In Japan, there is an ancient rule of politeness. When someone offers you something, you refuse. Three times. "Would you like some tea?" "Oh, no, I couldn't." "Please." "No, really, don't trouble yourself." "I insist." "I'm fine, thank you." "Please, have some tea." "...Well, if you insist." Four offers. Three refusals. Then tea. Everyone knows the rules. It's beautiful. It's been working for centuries. My coworker Uchida is the most polite man in Japan. On his first trip to America, he stayed with a family in Ohio. On the first night, the host mom asked if he was hungry. He said, "Oh, no, I'm fine." Refusal number one. She said, "Okay!" And that was it. There was no second offer. There was no dinner. (In Ohio, if you say no, they believe you. Nobody had told him.) At 11 p.m., starving, Uchida crept into the kitchen and bit into an apple from the bowl on the table. It was wax. Two years later, his company sent him to Georgia. He told me he had learned his lesson. This time, he would be careful. He was not ready for Miss Loretta. Miss Loretta is 81. She has lived in the same house in Georgia since 1967. She has fed every human being who has ever walked through her door. She has been undefeated since the Johnson administration. He walked in. She didn't even say hello first. LORETTA: "You want some sweet tea, baby?" UCHIDA: "Oh, no, thank you." (Refusal one. Polite.) LORETTA: "I'll just get you a little." UCHIDA: "No, no, please, don't trouble yourself." (Refusal two.) LORETTA: (already pouring) "It's no trouble at all." UCHIDA: "Really, I'm fine." (Refusal three. Now she offers once more, and I accept. The ancient system.) LORETTA: (sets down the glass) "There you go." (She did not offer a fourth time. She skipped straight to delivery.) UCHIDA: "...Thank you." LORETTA: "You hungry?" UCHIDA: "Oh, no, I ate on the plane." (Refusal one.) LORETTA: "I'll fix you a plate." UCHIDA: "Please, it's really not necessary." (Refusal two.) Fried chicken arrived. UCHIDA: "I couldn't possibly." (Refusal three.) Macaroni and cheese arrived. UCHIDA: "Miss Loretta, I really am full." (Refusal four. Outside the system now. Uncharted territory.) Biscuits arrived. He told me that was the moment he understood. In Japan, every "no" brings you one step closer to "yes." In Georgia, every "no" brings you a biscuit. So he panicked. He changed strategy. He thought: if "no" makes more food appear, then "yes" must make it stop. UCHIDA: "Yes! Yes, this is perfect, thank you, I have enough." LORETTA: "Oh, good, you like it! I'll get you some more." There is no word that makes it stop. Peach cobbler arrived. With ice cream. Uchida had not been asked about the cobbler. Nobody is asked about the cobbler. The cobbler simply happens. Uchida says he sat there, sweating, eating, bowing between bites, while an 81-year-old woman stood over him like a referee, saying "Eat, baby, eat," and patting his shoulder every time he swallowed. When he finally stood up to leave, he bowed very deeply. UCHIDA: "Thank you for the wonderful meal. I am completely full." LORETTA: "Well, take some home." UCHIDA: "No, really, I—" He flew back to Tokyo with a pound cake in his carry-on. At airport security, the officer pulled his bag, unzipped it, and stared at an entire foil-wrapped pound cake. OFFICER: "Sir, why do you have a whole cake?" UCHIDA: "I tried to say no." OFFICER: (long pause) "...Was it a grandma?" UCHIDA: "Yes." The officer zipped the bag closed, handed it back, and waved him through. No more questions. Before he left Georgia, Uchida asked Miss Loretta why she never accepted his refusals. Not once. Not even the polite ones. She laughed and patted his cheek. "Honey, in this house, 'no' just means you're being polite. And you don't have to be polite here. You're home." Uchida has been back in Tokyo for a year. He has changed. When a coworker visits his desk now, he offers them coffee. They say no, the polite Japanese way. He doesn't ask again. He just brings the coffee. The whole office is very confused. He says it's the most Southern thing he knows how to do.