Chance Encounters of the Nihonjin Kind

One just never knows how even the simplest Japan sojourn will turn out.


An unusual afternoon departure curtails the available liberty time on our last day in Fukuoka. Barely two and half hours of free time remain after the morning operations brief. I resign myself to stay on board with no chance to upload blog photos until our return to home base later in the month. Then an aviator shipmate, whom I'll call "Carol" because gender plays a role in this story, appears at my door. She opines that we may have time for an expeditious sortie out and back to Starbucks and possible WiFi. Efficiently working the time-distance equation we summarily create a plausible flight plan that will at least feed our mutual Starbucks addictions if not also provide some quality internet time.


About 45 minutes later, with laptops slung over our shoulders (mine sans battery), we alight from a taxi at the Canal City Mall. I optimistically note a much smaller crowd than what I encountered here yesterday. We make a straight-in approach to Starbucks, where Carol handles the ordering while I search for an electrical outlet. No joy. I even pull out the cord from my laptop bag and show it to the barista, "Doko electuricu outleto desuka?" She shakes her head. "No. Sorry." Indeed, internet squatters are not encouraged here.


But I already have a visual on the mall wall outlet that I used yesterday, so once again I sit on the floor, plug in, power on, log on, sip my latte, and then nearly spill it for excitement as my internet home page leaps onto the screen. My shipmate, with her enviably functional laptop battery, occupies a more conventional bench not far from my floor space. I notice her talking to a twenty-something Japanese woman, whom I had earlier seen conversing with the barista after my futile request for electricity. As she and Carol look at a Japanese/English translation book, the young nihonjin casts furtive looks in my direction. I am mildly curious, but remain focused on task and return my attention to my computer screen.


No sooner do I bring up my G-Mail inbox than I am approached by shipmate and nihonjin together. "I think she's trying to say that they frown on using these outlets," says Carol, mimicking the typical crossed arms Japanese sign for "Dame" or "Not allowed." Mortified at the thought of committing a cultural transgression, I immediately start fumbling through the log-off procedure. (I almost just yanked the plug from the wall, but I know too well what can happen to Vista when suddenly interrupted.)


"She says there is a McDonald's that has internet desks," my shipmate continues. "I think she will show us." As my laptop slowly grinds through the log-off and power-down process I look hastily at my watch. The target window is closing rapidly, but it's still worth a shot. At least I have my latte.


My computer finally shuts down and I yank the defiling plug from the outlet. Not wasting time to repack it all, I tuck the laptop, transformer, and cord under my arm and we hurry away behind our Japanese guide. She adroitly steers us through busy stores into another wing of the mall that is very, very, very crowded and noisy. I spy the golden arches at the far end of a gamut of open stalls that would stop my son in his tracks because it is all manga, anime, Shonan Jump, One Piece, Bleach...the entire range of Japanese pop culture icons, typically engaging hundreds of Japanese teens. In short, a perfect spot for a McDonald's.


Under those golden arches full rows of carrels with individual electrical outlets await us. Time is too short to consider buying French-fries or similar fare to justify our presence here, but the line of Japanese youth at the food counter tells me that McD's is doing fine without our yen. So again I plug in, power up, log on, and gratefully return to the internet.


Now our new best Japanese friend, whom I will call "Saki" because that's her real name, clearly thinks we have plenty of time for conversation. This is where gender enters in, because she directs the majority of her attention to Carol, leaving me to play the disinterested male role as I pound away on my keyboard. I feel only slightly guilty about this. We both endeavor to be polite and friendly while also staying on task and getting done whatever work we can. Less than a half hour remains before our flight plan dictates a launch back to "Mother."


We succeed beyond measure...at the polite and friendly part. After a few minutes of halting conversation, Saki-san departs the pattern. Now our fingers pound on keyboards at full pace. Attempting to upload my photos to Facebook I find I cannot use the expeditious Active X method, probably because of my laptop's security settings in the public access mode. As I'm fumbling to change my security settings, Saki-san abruptly returns, now with gifts for each of her new American friends. They come nicely wrapped in the typical Japanese way, each adorned with a tag printed in kanji, but also with English, "Thank you for your kindness."

Who should be giving gifts to whom here?


"You open," says Saki-san. We each discover a small cloth, the kind that Japanese people always carry to wipe their hands and faces. Some thought went into their selection. Both have floral patterns, but each sports a different background color. Carol's is dark pink. Mine is dark blue. My photo uploading project now becomes much less important to me than the cross-cultural human contact of which I am most fortunate to partake. So I resolutely begin the power-down process to turn my attention as fully as I can on this young Japanese lady, who for no apparent personal gain has befriended a couple of intensely focused gaijin in the middle of a busy mall.


We exchange names, which I try to pronounce syllabically for Saki-san. "Ma-i-ku" rolls off my tongue fairly easy. (The "u" is mostly silent in Japanese.) But there is no "l" equivalent in Japanese, so I stumble after "Ka-ro..." and finally blurt out something like, "Ka-ro-ru". Saki-san seems to understand, as she and Carol exchange e-mail addresses.

But now we really must expedite our departure back to the pier. We hastily pack up our laptops, trying our best to explain to Saki-san that we have to go back to work. Disappointed but polite to the end, she leads us toward the taxi stand. We pause briefly in the mall patio where another nihonjin graciously memorializes our trio onto my digital camera. Arriving at the taxi stand Saki-san tries to learn where we want to go so she can direct the driver, but we've previously had that written out for us in kanji. After effusive bows and "Domo arigatou gozaimasu" all around we jump into the cab and call out "Mata ne" ("See you again") to our new friend.


We cross the ship's brow fifteen minutes ahead of the liberty deadline. I feel slightly regretful that we could have spent a little more time relishing this chance cultural encounter. But we are Americans, after all, and always in a hurry. Later that evening Carol sends her an e-mail of appreciation, but alas it bounces back. 

Hopefully Saki-san will initiate contact from her end. Otherwise, how sad to lose track of a generous new friend so soon after meeting.