Taking the escalator down to the main exit floor, I walked out a door into a parking lot, realizing that I had taken the wrong exit. I walked across to the side where the pedestrian exit was, and was instantly first in line to get off the boat. I almost felt guilty for skipping to the front of the line--for a split second. Leaving the boat, I set off for the train to Nanba station, where I'd be taking care of some banking.
My first goal was to search for Shinsei Bank, where I do my foreign wire transactions. There are no Shinsei Bank branches in all of Ehime, and the closest one requires a $100 round-trip train ticket just so that I can send money home. We had been waiting for a trip to Osaka to send some savings to our American account, and this trip fit the bill.
Wandering the desolate streets of Osaka at 7AM on a weekday is a surreal experience; there's not a whole lot to do in a city (and country) that opens at 10AM. I resolved to find the bank--which was sure to open a few hours later--and then go get some breakfast.
Each subway and train station has multiple exits, and it's often hard to know exactly where you are, especially when you're only armed with a printed google map that only provides landmark names and an address. Even more frustrating is the fact that streets in Japan go under, over, and through intersections, and don't necessarily head north-to-south or east-to-west. Having lived in Utah, where each city has street numbers based on how far away from the city center, I find the Japanese streets a bit more difficult to navigate. In Provo, for example, you know that the mountains are always on the east. Knowing that, if the mountains are on your right, you're facing north. If you're at 300 E 200 N and need to get to 450 E 400 N, you know that you need to go two blocks to the north and 1.5 blocks to the east. It's a simple system that I'm sure many towns and cities use.
Here's the google maps page for a section of South Provo, where I used to live:
This is the google maps page for the Osaka neighborhood that I haplessly tried to navigate:
I could tell by the position of the sun in the sky where north was, I just had no idea where I was on my unmarked map. All I knew was that there was a McDonald's right by an AM/PM convenience store, and that a street curved around somewhere near there. I showed the address to a AM/PM store attendant, and he timidly pointed me in the direction of another AM/PM (it turns out that there are about 8 AM/PMs within 2 city blocks), which might have someone on hand who would know better.
Unable to find the convenience store, I ducked my head into the chintzy Hotel Cordon Bleu, hoping that the hotel staff might have some knowledge of the surrounding area. There was no front desk to speak of (or if there was, it was curtained off), so I got some information from a cleaning lady, who pointed me in the direction of a McDonald's.
When I found the McDonald's, I saw an AM/PM right up the street, so I finally located my place on the map. I followed the curved road until I saw Shinsei Bank. The bank was connected to a Starbucks, sharing an exit. On the facade, a sign displayed the bank's operating hours--I had about an hour-and-a-half until the 9AM opening time.
I walked back to the McDonald's, hungry and in need of my cough/asthma medication, and itching to burn some time. Upon entering the store, I passed a large black man, who I think was African American (based on his attire). I tried to flash a smile (after which I planned to nod my head so as to say, "'Sup", but he kept his head down and avoided eye contact. I can't say I blame him. If he is an English-speaker, he's probably almost as sick of talking to English-speakers as I am. Sometimes you just want people to leave you alone. Back home in America, people don't come up to you and talk to you just because you might speak English. It gets tiring to have to always stand out and play the part of foreigner--even with people that share the role.
One of the best things about McDonald's in Japan (yes, there are actually good things about McDonald's here) is that some of the locations serve American breakfast sandwiches like the Sausage McMuffin with Egg. I ordered one of those and a cup of water, and sat down to pass some time and take my meds. When I got to my seat, I noticed that my water cup was basically a dixie cup filled to the brim with ice, with about a half an ounce of liquid water in the cup. I ate my sandwich, swallowed my pills with the little bit of water, and took my water thimble to the counter to ask for a refill so I could sit down and have something to drink while I pre-blogged on paper to pass the time.
The kid running the register responded that while there was no excuse for their rudeness--it was, in fact, impossible for me to get a refill on water. Aside from the absurd logic of impossibility (just say you won't refill my water, all right?), the unwillingness to provide such a basic service triggered the Irate Customer Switch in my brain, which I believe (based on extensive scientific research) is located within Broca's Area.
From Wikipedia:
Lelong was another patient of Paul Pierre Broca. He also exhibited reduced productive speech. He could only say five words, 'yes,' 'no,' 'three,' 'always,' and 'lelo' (a mispronunciation of his own name). At autopsy, a lesion was also found in the same region of lateral frontal lobe as in Leborgne. These two cases led Paul Pierre Broca to believe that speech was localized to this particular area.
My Irate Customer Switch functions somewhat differently than it does in other people. Others may get angry and demand to speak to a manager. I, on the other hand, lose the ability to speak in coherent sentences. All I could muster was a flustered, "Seriously?" in Japanese.
Disgusted, I shook my head and separated my trash into the burnable and non-burnable trash cans, jettisoning the ice in my cup into the special liquid disposal bin. In retrospect, I should have put my ice in the burnables. Try burning wet garbage, suckers!
But I was more patient than that. At first. I mean, I didn't swear or anything. Seriously, though--how much does an ounce of water cost? A penny? If you round up? Never in my life have I been denied a refill on water--not at any restaurant, ever. I've been to cheap fast food places that charge ten cents for the cup, but I always get unlimited water.
On my way out the door, I stopped to ask a managerial-looking employee why his store didn't offer refills on water. He replied squeamishly that it was a store-by-store decision. I responded that I had never been to a store that didn't refill my water. His response: if they offered refills on water, people wouldn't buy a soda.
What I wanted to say:
"What about people that don't want soda? Or can't drink soda? It's in your best interest as a business to build loyalty by putting your customers first, especially with something as simple and inexpensive as water, which nearly every restaurant on the planet offers for free. By trying to force me to buy a soda, you've lost any future business from me. Not only will I not buy a drink, I will hereafter fulfill my periodic cravings for sausage, eggs, and english muffins through some other, less miserly establishment. Your insatiable desire to squeeze every last yen out of my wallet will actually deprive you of the filthy lucre which you so treasure."
What I actually said:
"Well... in all other McDonald's restaurants, it's free. You know, the customer... I mean... What the customer wants... It would be good for business... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again."
What is it about being frustrated that makes me unable to speak properly? And it's not just the language barrier.
Here's an English scenario that might have actually happened to me on my recent trip to America:
Having arrived at a store at 8:55, knowing they close at 9, I pull on the door, but it won't open.
Shop clerk: Sorry dude, we close at 9.
Me: But the clock right behind you says it's 8:55. Look.
Shop clerk: The registers are closed. Sorry dude.
Me: But that... The registers... It's not like... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again.
It's not like I'm fuming--so angry that veins bulge out of my neck and forehead. I think I have some kind of anti-super power where I absorb the stupidity of a situation and it temporarily invades Broca's Area in my brain. No complete sentences. Just clipped words and bits of ideas that might make sense to me, but likely come across as garbled nonsense. Just thinking about such ridiculousness hurts my brain.
Post. bank. later. family. see.
