Penny Black Attack

One thing I learned this weekend was the value of a good self-defense course. I know anyone who dares to set foot in Toyama's infamous "Penny Black," a mos eisly-esque expat hub where half the guys are seedy Russian car dealers, the rest look like avid members of the local al-Qaeda affiliate, and almost all the girls are working, is taking a big risk at having his face rearranged. And yet, out of boredom last Saturday, I made a pit stop over to Toyama's foreigner dive. Within five minutes and without saying a nasty word to anyone, I got karate chopped in the neck by a drunken Brazilian who was smoking outside.

Just one hit and this throwback to our Cro-Magnon origins was back in the club abusing ever more intently his own liver. You could call it a "so this is why I don't come here" moment. A big part of me wanted to knock this guy's teeth in, but I decided to restrain myself, got on my bike, and headed home. I felt a sadness that a normal, peace-loving guy like me couldn't just drop into a local club and enjoy a little disco dance without Nacho Sanchez giving me a hard time. It was frustrating as well; every guy knows the sense of emptiness, the lack of closure, when we deny ourselves the opportunity to punch someone back. Just walk away, it’s not worth it.

I always try to think “people like that will mess with the wrong guy one day, and then they’ll learn.” As it turned out for Kung-fu Carlos, today was that day. After I left, news of the recent scuffle reached my posse of Brazilian friends inside the club, who were dancing and enjoying themselves as well. Baffled by the nerve of this bag of feminine sanitary chemicals, they grouped up and sorted him out.

Now, I don’t get some kind of devious pleasure out of the image of a drunken toe rag lying bloodied in the street, but better he get his comeuppance now and learn his lesson, rather than finding himself at the mercy of a gang of murderous yakudza later. I guess that’s why it's good to have a reputation as a peacemaker. While I've had my moments of rage since I've been in Japan, people here know I only throw a punch when I feel my safety or the safety of my friends is endangered. Knowing me to be a laid back guy in that respect, my Brazilian friends, who might have otherwise just reasoned with the guy, were ever more infuriated that someone would treat me in such a vile manner. As a result, the haughty philistine got his stone in the head, and the decent, civilized folk of Toyama scored a victory over barbarism.