There are some moments when you just have to look like a complete idiot.
Today, I moved into my apartment (I am writing this the day I moved in, even though it wasn’t posted until later). It’s a nice place… a regular little rabbit hole. The bedroom is spacious, but the kitchen is pretty small. Nonetheless, it’s the place I’m going to call home, so I’m making the best of it. Two minor panic attacks and three hours later, I have finally finished unpacking, so I sit down to plan my lessons and wait for someone to deliver my futon.
Three more hours later, I am still waiting. It’s 8:30 pm. The branch school closes at 9:00. What am I supposed to do?
I settle on venturing out. I need a good rest tonight so I can be at the top of my game tomorrow. I slip on a pair of shoes and begin trying to track down the nearest payphone, carrying nothing but my inert iPad, my wallet, a map of to the school with the school’s phone number, and a sheet of paper I got for the train ride with a very useful phrase on it:
公衆電話はどこですか。
Koushuu denwa wa doko desu ka?
(Where is a payphone?)
On my way out, I see my mailbox is glutted with coupons. I reach in to dig them out, then draw back. Wonderful. I have cut my finger deeply on a mailbox. I have no band-aids, and no antiseptic (I am not man enough to try the cherry-blossom hand sanitizer on my table/desk). So, now I have to find a payphone and a band-aid. I walk around sucking the blood off of my finger, and I eventually find a Lawson by the train station. They have no payphone, but I still buy band-aids partly to show my gratitude, and partly because the girl helping me kept saying daijobu (are you okay). I bandage myself up and keep going. I’ve only got twenty minutes before the branch school closes.
A 7-Eleven by the train station proves equally useless. The clerk seemed a little rude when I asked her if she spoke English, but perhaps it was simply my frame of mind. Another failed attempt later, I am on to the Nara Information Center. The woman there was kind, and she pointed me to a payphone just outside.
By now, I am of course flustered beyond all reason and praying for someone who speaks English to answer the phone. A few seconds later, I am explaining my situation to one of the teachers there, who says, “Okay. Can you call back in five minutes?” I begrudge the loss of yen, but I really don’t have a choice. I need a futon to sleep on.
I try to call home. No luck. I can’t figure out how to exactly. I take a walk around the plaza in front of the office, contemplating dinner and lesson plans. Five minutes later, I call back and receive a rather bizarre request: “The company did not answer, but can you come to the branch school?”
This is a joke, right? Some sick, twisted little delusion I’ll wake up from in five minutes. It’s Nara at 9:00 pm, and I have the navigational skills of a blind, deaf, and dizzy cockroach. It’s dark. I can barely read the map. Am I lost? I’m lost. I’m so lost. It’s hopeless.
And then, there comes a little ray of light. No. I’m not lost. I’m walking the right way; I just don’t recognize anything. I can’t read names, but I can count traffic lights.
And thus, by an ingenious stroke, I wind up discovering that I am not entirely inept at navigating Japan, and I am now one futon closer to a good rest.
These are the kind of things you have to laugh about. One of my fellow trainees said her goal in Japan was to enjoy every moment. I confess I didn’t enjoy feeling lost. I enjoyed realizing that I wasn’t lost at all.
Just another day in Japan and another dab of wasabi.
The Far Side of the World 