Japan: November, 2015
It probably wasn’t until my third or maybe even fourth purchase at a retail store in Tokyo that I finally used the Tray. Evidently, Japanese salespeople wanted money deposited right on the Pay Tray — even if it was a credit card. No touching of bills, cards or coins is necessary. My brazen blunder with money handling became clear when one giftshop employee somewhat frantically grabbed the Tray, located right next to the cash register, after I directly handed her 1,500 yen. The employee carefully laid my money on the Pay Tray, and then she calmly continued the transaction.
The Tray, which can vary in color and size, is generally a black plastic rectangle with slightly raised sides — like a butter dish — and to the best of my knowledge, it is used the same way everywhere. The customer places money for the purchase on the Pay Tray and gives it to the sales clerk who ultimately returns the same Transaction Tray with the change and receipt, often presenting it to the customer with both hands and a bow.
Every store and salesperson I encountered in Tokyo used the Tray. Even the bored, sullen looking sales clerk with fushia hair streaks and multiple piercings at H&M gave me my change on the Tray along with an artful and deliberate bow. According to an article by Alice Gordenker in the Japan Times, change trays, which have many names including, Tsurisen torei, Kaikei-bon, Koin torei and the French term, Karuton, have been used by merchants in Japan since at least 1918.
The Gratitude Attitude
I always tried to make up for any flagrant or potential faux pas by saying, arigatou gozaimasu (thank you very much), and it wasn’t long before I was delivering a deep bow to salespeople. Despite this show of gratitude, I was still blissfully and ignorantly blundering away. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I delivered an overabundance of bows and appreciation with each visit to a store. My gratitude attitude was in overdrive. This, in turn, set off a chain reaction of reciprocation. Often, in the final stage of the transaction, after I had carefully re-accepted the Tray with both hands (as if I was handed a newborn), I then bowed, said thank you and turned away to leave. Meanwhile, however, as I began to swivel, the sales clerk would launch into yet another round of thank-you’s.
Yes, I was a foreigner (gaijin) and unfamiliar with some of the customs, and no one reprimanded me or revealed any outrage at my gaijin gaffes, but I’ve always tried to be respectful and aware of cultural etiquette. I knew, for example, that in Japan, I shouldn’t stare at people or double dip food in the soy sauce. I wasn’t supposed to wear shoes on tatami mats, nor was I to place chopsticks upright in a “V” formation in a bowl of rice. It’s best to avoid symbols of death anywhere you go although I messed up that advice as well. Read on.
Consequently, it was hard to accept that my manners were downright deplorable when it came to shopping, a pursuit with which I always feel in my element. But not so in Japan — I was unrefined. An oaf. Uncouth. Clueless or awkward at best. Essentially, I was a Nippon Neanderthal when it came to the mall.