be my own man?  Well, if I run to my bank account with Daddy’s money?  That’s not being my own man.  Is it?”  His logic was something I had no argument against. 

“So, I got the only job I could.  I looked all over town.  They require all sorts of papers and fancy visas.  Even the hippy area.  But, the Filet MIgnon places didn’t care about any of that.  I’m staying rent free too. Haha. 5 ladies that all live together, they let me sleep on their couch.  Well, one is a man lady. She has b***s and a penis!  She showed me her b***s.  They are extra large.  She makes the best Spam sandwiches.  Hey, have you ever tried Spam?  I think it’s better than bacon!  Far more economical too.”  In amazement, I settled in and listened to the most words I’ve ever heard spoken from Taka.  He did have a point.  Better than bacon, nah, but Spam is a globally renowned delicacy.  Cooked near crispy between two slices of bread, oh shitchaaa.  

He’s usually very much a one word answer kinda dude.  He was just getting started tonight.  I kinda worried he might be hopped-up on coke or speed, the usual suspects for motormouth, but he later confirmed he never did anything except for liquor. 

“My roommates work on the street. Or in massage parlors.  But not the kind that really do massages.  They call them happy endings.  The big finish, you know. Blowjobs, hand jobs, you can even screw them in the….” “Okay, okay Taka, I get it.  You didn’t screw…” “A gentleman never tells.” WTF?  Is this the same guy.  “But, seriously, no they are like my big sisters, I haven’t done anything.  I’m working 16 hours a day.  I hand out flyers for the nasty video shop.  You should see the funny movie titles they have. America is like Japan, weird s**t for every weird person out there.  One of my roommates even starred in LogJammers, a video.”  As Taka continued to riff, I thought the shocking part was already over.  I was wrong.  Boy, was I wrong. 

“Something bad happened though.  I got mugged.  Two guys with guns. Well, kids really.  But, it’s okay.  We are buddies now.  Homeboys.  We exchanged phone numbers.  Jerome is gonna come stay at my Dad’s in Asahikawa.” 

“Taka, what are you talking about?”

“Well, one night I got off work after midnight.  I was so hungry, I was gonna eat like 5 of them Spam sandwiches.  She puts cheese on them too.  But, two kids jumped out of the alley with guns.  They yanked me back into the alley and demanded my money.  But, I only had a $50 dollar bill.  No way was I gonna them all of it.  It takes me many hours to earn $50.  I told them no way. If they need money, go get a job like me.  I told them I could get them a  job.  They were very angry and cocked their guns.  ‘Gimme your money or you are a dead man,’ they said.  I said no.  I would give them $20, but I needed to get change first.  And I wouldn’t hand it over unless I knew why.  This went on and on.  Saying they will shoot me.  I told them they were idiots to shoot someone for $50.  I repeated I wouldn’t give them any money unless they told me what it was for.  After awhile, their anger went away.  They thought it was funny I dared to tell them no.”

Taka continued.  “They admitted they wanted it for vodka.”  “Why didn’t you just say so,” I said.  I know a store that will sell to anyone.  Gloria, the man-lady showed me that place.  They like me there.  So, I took the two kids, Rashid and Jerome, to the store and I let them pick out the Vodka. They wanted some crappy brand.  I told them I will only buy the good stuff.  They thought that was funny.  I told them I would only buy it if they let me drink with them, or no deal.”  I covered the phone to laugh.  Taka thought it was all a negotiation, and only on his terms. 

“Who are you?”  They asked.  Jerome said:  “You’re like some kind of superhero or something.  Most people piss their pants.  Literally.  Last week, this big bodybuilder looking guy s**t in his Dad shorts.  You got big ol’ balls Taka.”  “From there we became friends.  We bought the Vodka, and some Gin, Jerome likes Gin, but Rashid doesn’t like Gin.  I got some bubble water too to mix the Gin with.  Me and Jerome liked mixing the Gin with bubble water.  Gin and Tonic, you know, it’s the drink of British gentleman.”  I busted out laughing.   He probably saw the British gentleman thing on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,” or some other TV show.  

Per Taka, here’s how the rest of the interaction went down. “Hey, guys, I’m not giving you the change.  Theres hardly anything left.  You can take the Vodka home, but, I’m keeping the Gin.  It’s Tanqueray.”

“Ha, you are a piece of work Taka.  Are all Japanese people like this?  Are you retarded or something, or just have brass balls?  I would love to come visit you in Japan.”  Taka tried to use “brass balls” often as possible from that day.  “Brass balls M**********r,” was a Taka favorite from that day forward.  He innocently said it front of Mary, my Mom, and she totally flipped her lid. 

“My Dad would like you guys.  Maybe don’t mention the stickup.  In Hokkaido, we have king crabs two feet across.  You won’t believe it.” 

“We started drinking and got drunk real fast.  People started screaming at us to be quiet.  From the apartment windows above us.  I learned a new word.  M**********r.  Jerome loves that word.  He uses it in every sentence.”   

As they bro’d it out maximus, Rashid and Jerome shared their history, and Taka really understand for the first time.  Understood things that are nearly impossible to understand from that distance and difference of cultures that separated him from his new bro’s. 

“People kept yelling at us.  We were laughing and having a good time.  It feels real good to call someone a M**********r.  The sun started to come up.  Jerome and Rashid freaked, became real scared.  That’s when I learned why.  They lived with Jerome’s Grandma.  They are only 14 years old!  Still in Junior High school.  They had already been addicted to crack and beat it.  Right then, they seemed like normal kids, about to get in trouble for staying out late.” 

“Hey Taka, here, look,” Jerome said, handing the Glock 9mm weapon to Taka.  Taka flinched and wouldn’t take it.  “Haha, look closer.  It’s a toy Glock 9 bro.  We didn’t point real guns at you,” in their young brains, somehow thinking that made it better.  “Um, okay, it sure felt like a real gun though when you were pointing it at my face.” 

After exchanging info and drunkenly bro hugging it out, they parted ways. A mugging turned bromance.  A newfound understanding for Taka, that not all people start out at the same starting line in life.  Yet, he wasn’t letting them off the hook.  “It doesn’t make robbing people okay,” he repeatedly told his newfound friends.  

With the $50 night out on the town, it took Taka another two weeks to earn bus fare back to the valley of the saints.  His hooker roommates cried when Taka left.  Taka cried too.  Because he would miss them, and appreciation at how they mothered him.  They wouldn’t even allow him to help pay for groceries.  “I learned alot.  I learned you can’t judge people for where they end up.  Or how they look.  They knew about my bank account too, but never asked for money.”  That last sentence put a chill down my spine.  The thought someone less kindhearted might disappear Taka for all that money.  A thought I insisted on repeating to Taka when he arrived back home.  Taka’s next adventure would include Augie and I. 

A spring-break trip to Vegas, his first foray into the hippy lettuce delivers a story that may just be the funniest of all.  Thanks for reading, until next time, Stay Frosty, Stay Aerodynamic.