The Afternoon When a Small Itch Nearly Turned into an International Incident

[Nostrils, Misunderstandings, and a Refined Little Scream]

This happened quite a long time ago, but today, in some random moment, the memory suddenly popped into my head and I found myself laughing out loud alone.
The instant I remembered it, the scene from that day came back to me in vivid detail, and this strange mix of embarrassment and amusement welled up inside me. Memories really can leap across time just to come back and make fun of your present self—annoying, but pretty entertaining.

If I remember correctly, this was back when I was living in San Jose, California.
At the time, I was in pilot training, and this happened on the way home after a training flight in a small plane out of San Jose Airport.

That day, the weather had been beautiful since morning, and flying under a perfectly clear blue sky with not a cloud in sight felt incredible. I listened carefully to the engine sound, checked the sky and horizon spread out before me, and followed the assigned route. That time in the air, almost like having a conversation with the sky itself, was a luxury like no other.

After returning to the airfield and finishing the post-flight inspection of the plane, I got in my car and headed home.
The FM radio was playing some laid-back jazz, and with that satisfying post-flight feeling, I was driving along, absentmindedly watching the scenery go by.

And then, out of nowhere—
The right side of my nose, just around the nostril, started to itch.

It was the most trivial thing, but of course it’s exactly at times like that you just can’t ignore it. I didn’t have any tissues on hand, and it wasn’t like I had a runny nose or anything. It just itched. Badly. I remember thinking, “Why now of all times?” as I kept driving and gave in, scratching it with my right index finger.

At first I scratched lightly, just enough to tickle the spot. But that soon stopped being enough, and I gradually applied more pressure, until before I knew it, I was really going at that poor nostril.
The itch finally went away, but now it was replaced by a stinging, raw sort of pain.

Feeling pretty ridiculous, I gave a wry little smile and started gently stroking the over-scratched side of my nose with my finger as I drove on.

Just then, the traffic light up ahead turned from yellow to red, so I hit the brakes and stopped before the intersection.
Still absentmindedly caressing my nose, I sat there waiting for the light to turn green.

That’s when it happened.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp, strangely heavy gaze on me.

It was like a needle of a stare stabbing into my left cheek.
Huh? What’s that? I thought, and instinctively glanced over in that direction.

There, in the lane to my left, was a car stopped at the light.
In the passenger seat—or no, wait, that was the driver’s seat.
Sitting there was a middle-aged white woman. Her hair was neatly pulled back, a pair of pearl earrings swaying at her ears. Her clothes were elegant, and she had the air of a refined lady from a good neighborhood.

But her expression was the complete opposite of that graceful image.

Her eyes were wide open, deep wrinkles carved between her brows, lips pressed into a tight straight line as she glared at me with everything she had.
No, “glaring” doesn’t quite cover it. She was clearly appalled.
No… this was contempt. She was absolutely looking down on me.

In that instant, I realized:

“Ah. I’ve done it.”

Her eyes were fixed on my finger still stroking the side of my nose.

Right—she had the wrong idea.
She was convinced I had been picking my nose.
Boldly. Shamelessly. While waiting at a red light.
A filthy man without an ounce of restraint.

And on top of that, from the way I looked, she had no doubt also registered that I was Asian.

This was bad. Extremely bad.
At this rate, it wasn’t just my personal honor at stake—this could drag down the reputation of Japanese people, no, of all Asians. I had to clear up this misunderstanding somehow…!

But it’s not as if I could just casually roll down the window and say,
“Excuse me, you’ve got it all wrong, my nostril was itchy, you see…”

The windows were closed, and I couldn’t exactly call out to her.
And even if I stopped now, it was already too late.
In her mind, the verdict had been delivered: I was officially “That Guy Picking His Nose.”

After agonizing for a moment, I acted on impulse.

—I licked my finger.

Yes. I slowly brought my index finger up to my lips and, with an audible little “slurp,” I carefully, thoroughly licked it, as if savoring some delicious something I had just discovered.

And then came the finishing move.

Looking straight into her eyes, I flashed my brightest smile and gave her a big, deliberate wink. It was flawless. In terms of performance, we’re talking Oscar-worthy.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

And then, in the very next second—
she screamed.

She probably shouted something along the lines of, “OH MY GOD!!!”

Even through the closed windows, her scream came through loud and clear, echoing inside my car as if it were blasting from a surround sound system. Her face turned bright red, she covered it with both hands, and wore the expression of someone who had just witnessed the end of the world.

Right at that moment—like the final scene of a movie—the light turned green.

I quietly stepped on the accelerator and drove off as if nothing had happened.
Being very careful, of course, not to let her car appear in my rearview mirror.

Many years have passed since then, but every now and then I remember her face.
And every time, I end up laughing to myself all over again.