Hooray, another HFIIJM moment. They’ve been few and far between these past six months. I’d ducked into the local sushi bar to grab some lunch. For about $10 aussie you get a huge plate of hand-made sushi and a big udon soup as well. It’s excellent value and the guy that runs the shop is hilarious. You’ll be sitting in the corner with a book and he’ll yell from behind the bar on the other side of the room, “You ready for making order! You tell me, ok? Just shouting” at which stage every seedy old Japanese man sitting at the counter (while chain smoking and reading girlie mags) will burst into laughter. It’s a funny place.

Anyway, I’d finished off my meal and was ready to head across the square to the bus and head home. Just as I was leaving, a delivery guy came through the door with a bunch of what looked to be girlie mags all neatly tied in a big bundle. I did a double take as I was going through the door and as such went out the door sideways. What sounded like an air horn went off behind me and on reflex I straightened up and smacked my head on the doorjamb above me. Grabbing my head in pain, I turned and sought the source of the noise.

It was an old guy, looking to be about 150 years old, in a motorised scooter thing that was trucking along at about one kilometre an hour and making a high pitched whine while it did so. He was ever so stylishly dressed in rumpled powder-blue Snoopy pajamas with the word “Love” emblazoned all over them and a white trucker cap. The reason the scooter was having such a hard time was likely due to the huge bag of rice he’s got balanced between his thighs.

He glares at me and disappears around the corner leaving me just standing there holding my head. Wh-huh-eeeeird.

Posted in Japan on Friday July 29, 2005.

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