Sayonara, Japan: A Farewell Party

Shrill cries of “Irashaimase!” echoed throughout the restaurant. A beautiful hostess in a purple kimono escorted us to a small room at the back of an izakaya. Moments later, a waitress slid open the elegantly painted fusuma and shuffled forward, her knees hovering only inches from the carpeted surface. She soon retreated in identical fashion, bowing gently before gliding shut the doors.
“Itadakimasu!” The collective cheer marked the beginning of a feast. I hesitated, waiting to survey the proper dining etiquette. (I had been informed never to set chopsticks straight down into a bowl of rice – a form of symbolism used only at funerals.) Ripping apart their waribashi, my co-workers first placed food onto their dish before devouring anything. Evidently, eating directly from the main platters would have been insulting to the other guests.
Kneeling on thin cushions atop tatami mats, women upheld their graceful appearance while men lit cigarettes and carelessly poured sake for others. An unwritten rule proclaims that one should never fill their own glass when in company; rather, common courtesy guides you to refill your companion’s glass and wait for them to return the favour.
Now fairly inebriated, the women praised my ability to wield chopsticks while the men seized the moment to ask indiscreet questions about my personal life. These direct inquiries were not uncommon; despite being incredibly reserved, the Japanese tend to shed their inhibition when drunk, relishing the rare chance to speak with a foreigner. At such parties, intoxication is prevalent, if not encouraged; after all, another tacit rule states that secrets of the night must never be revealed in the morning.
As a true testament to the Japanese notion of equality, the bill – including alcohol – was evenly divided, regardless of what each person had consumed. Stepping into our shoes, a fury of bows and shouts of “Arigatou gozaimasu!” followed us out through the hanging curtain and into the warm summer night.