I have perhaps the world's longest list of You have been here too long if. . . It is often easy to see oneself in such lists, recognizing a trait you have absorbed since living here. It has become an automatic reflex, unnoticed until you return home and realize that no one else does it. My moment of truth came with: You have been in Japan too long if you get a ruler whenever you want to underline something -- and I realized I do, yet I don't recall when it became an established habit. It has become important to have things look right. This is no loss, and I question the suggestion of "lived here too long." Many of the actions or words that we take on are an improvement, a refinement, over our previous actions or words, the general politeness to those around us, the consideration of other's feelings, the preference for being neat and orderly, even though we considered ourselves quite sufficient in these characteristics before. I think of how few times I have heard voices raised in anger, seen anything even close to the use of physical violence, and I suggest the emphasis should be changed. It is not that we have lived here too long. It may be that we are just getting started. And I know, wherever I am, I will reach for a ruler whenever I want to underline something because it looks better. Here are some entries selected from the master list.

  * You choose a potato salad sandwich with strawberries for lunch.

  * you discover another delicious way to eat "natto."

  * you truly like green-tea ice cream.

  * your mother talks about "you foreigners."

  * you have never been skiing but you think the ski rack looks great on your car.

  * you think the natural location for a beer garden is on the roof.

  * you think "white pills, blue pills and pink powder" is an adequate answer to the question, "What are you giving me, doctor?"

  * you think four layers of wrapping is reasonable for some simple purchase.

  * you are only slightly puzzled by "Melty Kiss."

  * you feel slightly uncomfortable when some "gaijin" sits down beside you on a train.

  * you expect vending machines to say, "Thank you."

  * you can't have your picture taken without your fingers forming the peace sign.

  * you return the bow of the figure on the screen of your cash machine.

  * you see nothing curious about squid and corn pizza.

  * you do arithmetic with "man," "oku," "cho" and "kei."

  * you go to the local 7-Eleven wearing your wife's sandals.

  * you move your hand in front of your nose when you say "no."

  * you find yourself apologizing at least three times per conversation.

  * you wait for the kampai before approaching the buffet at a gaijin party.

  * you think every car should have a tissue box on the back shelf and a feather duster in the trunk.

  * you find yourself saying things like, "In Japan, we . . ."

  * you use a "slasher hand" motion and bow continuously as you make your way through a crowd.

We foreigners do become marked. Last summer, on a train, I was deeply engrossed in the book I was reading when suddenly I felt a sense of acute, threatening discomfort. I was aware that someone had just sat down beside me so I looked up to see who it was. It was a foreigner. So why? I wondered. It was easy to see. It was summer, he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and the hairs on his arm had brushed my arm. Japanese rarely have hairy arms and even when a train is crowded, they somehow hold their bodies in tightly so there is no feeling of touching. Foreigners tend to "spread out." Those hairs had set off my alarm system and I was ready to run. And I thought, if I feel that way, what would it be like for a Japanese with no hairy-arm familiarity? It may suggest why subconscious reactions may propel a Japanese out of his seat next to a foreigner.