The Buses Are Always On Time...Or Are They?

WARNING: BEFORE YOU START READING, YOU MAY WANT TO GO TO THE RESTROOM, GET SOME POPCORN, AND MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE...THIS IS A DOOZY. (They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, right? Consider this three pictures)

Before I jump right into a story, I feel like I should give you a little background information: a recap, if you will. If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that I live about a 30-minute bike ride from school. You may also remember that a few days ago, I wrote that I had a flat tire on Monday morning. Then, I thought it wasn’t actually flat, and I just didn’t know how to pump it up. I think that’s where I last left you...

Okay, now that we’re all on the same page...

(NOTE: This section was written on Wednesday, 8/23)

After updating my blog on Monday, we walked around town a bit. When we came back, the tire was once again flat as a pancake. Not one of those fluffy, gourmet pancakes from IHOP, but one of those “I really tried my best, but what the hell happened?” pancakes. You know the ones I’m talking about. The ones that you have to drown in butter and syrup before they can be taken down by a steak-knife. Yeah...it was that flat. So...it looked like the bus for Shawn on Tuesday.

That’s fine...I have no qualms with the bus. The bus can be my friend. I don’t discriminate. The only problem with the bus is this: I have to be at work by 8, and the only two buses going that direction are at 6:39 and 7:36. My school sits atop a nice, little hill, so I have to get off the bus and walk 0.8 kilometers. So...factoring that in, I’d be safe if the bus let me off at around, say...7:53ish, right? But who knows how long it could take? Plus...I was a little nervous about the whole bus protocol. I’d never taken a bus here, and I wasn’t exactly sure how it worked.

So, Tuesday I played it safe...I took the 6:39. It’s a little early, I know, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, right? The bus ride took no more than 7 minutes. I’m not even sure if the school is open that early. Luckily, there’s a McDonalds not too far from my stop (about a 5-minute walk), so I jumped in for a second breakfast. What else was I going to do, right?
18 minutes and 1800 calories later, I was back on the road. (For those of you keeping track of the timeline, that puts us at 6:39 + 0:07 + 0:05 + 0:18 = 7:09). 7 minutes back to where the bus had let me off (I was feeling lethargic after the McDonalds), 9 minutes up the hill to the front doors, and 2 minutes up the stairs and into the teachers’ room. So, by 7:27 I was in my seat, full of food, and...way too early.

Last night we went into Oita for a few things like...books in English (yay!), Kanji cards (yay!), sheets (yay!!), running shoes (yay!), knee pads (Tori joined the Volleyball team at school today...yay!) and some Mexican food (yay!!). We looked for a bike tire, but couldn’t find one, so...looked like the bus again Wednesday. When we got home I went for a 25-minute run in the dark...but it was still so hot that I was dripping sweat all over. I think I scared the neighbor (whom we haven’t yet met) when he saw a big, sweaty white guy come sprinting up the stairs. Guess we won’t be throwing burgers on the hibachi with him any time soon.

Anyway...this morning [Wednesday], I decided to risk it; I was going to take the 7:36 bus. It would put me at school just in time for work...no more sitting around than necessary. (I hate sitting all day, by the way...it makes me feel useless) So, there I was, standing at the bus stop like an old pro. The bus pulled up, right on schedule (they always are) and I jumped on and took my ticket. A block later, it was headed in the wrong direction. I was going straight toward Oita when I should have been going left toward Morimachi. No problem, though...I can just jump off and hit the Morimachi bus...apparently it was late...or...wait...there it goes, right past my window...right on schedule (they always are).

So, I got off at the next stop. The bus driver scrunched up his face in befuddlement and I think he contemplated not charging me, but I just stuffed the money into the meter and leapt from the bus, drenched with shame. I knew I didn’t have time to walk, but maybe I could catch a taxi on the way. It’s amazing how many taxis swarm this city at night, but when I really needed one, there wasn’t a single one in sight. I was looking frantically for a taxi station, but couldn’t find one...so I just walked as fast as I could. After about 5 minutes, I realized that the bus had actually let me off just a block from a taxi station...in the other direction. I thought about going back, but...nah...there’ll be some stray taxis in the direction of the school.

7:50 and I’m looking for a miracle, or at least a taxi station. I hate being late, and I have this feeling that Japanese people don’t like it much either. Finally, I spotted one...my transportation savior! My taxi oasis in the middle of this bastard of a vehicular desert!

