Arriving wet at the dry cleaners

As soon as I awoke today, just before noon, I had to pick up the new book I bought yesterday from the 7th floor book shop of Tower Records, Shibuya. It is called 'The Zahir'. It's Paulo Coelho's latest novel; "a haunting and redemptive story about obsession and its potential to fulfill our dreams and destroy them". I will tell you more about this later however. The strange thing was, that today I am filled with the compulsion to read and write. It is as if I have suddenly understood why I am here and what the purpose of it is. This feeling may be short lived but I feel that I must make the most of it. I read a few pages of the book and then got up and tidied my appartment, in between kneeling on the floor to jot down thoughts in a notebook.

A sullen and oppressive air seeped through the mesh of my window. The use of the air conditioning unit was not an option because it smells of stale cigarette smoke. I prefer real air anyway. I had a few necessary things to get done. It was my second day of the weekend and I had considered doing another trip somewhere, but instead I decided to have relaxing day and give myself the opportunity to do some reading and writing. Although I often do, after work during the week, I am usually rather fatigued, and it can become a chore. Today was different though. I felt it was a significant day and I should not ignore the urge to be creative.

I set off in along the road by the railway. The sky had darkened despite the fact that it was early afternoon. Thunder rippled across the sky as the gates of the level crossing ascended. I hurried towards the town, my bag of books over my left shoulder, my suits in a carry bag in my right hand. I had no umbrella for I had left it outside the internet cafe yesterday because I couldn't be bothered to carry it. Minutes later the heavens opened and the rain lashed down unmercilously. I sheltered beneath a tree next to a mother and her two children, but it was futile. It was like having buckets of warm water thrown at one. Yet another weekend in wet clothes, I thought. I considered going home to change and wait until the rain had stopped, but I had to get to the bank before three, to withdraw some money from my new 'hello kitty' bank account. (Only in Japan would you be offered a 'hello kitty' account! Bizarre.) So I forged on and within five or so minutes the rain stopped and the had sun came out.

I felt like such a foolish, wet and pathetic gaijin as I entered the dry cleaners with my soggy suits. The interaction was as awkward and amusing as ever. The old woman took my suits and asked me a few questions to which I just smiled and nodded. I didn't have a clue what she had asked! Then she rang up the cost on the till. I was afraid she would do this. I knew I should have gone to the bank first. I had considered it but I didn't want to make my first attempt at withdrawing money over the desk (I had no cash card yet) with all my dripping burdens. So I figured I'd drop off the suits and then go to the bank, and I would probably pay for the cleaning of them when I collected them. However, I was wrong. I had to pay for them now, and I had about 14 yen to my name. Oh dear. 'Chotto matte', I said and gestured toward the bank.　I think she understood. Anway, back outside the sun was shining, it was a glorious day. How embarrasing I thought, to arrive in the bank sopping wet. It somehow seemed more embarassing because the rain had stopped. I felt like saying 'you must understand, the reason why I am standing here in wet clothes is because there was a hellish rainstorm just minutes ago!' Only now the was almost no trace of one. What choice did I have though? I had to get some money.

As I entered I was greeted by two or three clerks calling out the usual welcome greeting. I wandered about looking confused for a few seconds until a woman approached me, bowing. Wow, I couldn't believe that she was bowing to me! In most countries I am sure they would have ignored a dripping foreigner entering a bank. I showed her my little withdrawal booklet and she took me to a desk, gently placing a small white form infront of me to fill in, whilst bowing after each sentence she spoke. I filled it in as she instructed, and stamped my signature in red ink in the appropriate box, with my newly acquired 'hanko'. (This is a small, cylindrical wooden stamp that was hand carved with my name in Japanese characters. Everyone in Japan has one. They are used to stamp all official documents with and are essential for opening banks accounts and such like.) I then went to the counter with the ticket she had given me and the transaction was made within a few minutes. Hoorah, I had money again. I trotted out of Mizhuo bank, leaving a trail of water droplets behind me on the pale grey carpet. I nipped back to the dry cleaners with my crisp Yen notes, and exchanged them for a receipt. I am quite sure she thought I was very odd, but I somehow felt I had a good reason to be. I was just a clueless foreigner. I didn't know how to avoid torrential rain, or withdraw money from bank accounts, or communicate what day of the week I wanted to collect my dry cleaning. I nevertheless left in my soggy rags with a smile on my face. Somehow feeling I had discovered great comedy in what had occured.

An hour or two later I arrived at the internet cafe, which is where I am now. As I reached the top of the steps and was about to pass through the sliding doors into the comic book/net cafe, I saw my umbrella on the ledge upon which I left it yesterday. I was so surprised. I felt this spoke volumes about the nature of Japanese people. I didn't pick it up though. I will get it later.