Every Tuesday evening, I teach a private "English lesson" to a doctor. The lesson takes place at a hostess bar, or a "snack" as the Japanese call it. This doctor has about 10 snacks he goes to regularly, and I know most of them. In one lesson, we will hit one or two of them.

But one Tuesday night, we walk into a different snack. The hostesses recognize the doctor and quickly pour four glasses of whiskey and water from his "bottle keep." The mama-san welcomes him, and she and one of the hostesses sit down next to us. A man is never left unattended in a hostess bar.

But the formality is what I dislike most about snacks. The "tatemae" (social "mask") is so thick, you could cut with a sword. It starts out with the introduction of the foreign lady as, at the very least, the queen of England. Every small accomplishment will be filtered through a tatemae magnifying glass: I am a downhill ski champion, I speak 10 languages, I have traveled around the world in 80 days, twice. And would you believe that I can speak Japanese "better than a native speaker"? Oh yes! And, by George, I am more Japanese than the average Japanese -- the highest compliment imaginable! The much abused word "famous" gets bantered around to no end. This is all to elevate me and put me on a pedestal, as is the Japanese custom. I am not comfortable and am teetering on top of the pedestal. All I can do is keep quiet, as is the protocol. I start thinking of how I can escape: jump from my pedestal and run home. But how would I get past the crowd of people at the door waiting for photos and my autograph?