It turned out to be a mirage...it was a taxi station, alright, but...no taxis. How silly of me to think there would be a taxi...at a taxi station. Alright, well...if I can’t get there on time, I can at least call ahead to let them know I’ll be late. But where can I find a telephone? Maybe in front of a grocery store? Or at a gas station? Or how about a restaurant? NOTHING! I even asked a Japanese guy--out for his morning stroll--if he knew where there was one. He walked for about 5 minutes with me, trying to find one, but to no avail. I was going to be late and I wasn’t even going to call ahead.

I showed up at 8:15, once again sweating my haunches off. It’s becoming a regular thing for me; the giant wet spots on my back, chest, and shins (I didn’t realize how much shins could sweat until recently). They are all becoming a part of my daily wardrobe. Tuesday they were missing, but it cost me an hour of sleep. I guess it’s one or the other, eh?

I had hoped that I would walk into the teachers’ room and it would be a swirling center of production...the kind of place that you can disappear into...pretend you’ve been there since 7:27. But...no such luck: 2 teachers and the Vice Principal, all sitting quietly at their desks.

I apologized for being late, but...it turns out that nobody really cares during Summer Vacation (or so they say). With my supervisor gone the last two days, nobody even seemed to know what time I was supposed to be there. I probably could have come in at 11:45, taken lunch, and gone home...and nobody would have been the wiser.

But then...they were probably just being polite. God bless them for it.

THE SAGA CONTINUES (Written today, Friday, 8/25)

So, Wednesday night, Tori and I took a bus to Home Wide (the Japanese version of Fred Meyer) and looked for a tire for my bike. They didn’t have the right size tire, so we just bought a new bike instead. This way, when I get my tire fixed...we can take little rides together. Her bike is really cute...complete with a basket, a rack on the back, grandma-style handle bars, and a spring-suspension seat. On our way home, we took the opportunity to stop in at the Co-op (the Japanese version of WINCO...kind of), and pick up some groceries. The basket worked like a charm.

When we got home I took an even longer run...about 35 minutes...and decided that it was probably going to be very difficult to get up and be at the bus stop by 6:39...you know, to be safe again. So, I figured I’d take the 7:36...and just get on the right bus. It can’t be that hard, right? There’s a bunch of stuff written all over the front...I’ll just read it as it’s coming down the street and I’ll be golden.

As always, I was running slightly late, but I was still out the door at 7:35. I got out to the street and there were people already waiting at the crosswalk. The crosswalks here have a little meter that tell you how much longer you have to wait (not in seconds, but in little bars...the more bars, the longer the wait). By the time I got there, the bars were already half-gone, but they weren’t budging. Those last 5 bars just would not go down. I saw the buses about a half-mile down the road with 4 bars left...and there were still 4 bars when they flew right by us. *sigh* I could either go back and get Tori’s bike and be 15 minutes late again...or I could bite the bullet, take a taxi, and get there on time. I opted for the less-sweaty of the two. 1,040 yen later and I was through the doors of the school--a little less wealthy, but much less stressed.

I told one of the teachers, Kocho-sensei, what had happened and he just laughed at me. He called me a hard worker in Japanese and told me to bring my tire to school on Friday.

During the course of the workday, Tori called to let me know that her supervisor would be bringing her to pick out a cell phone...as soon as she went to City Hall and picked up her Alien Registration Card. I was invited to go with them to the cell phone place...I just needed to get to the school by 1:30. Which meant I needed to get to City Hall by 1:00 to get my card. At about 12:00 I realized that I didn’t have some important documents (which I needed to get my Gaijin Card), so I’d have to go back to the apartment first. So...if I got to the apartment by 12:45, I’d be safe.

At about 12:30 I needed my stamp to sign a trip form (if I haven’t yet told you about the inkan system here...ask me...I have a few things to say about it). Stamp, stamp, where’s my stamp? It’s attached to my keys...which are...um...in my pants pocket from last night? Crap. Okay, no problem...I’ll just go to Tori’s school and pick up her key, run to the apartment to grab my papers, get to City Hall, pick up my Alien Registration Card, and be back at Tori’s school by 1:30. Which gave me one hour to get all of that done. But I’d have to check with my supervisor first, who was working with a student. And even once I talked to him, he’d have to check with the Vice Principal to make sure it was okay. And the Vice Principal was nowhere to be seen.

