Saturday, September 19--Silver Week

Today marks the beginning of “Silver Week,” a rare but welcome occurrence in Japan.  Monday is a holiday, Respect for the Aged Day.  Wednesday is also a holiday, the Autumnal Equinox.   By Japanese law, if there is only one non-holiday day between two national holidays, then that day becomes a holiday as well, called kokumin no kyūjitsu or “citizens’ holiday.”  (Just for the record, if a holiday falls on a weekend, then the next non-holiday weekday becomes a kokumin no kyūjitsu so that they don’t get gypped of a day off work.)  Sweet—I like the way they think!  So, counting this weekend, the Japanese have five consecutive days off from work, hence the “week” part of the Silver Week nomenclature.  The “silver” part comes from the fact that this holiday period is slightly inferior to the Golden Week period of late April/early May (usually seven  to ten days off, depending how the holidays fall within the week, and the company’s policies about shutting down on the two non-holidays within the period).  Silver Week won’t occur again until 2015—next year Respect for the Aged Day falls on Monday, but the Autumnal Equinox isn’t until Thursday, so there will be no kokumin no kyūjitsu.

What does Silver Week mean for me?  Just like Golden Week, it means don’t try to go anywhere by car.  The highways will be jammed with people taking advantage of not only the time off, but also the reduced toll rates in effect on national holidays.  Don’t try to visit any popular sightseeing spots, including, but not limited to, shopping malls, onsen, Tokyo DisneyLand, and the countryside.  It is, however, a good time to visit downtown Tokyo, as all of the city folks have made a mass exodus and there won’t be a suffocating crush of humanity on the trains or subways.  It also means a better than average chance of seeing Mt. Fuji, since the humid haze of summer and the normal workday smog of Tokyo should both be dissipating.

Saturday, September 19--Victorious

It’s true that Jim has won cash and prizes as champion of several Texas Hold ‘Em tournaments, but let it be known that I am the one who has secured not one, but two, trophies for his office.  Improving on last year’s third place finish, today I captured first place in the women’s division of the CFAY Captain’s Cup Poker Tournament.  (Wild cheering and applause from the peanut gallery…)  We won’t mention that there were only three women registered in the tournament to begin with, or that I didn’t have a single winning hand all tournament, or that Jim gallantly knocked both of the other women out so that I could claim victory…  A trophy’s a trophy, right?

Monday, September 14--Random thoughts

Riding on the train to Tokyo today, I saw a man wearing penny loafers.  Having nothing better to do than stare at his footwear, I thought back to my high school days, when those wine-colored shoes were fairly popular.  That got me thinking about the kids who actually put pennies in the slots on the front of the shoes.  Since there are no pennies in Japan, what do they call this style of shoe?  Yen loafers?  Do people put lucky five-yen coins in the slot?

Thursday, September 10--Settling up, Part 2

Finally had time to return to the post office today.  Tomorrow is the seventh and final day of my grace period, and as the week has progressed I have been getting more and more anxious about my unpaid speeding ticket.   Even though I had every intention of paying before the deadline, just the thought of being hunted down and hauled off to jail made me break out into a cold sweat.  

Once again, I ashamedly produced the ticket and some yen at the information desk, and the clerk pointed me to the bank counter in the center of the post office.  The teller there handed me a form to fill in, then took it, the ticket, and the cash off for processing.  I was pointed to a chair to wait while the paperwork was completed.  When she came back, she presented me with an official receipt, and what I assume to be a paid stamp on the ticket.  All of this with no look of censure or finger-pointing.  I know I am not the first person in Japan, or even the first foreigner, to get a speeding ticket, but for some reason I feel like a big scarlet S has been branded in my forehead for all the world to see.  It’s not even my most grievous speeding ticket (78 in a 55 back home), so the shame and guilt are totally out of proportion to the crime.  What’s wrong with me?  Guess I wanted to be a counter-example to the common stereotype that Americans are fat, lazy, loud, outlaw-types. 

I took the ticket home and put it in the pile of other mementos I’ve collected for a scrapbook.  I’m hopeful that someday I’ll be able to look at this as just one more unique experience in Japan without feeling like an axe-murderer.

