Originally published on metropolis.co.jp on August 2010

Sounding off

Regarding “Speak(er) of the Devil” (The Last Word, July 23): Good observation, simple solution. After performing this simple procedure, my neighborhood was cured of these Sunday morning jerks.

1) Try to sleep in on Sunday
2) Wear something that is suitable for being outdoors
3) Catch the truck coming through the neighborhood
4) Stop said truck
5) Grab driver by collar (do not touch the driver’s person), tell him in Japanese that this is Sunday morning and to keep it quiet, we are trying to rest here.

Additional procedures:
6) Snap a pic of the license plate
7) Tell the driver that next time, you will report him to the police as a disturbance to the peace

This worked for me, but I’m on the muscular side and look a bit intimidating. Speaking softly works better. These days, the trucks don’t drive up into my area until well after 10:30am.

Good luck. I am sure our Japanese neighbors feel the same way. Some of these trucks are low-level organized crime fronts, and the average Japanese does not want to mess with them. I couldn’t care less—the Japanese are too nice to be spoiled by these jerks, and calling them on it works (at least for foreigners).—Jim

The yaki-imo guy I’m chill with. It’s the trucks that come out during election season that get me… someday in my ward, there’s going to be a rash of incidents of nails found in tires. Just a hunch.—dokool

As someone obviously acutely aware of sound, you must really be tortured by these sound trucks. I am sorry for you, really. For me, though, these nutty trucks are a source of contentment, that I am living in a part of Tokyo with some soul left in it. They are reminders of a former lifestyle that was close to the street, close to the people… of an individual hawking their goods to the locals. I could bake my own potato, but it is somehow more affirming to buy one off of some fellow human being with their delicious-smelling wood fire and yaki-imo scent wafting around.

I am sure you won’t agree, but for me, these sounds are deeply romantic (even though they are hellishly loud). I live in a shitamatchi area, and these sounds are just part of the fabric of life here. Because of them, I have [been able to] ditch huge useless items and discover a Chiba community of organic farmers who harvest their own rice and make their own tofu, miso and other goodies. Also, [I’ve met] a local enterprise of horn-tooting hardies who make many interesting food items, sold by a guy with a pushcart and a horn around the neighborhood. I just adore their hardy spirit and patronize them as often as I can.

If you meet the drivers of the speaker trucks in person, you might experience a change of heart and learn to enjoy them—much as we would always enjoy the return of a good friend.—darthmiffy

In my neighborhood, the tofu van is the worst. A loud, piercing whistle lasts for about 30 seconds, followed by a minute of dull-toned explanations about the tofu. My theory is that Japanese people are born with built-in noise-cancelling ears. How many times have you seen a sleeping baby next to a construction site, or a shop worker standing next to some speakers blasting adverts straight into their left ear—completely unfazed? I think it’s us foreigners that suffer the most with these nuisances. No one else seems to notice or care!—Charltzy

All letters taken from the Metropolis online comment threads