Murphy's Law

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 24

As is often the case, when I have something big and exciting to report, my writing falls by the wayside and is quite delayed. As such, it's now several days later that I'm actually getting around to typing this. I'll be honest: I don't remember much of Friday. I went to Koko, I taught classes.

Mostly, I was working frantically to get through my work early so I could leave early. This didn't quite happen, as I still left after six, but before seven, so that's not bad for me. I did, however, inquire about how best to get to Tokyo, and my coworkers are going to help me book bus tickets on an overnight bus. Even better, they offered to switch around the schedule the following Tuesday (Monday is a holiday) so that I can be sure to be back in time and not worry. I have amazing coworkers.

I left feeling like I was leaving early. I headed out to run all the errands and get everything done that I'd need to complete before my weekend away. One of my first stops was the bank, to get money. I had not yet withdrawn yen from my account, but I had had a paycheck in the tenth and was down to just 2000 yen in my wallet. This was the start of a disastrous evening.

The bank itself was already closed, but the ATMs were still open. (Remember, ATMs are not 24-hours, because they need time to go home and see their families, too.) So, I used the touchscreen and got to the English menu. I inserted my card, checked my balance (very pretty!) and then asked to withdraw. It said to insert my passbook, and I did.

In Japan, you have a bank card and a passbook. A passbook is like the record section of a check book: it records everything you've done to your account. In Japan, you insert your book, it eats the entire thing, prints all the records, then spits it back out. So, I insert my passbook, like a pro, and it makes munching sounds for a while, then spits it back out with the error message that my “passbook is not accepted. Please see a teller on another day.” And we're back to the welcome screen.

Umm.... what?

I tried about four more times, inserting the books different ways (although I was fairly certain of the original alignment. Nothing. Nothing. It wouldn't let me withdraw cash. I did math quickly and calculated that I probably COULD do the whole weekend without any more than my $20, but that's not good planning. In a bit of a nervous funk, I biked home and knocked on James' door. He opened and the most delicious smell of baking pizza wafted through the door.

Once I recovered from the smell of paradise, I explained the situation to him. He directed me to come inside while he called his wife, Ali, and asked her if she'd ever heard of this. She hadn't. So, she gave him detailed instructions on how to finish cooking the pizza (quite detailed for: pull it out when it's done) and grabbed her bike and headed back to the bank with me. On the way, I had my first real conversation with her and it was nice. I mentioned that I hadn't know her son, Thomas, was crawling. And she said he'd just started three days before, although he was only five months and babies don't typically start crawling until 9 months. He'll keep her busy.

At the bank, Ali inserted my card and, wow.... money came out. It never asked for my passbook. I was apologizing and thanking profusely. She then inserted my passbook to update it and came up with the error message I'd gotten, so I was at least partly right. She had never seen the error either. (Also... “talk to a teller on another day” is a really annoying notice. For me, that would be MONDAY.) Our best guess is that the magnetic strip on it somehow got demagnetized. Either way, I need to get to the bank and get that fixed at some point, but getting the money was the real priority and that succeeded.

If only that were everything...

I then went and got to cooking. See, this two day bike ride included stopping at conbinis for snacks and a pension (Bed and Breakfast) with a non-vegetarian meal. So, I thought it best to be safe and pack enough food to last me a weekend. So, I calculated a bunch of meals, and made a lot of brown rice. I definitely overdid the rice. I eventually pulled it from the stove when it started overflowing its pot. I then sauteed some carrots, fried up tofu, and carmalized some onions. Made a spicy soy sauce and dumped it all into a tupperware. I had some leftovers for dinner.

Then, it was time to take my bike apart. I brought it upstairs into my apartment, as it was already dark outside. This was hard as it's actually fairly heavy. This is when I realized I had another problem on my hands. My bicycle had screws and I had no screwdriver or wrench. The stores by this time were closed and, texts to Elizabeth and Andrew were not returned. Google was no help and I started freaking out.

See, I had signed up to bring my bike from home, rather than rent one, meaning there was no bike waiting for me in Kinomoto. I HAD to bring my bike. To bring my bike, I had to smuggle it onto the train, which can be a bit tricky. It sometimes depends on who's manning the ticket booths as you walk in. To get your bike on the train, you must make it as small as possible (pop the first tire, at least) and cover it completely, either with a bike bag ($50-200) or motorcycle covers and tape ($1-2). I opted for the later. But I needed my basket and wheel off.

I panicked. I was really freaking out. I even briefly thought of biking up to Kinomoto that night, but didn't trust myself, alone, in the dark. I rang Elizabeth's door and got no answer, Brian, next door had a dark apartment and, given the hour, was probably asleep. And the apartments downstairs for Parker and James were also dark. Really, there was no one to ask, especially at this late hour. And, even then, no guarantee they could help me.

I tried a butter knife. I dented the butter knife. I tried coins. I scraped up coins. I tried my poor bare hands and they were very displeased. None worked.

Even google was no help. I was freaking out to Lonn, when I heard the man next door come home. I jumped up, grabbed my Japanese-English dictonary, jotted down the words I needed in romaji, English, and hiragana, then dashed outside to find.... lights off and no one around.

Much more panic ensued.

I did go back out again later when nothing else had made the situation better. Here, I was fortunate enough to see a light on. So, I hesitantly (it was about 11:30 at this time.) knocked. And the door was opened by their son, who is about 8 years old. My first instinct was to say, “Shouldn't you be in bed?” I apologized profusely and with my broken Japanese we got the tools I needed. I owe them awesome gifts now.

And I got my basket off and my tire off and taped stuff up and got the bike cover on and was very relieved, although still nervous as I couldn't get my back wheel off. I was panicked that I'd get yelled at in Japanese, but there was little more I could do.

I packed my stuff. I didn't have a backpack and, with my basket off (and it wouldn't fit in the duffel) I'd have to carry the small duffel Elizabeth had loaned me for Osaka on my back. It was heavy and unwieldy, despite me taking most of the stuff out. But, there was little I could do.

I finally settled down for sleep noting that I really didn't have much time for that. I had checked the train schedule online and I'd be up early, early, early to make sure there was no way I would miss my train. Plus, who knew how long it would take to haul a bicycle the 10 minute walk to the station.