At 12:45 my supervisor just decided to beg forgiveness later...he drove me to Tori’s school. I’ll spare you all the details in between, but I ended up waiting at her school until 1:30 when she and her supervisor came back to the office. He took us to the apartment, and then to City Hall, and Best Denki to get our cell phones.

The cell phone plans here are...in two words...RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE. The phones themselves were about a penny a piece, but the plans are amazing. The cheapest plan is about $40...and it includes a whopping 25 minutes of talk time per month. That’s right, a plan for men of few words (which, judging by this blog entry, I most certainly am not). The plans we chose include 300 minutes per month at a price of about $80 or so. We also included an email option (complete with full Internet browser) and an option that allows us each to call 5 other cell phones at a 30% discount. Seeing as we each have less than 5 friends here...that should be perfect. The phones are cool, though...a little big, but incredibly light. And the games are shweet...my favorite is 3D golf. I could play that all day. (If things don’t pick up a bit in the office...I think I just might.)



We had to wait an hour to pick up our phones, so we went back to Tori’s school to pick up her computer, and then Tori’s supervisor dropped us off at Mos Burger to get me some lunch. When we got back to the phone shop, we were told that we had to wait another hour, so in frustration we decided to walk the 25 minutes back to my school. It was friggin’ hot...and we were both sweating like crazy, kind of cranky from the walk...when a woman in a tiny car rolled up and yelled “Norimasu! Norimasu!” (roughly translated, “I’ll give you a ride!”) Despite our lack of experience in the realm of hitchhiking, we gladly jumped in and she took us the rest of the way to the top of the hill. I have no idea who she was, but I wish I could thank her somehow.

My supervisor introduced Tori to the Vice Principal and then offered us a ride back to the shop to pick up our telephones. After that was taken care of, he even took us back to our apartment. The rest of the night was peaceful. We made spaghetti, watched a movie, and went to bed.

This morning I was out the door by 7:32 and at the bus stop by 7:35 (with bike tire in tow). When the first bus rolled in (at 7:36), I did the smart thing and asked the schoolgirl standing next to me if this bus was going to Morimachi. Nope. Good...I just watched it roll away with a sense of pride...they weren’t going to fool me this time. But wait...it’s supposed to be going straight...and it’s...turning left toward Morimachi? That evil little girl! I can’t believe she lied to...oh, wait...it IS going straight.

Bus #2 came at around 7:40, but I wasn’t going to hold a grudge. He was only 4 minutes late. It was only me at the bus stop, so I jumped right on, took my ticket, and looked around. This looks familiar...good, old, ugly bus. Nice...now I can just relax and enjoy the ride to school. Through one stop light, past another bus stop, and we should be turning left at the light. Haha...the silly bus driver doesn’t know where he’s going. You have to stay in the left lane to turn left. If you’re in this lane, you’ll end up in...oh my God...I’m going to Oita again.

Luckily the light was red, so I flew to the front of the bus and told him in my quickest Japanese, “Aaaaaah! I want to go to Morimachi, but...”

This time he let me off without paying a toll. What a nice man...he must have felt sorry for me. But, it was 7:42 by that time...and the buses are always on time. So, it looked like another taxi-ride. Might as well round out the week with another tragic story. I decided to wait at the bus stop anyway...and luckily for me, the buses are NOT always on time. My 7:36 to Morimachi didn’t show up until 7:45. I got off at 7:53 and made it to school on time...but a little frazzled.

Kocho-Sensei showed up about 5 minutes later, and it just so happens he is an outdoor sports enthusiast...he’s climbed mountains in the U.S. and rides his road bike between 60 and 100 miles every weekend. He had brought along his entire flat kit with him to work today and as a welcoming gift to Tsurusaki, he replaced my tube and got my tire back into tip-top shape...all with a smile on his face.

It’s funny how Japan keeps doing this to me: One second I’m sick of the struggles, the hardships, the funny looks from the clerks at the burger joints. The next second, I’m blown away with the kindness of pretty much everyone around me. It’s almost as though there’s a built-in mechanism in this country...some invisible force that keeps me from getting too comfortable, but just when I need it the most...it keeps me from self-destructing.