I will tell you my story. You be the judge. I will explain my reasoning after.
I awoke this morning after sleeping a solid 12 hours on cold medicine last night. I wandered down to Omiya station in a flu like daze around 7, chugging on a warm Royal Milk Tea and trying to come to terms with the universe as it revolved.
On the platform I realized that I was standing in the line for the 3-door train when the 2-door train was coming. Losing my place in line, I shook my mucous sodden head and moved to the back. As the line further formed behind me I heard a voice with surprised energy declare questioningly, "America!?!" (everything said by me from this moment on will be in Japanese-as I refuse to entertain these people-everything said by the perpetrator will be in dumb English.) I looked around at the air and subway tiles and the backs of people's heads and settled on the face of a balding man in a boring grey suit next to me. I looked around for a while again and then turned back to him and said, "Japan!?!" "Yes, Yes. America?" He responded with enthusiasm. I pondered for a second. I couldn't think. I couldn't really grasp what was going on. "What do you think.....I don't know.....maybe." Was all I could come up with. "Oh. I don't know. Perhaps." He said, pleased with himself.
At this point, I whipped out the razor blade that I keep tucked between my lip and my gums like a wad of tobacco and sliced both of his cheeks open so his face flapped like a tall ship at the bicentennial. "Happy Halloween motherfucker!" I screamed, did an Indian war whoop and jumped off the platform, running into the darkness of the tunnel screaming.
Now, part of that story is completely false. As for the part that isn't; it might be hard to understand if you don't live in another country. Not so much if you are not white and live in America. You probably know what it is like to have someone remind you every day for no reason that you are not one of them. I am waiting on a 7:18 train to go to work with a cold, and all I exist for is to amuse some yahoo with the fact that I am not him. It gets old. Maybe if he was a hot chick, I would be happy about it. It just works my nerves. Do you know me? It is a weird approach anyway. It isn't, "Oh, I see you in the morning. Do you take the train to work?" Or anything like that. It is just shouting your speculated nationality at you.