My bank has been on a crusade, encouraging everyone to upgrade to their new bank card with the latest security features. Apparently, even in a country as safe as Japan, there are always crafty fraudsters lurking in the shadows.
The new card is a marvel of modern technology, combining the functions of a cash card, credit card, and debit card all in one. The catch? Switching to this new super-card is more of a quest than a quick swap.
Sure, you can do it all on the smartphone app, but first, you have to cancel your old card, then apply for the new one, and wait ten days for it to arrive — ten days where you'll need to surrive with alternative payment methods.
But my ever-practical wife thought it would be a good idea to make the switch, so we decided to embark on this grand adventure together.
Now, in Japan, filling in forms with a foreign name clearly comes with its pitfalls.
Forms in Japan usually require your name in three formats:
1. Roman characters (the alphabet we know and love),
2. Kanji (those beautiful but mysterious Chinese characters),
3. Furigana (the phonetic script to indicate the pronunciation).
Bear in mind that typically in Japan, names are written in their Kanji form. However, it's not always obvious (even to a regular Japanese person) what the exact reading of a name is, hence the requirement for the phonetic form. Why they also ask for the name in the Latin alphabet, I’m not actually sure. Perhaps it’s just to keep things interesting.
Now take a foreign name (and not something as straightforward as e.g. John Smith), and then things get really exciting:
My name's ROLF WIETLISBACH.
The story goes that my parents had deliberately opted for a short first name, so as not to complicate things for me later in life. The parents of one of my primary school classmates were far less considerate. His surname had 12 letters, and they punished him with a 9-letter first name.
But wait, there's more: When I was christened, my parents thought it cool to give me a middle name. They obviously didn't anticipate that I would someday end up living in Japan, where this would be less than helpful.
So my passport reads ROLF ARNOLD WIETLISBACH.
And just for kicks, when we got married, we followed the quite common Swiss practice of adding the wife's maiden name onto the husband's (equal rights and all!).
So on our wedding certificate, it says ROLF WIETLISBACH-KOBAYASHI.
Now consider this. In Japan:
Middle names are like unicorns — they don't exist.
Hyphenated names are not allowed.
There's no Kanji for "Wietlisbach".
Official forms need the full passport name, but name fields have restrictions in length.
I guess you can see where this is going...
Back in the day, paper forms would often lack the necessary space, but at least allowed for some flexibility. But now, digital forms are mercilessly precise.
So, on this bright sunny morning, armed with my iPhone, my wife’s laptop and a cup of green tea, we sat down to tackle the task of applying for the new bank card. We started with enthusiasm, thinking this would be a breeze. After all, the bank already has all my personal details (in fact, more than I might be comfortable with!).
Soon enough, we reached a field to enter my name.
"Full Name," the form demanded. Confidently, I typed "Wietlisbach Rolf Arnold," only to be greeted by a flashing red error message: "Name exceeds character limit. Please shorten."
A quick glance at the name in my Banking App revealed that my bank had registered me as "Wietlisbach Rolf Arn" thanks to their 18-character limit. Lovely.
Although I'm not too keen to have my middle name butchered like this, I felt I had no choice and reluctantly entered "Wietlisbach Rolf Arn." Surely, entering my name in the same way they had already registered me under should work?
Error again. Apparently not.
Creativity kicked in: "Wietlisbach RolfArn" — finally, a green light!
Entering my name in furigana proved to be less challenging — this time. Usually, that is where we get stuck.
Next up: employer's name in kanji and furigana. My foreign company's name was sure to stir things up.
It takes me frustratingly long to type Japanese characters on a Japanese-style keypad. Besides, they come with the additional complication of "half-width" and "full-width" format, and digital forms are unforgiving when choosing the wrong one. As I'm not willing to deal with this level of complexity, I swiftly handed my smartphone to my trusty wife.
First attempt, and another red error, indicating that the character limit had been exceeded. So she contemplated whether to simply shorten the name to make it fit. But knowing how meticulous banks can be (they also asked for a phone number, so presumably they will check whether I actually work there), she quickly dismissed the idea.
So she tried every combination she could think of: Half-width, full-width, with spaces and without spaces, every time being met with the unforgiving red message. Several creative attempts and a few sips of now-lukewarm green tea later, her patience was wearing thin.
Desperate for answers, she turned to ChatGPT for hints. Miraculously, one combination worked.
But there was still the furigana field. Our best bet was to use the same combination as in the first field. But our bet was wrong, as the red error flashed up again.
Again, she let her imagination run wild, and finally met with success!
We were left wondering, though, how less imaginative people deal with this kind of situation, or whether they just give up at some point. Or maybe they just have a much simpler name and work for a company with a Japanese name that doesn't pose any challenge for the programmers...
Here's hoping that with more foreigners coming to the country, these hurdles will eventually disappear.
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