I glance at the clock in the teachers’ room as I finish my coffee. A Japanese coworker to my left is unwrapping and strapping a germ mask to his ears as my supervisor gargles with green tea in the communal sink behind me. It is cold and flu season and as the temperature in Shitara-cho, Japan, decreases, the germ protection increases. In my 16 months living in this beautiful rural mountain forest, I have grown accustomed to many aspects of daily Japanese life, like the morning desk-side mandatory exercises, but the germ mask, this thin bit of sterile cloth, is still a point of personal fascination.
Working in the Japanese public school system, there are many procedures and devices one can use to assist in staying healthy during this dangerous season. Since the migration of H1N1 to Japan, and being the only American foreigner for miles, I am a point of fascination and concern as I am from the epicenter of this dangerous sickness. Because I am American, the locals behave as if I am secretly harboring a Ziploc bag of H1N1 germs in my pocket to unleash on the innocent people of my village. The locals act as if the regular flu is a terminal disease and H1N1 has them scared out of their germ masks.
Cherry scented, yellow with cartoon characters, with or without foam nose bridge, or ergonomically contoured with mentholated insert, germ masks are the first barrier of defense and a must-have for the Japanese germ fighter. You can find them in the checkout aisle of the grocery store and at every convenience store. They are inexpensive and worn frequently. Some days at school, nearly half of the students will be wearing germ masks. It is considered polite to wear a mask if you feel like you might be, maybe, starting to feel less than 100 percent.
I taught with a lovely young woman who wore a germ mask every day for two months. I eventually inquired about her health, simply asking if she was feeling better, to learn she wore the mask only for prevention and felt fine. Twelve hours a day, six days a week, she wore a mask for the possibility she could get ill.
My favorite is when I see a married or dating couple traveling in the car, two lovers, partners in life, alone together, both wearing germ masks. To whom do they fear they will give their germs? I wonder if they wear them at home when they’re alone.
Yesterday, I attended an English speech recitation contest at one of my schools. More than 100 teachers, school board members and students gathered in the auditorium, and I was the only one not wearing a germ mask. I almost requested a mask from the school nurse just so I could fit in. Realizing that fitting in is actually impossible, I whispered back and forth with the teacher to my left. With every comment his glasses would fog over, inhibited by the mask. I found this humorous and soon began asking questions I knew the answers to just to watch his lenses cloud.
The second barrier in your line of defense is gargling. Green tea is the preferable liquid for gargling, and in Japan you should gargle at least three times a day during your time at work. There is no need to excuse yourself to the restroom to gargle, either. Gargling should be done at the communal sink in the office, a sink shared by about 25 people. Do not worry about volume, either. A healthy Japanese person should gargle enthusiastically. Following your gargling, it is also completely normal to hack, clear your sinuses and throat, or cough in the sink.
These sounds are somehow not an annoyance to my coworkers, whose telephone conversations and meetings have gone on without interruption.
Every morning I am greeted by the cold splash of hand sanitizer, the third most trendy germ-fighting agent. Almost as beneficial as coffee, the alcohol tingle is quite a morning wake-me-up sensation. I am given about a third of a cup delivered to my palm by the school nurse, and additional quart-sized applicators can be found in every corner of the school and at every sink. One of the schools where I teach gets hand sanitizer in bulk. The containers are so large the nurse cannot carry them and has to use a cart to wheel around for refills. I am learning to love the smell of hand sanitizer in the morning.
Fortunately, I have only been ill once since living in Japan. I am also lucky because my Japanese employer gave me something my American employers never did: excellent health insurance. I am amazed at the efficiency and extremely low cost of Japanese medical care. Thus far I have received an annual physical (which informed me that at 6-foot, 3-inches tall and 195 pounds, I am fat), antibiotics for a very nasty cut (chopping octopus is tricky) and my one illness only cost me 25 US dollars for examination, prescription, and, of course, a flu test.
All the germ masks, tea gargling and hand sanitizing are actually excellent ways to fight off the flu. My Japanese coworkers are never absent from work, ever. Neither are the students. It is the attitude of the Japanese that I find so humorous, not the risk of H1N1. It is the hype, the constant fear and precaution, and especially their cherry-scented germ masks.
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