Saturday, September 5--Settling up, part 1

I couldn’t understand why I had to go to the post office to pay my speeding ticket.  Wouldn’t the police station, or courthouse, or even city hall make more sense?  Apparently, Japan’s post office includes a bank.  Not exactly sure how or why it has been set up like this, but at least the reason I’m going there makes a little more sense now.

Anyway, after asking around, I found the location and hours of the Yokosuka branch of the post office, and made Jim agree to lunch at a restaurant near there today so I wouldn’t have to go by myself to pay my ticket.  (In case you’re wondering, I confessed to the ticket last night as soon as he walked in the door.  Not that I would have tried to hide it anyway, but I certainly wanted him to hear it from me before his boss gets a copy and says something about it.)

Walked up to what appeared to be an information desk in the post office, and with a hang-dog look showed the clerk my ticket and some yen.  He informed me that you can’t pay a ticket on Saturday, only Monday through Friday when the bank portion of the post office is open.

Darn.  Now I’ll have to go back during the week without reinforcements.

Friday, September 4--Safety driving

It was bound to happen.

Frankly, I’m a little surprised it took this long, given the fact that I inherited my dad’s lead foot, and the fact that unless you’re on the highway, Japan is basically one huge school zone. The speed limit on most surface roads is 40 kilometers per hour—for those of you who are metrically challenged, that’s 25 mph.

It started as such a good day. The soreness from the Fuji climb is finally gone, so I went to the base to have lunch with Jim and run the errands I’d put off all week on account of my hobbling. I was in my own little world on the drive home, thinking thoughts of nothing, just enjoying the sunshine and a (finally) recognizable song on the Japanese radio station. There were cars a couple blocks up ahead of me, and thanks to getting caught at one of the many stoplights, I was the right-lane co-leader of a pack of several more cars. We were all traveling at about the same speed—I was not closing the gap on the cars ahead, nor was I pulling away from those following me. Nevertheless, as I was about to exit a tunnel, I heard the whoop of a siren and looked up to see a motorcycle cop behind me. Ever since we moved here, I’d been wondering about the police. They always seem to be driving around with their red lights flashing, so how would a person know if he was in trouble and should pull over? Now I know. Slowing down and easing off to the right, I was praying he just wanted to pass me. No such luck. He indicated that he wanted me to follow him to a suitable place to pull over. Damn.

We pulled off into a bus stop, with the motorcycle parked in front of me. That would never happen in the U.S.—some lunatic would just run the cop over and keep going. He got off his bike in his blue janitor uniform and shiny white helmet, took off his shades and gloves, and came back to my car to ask if I spoke Japanese. I told him not so much, so he was going to have to use his English. I was really hoping he’d decide it wasn’t worth the trouble to try to communicate with me and let me off with a warning (this hope was bolstered by the fact that he hadn’t automatically come to my car with his ticket book). He sternly told me what the speed limit on the road was, and pointed up to the radar display on his bike, which showed I had been going 58 kph. I kept apologizing as he kept repeating “safety driving,” then asked for my driver’s license. When he walked back to his bike with my license, with other cars whizzing by fast enough to rock his motorcycle, I was still hoping he’d run my info in his little computer, see I had no other violations and really was a fairly “safety driver,” and go after a more deserving target. Apparently, all he was getting from his little computer was a printout of my speed, which he brought back to my car taped to a ticket. I had to fill in my info, initial the speed printout as proof that he had not attached a bogus slip, and sign the ticket, a copy of which he said would be forwarded to my husband’s command (office) on base. With more admonishments of “safety driving,” he gave me an instruction sheet in English that informed me I had to go to the post office within seven days to pay my fine or be hauled off to jail.

Being pissed off that he actually gave me the ticket when everyone else was going just as fast as I was, and that he couldn’t cut a gaijin a little slack, and that the fine was ¥12,000 (over $120!), and that they were soon going to tattle on me to Jim’s office, I just barely repressed the urge to give him my business card for English lessons when he issued his final warning about “safety driving.” It’s “SAFE driving” you heartless jerk! Yet in the end, I was left feeling like the jerk when he bowed before walking past his bike and into the road to usher me safely back into the flow of traffic in that infinitely (and in this case, infuriatingly) polite way the Japanese have of doing everything. Something about that bow made me feel more shame than the entirety of his stern lecture. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite so small in my life.