The Host With The Least

I rarely host houseguests. And if I do, it’s generally one of my college friends like Whits or Neskey, who both fall under the category of “low maintenance.” We go out, get drunk, and when we get back to my place they pass out on my couch. I’ll usually give them a pillow and a blanket, but that’s only to keep them comfortable enough that they don’t attempt to crawl into bed with me during the night. It’s like when you’re camping and you tie your food up in a tree to keep bears away from your tent.

Given my decidedly limited background in the hospitality industry, I had reason to worry when Roommate Scott called one recent Saturday and informed me that there were two Japanese women at our door and they would be staying with us for several days. Apparently, they were friends of one of his friends. He hadn’t expected them to show up yet, and he wouldn’t be home for 45 minutes. I walked outside and sure enough, there were two Japanese women standing there. I may not be Martha Stewart, but I figured I could entertain until Scott got home.

We sat on the couch and made our introductions. One of the women, Yuko, spoke English, but the other, Rie, was fluent only in nodding and smiling. We began by talking about what they planned to do during their two days in Boston, which was a short discussion because they were interested in going to lots of cultural attractions and museums and I’m an ignorant slob.

After we talked about Boston museums that I know the names of (I recommended the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, which I’m told is great), I gave them a primer on Boston using my trusty laminated map. “This is the North End, where all the Italian restaurants are. This is Newbury Street, where everyone walks too slow. This is the Public Garden, where the Pilgrims protested the tea tax by burning witches during the Civil War.” Lucky for them, I happen to know a lot about Boston history.

Eventually, though, I ran out of helpful tips about the city, and we were all reduced to staring intently at the map and wondering where the hell Scott was. Lacking any better ideas, I turned on the TV and began watching college football, which is what I’d planned on doing anyway. But now, instead of just being lazy, I was sharing my culture.

Yuko and Rie watched politely for a few minutes, but I could tell that the in-state rivalry between Miami and Florida State wasn’t captivating them quite like a pink leather Hello Kitty cell phone cover. So I proposed taking a walk to Newbury Street, where we could people-watch, browse shops, and curse Scott’s lineage for his disappearing all day while I convinced two foreigners that Americans are rude, clueless imbeciles. In case they didn’t think that already.

After I took them to Banana Republic, which I learned is also very popular in Japan, Yuko and Rie jumped in a cab and fled to the Gardner Museum. Scott called soon thereafter asking where the Japanese girls were, to which I replied that they’d managed to shake me somewhere on the second floor of Banana Republic but I didn’t think they’d get very far—the map I gave them ends on the edge of Brookline.

Eventually our Japanese visitors did return, no doubt despite their better judgment, and the next night they set about cooking a fantastic multicourse meal. They were easily the best guests we’ve ever had, which made me feel extra bad that Rie was excluded from the dinner conversation. So, reaching back to my days hanging out

with Nobuo, my Japanese exchange-student friend from high school, I tried to think of a few Japanese words to toss into the ring. Unfortunately, all Nobuo ever taught me was obscenities, but I figured that was better than nothing. “Chin-chin omanko!” I said hopefully. Both women’s heads snapped toward me and they put their hands over their faces while I wondered what, exactly, I’d said. Fortunately, they both started laughing. “She says that was very surprising to her,” said Yuko. “She didn’t understand anything anyone was saying, and then all of a sudden heard you say, ‘pee-pee sex.’” I suppose that would be surprising to me, too, if I were having dinner in Japan and someone turned to me and declared “pee-pee sex!”

You may be wondering where Rie and Yuko slept. The answer: Scott’s bed. He slept on the couch. Hey, I gave him a pillow. Who says I’m not a good host? ∂