More Firsts in Japan: Pulled Over by Cops

The memorial services marking two years since a giant tsunami tore apart most of Tohoku are next week.  This means the hotels along the coastline are booked with press and visitors.  That means I'm staying in a hotel far inland, and hour and a half each way to Rikuzentakata City Hall where I work.  I'm okay with this.  I listen to books downloanded onto my iPhone as I drive safely tucked in my car in my own personal space.  With no one around me this is precious alone-time I crave. 

I'm deep into my book, listening and driving when my other phone rings.  I see it's someone who's in New York City and know I need to answer this call.  Not having time to unplug my headset, type in my password and stop the recording, log into my other phone and plug in my headset, on a whim I pick up the phone and put it to my ear.  One hundred meters down the road, I see a blue car pulling up next to me, hear a honk, look in my review mirror, and a few seconds later see it's a police car.  Crap.  Not good.  A cop is saying something to me over the loud speaker which I don't really hear--I'm talking on the phone after all--but I get the gist.  I'm busted.  I don't curse the way I would normally, not wanting to mystify the person in New York with my foul language but tell him I have to go and hang up on him.  I see a young officer in the mirror jump out of the cop car, come to my window which I roll down, tyring to smile as he says, "You can't talk on the cell phone."  I nod.  "Please bring your license and your phone and follow me."  Oh joy.  This is the first time I've ever been pulled over by the police in Japan.  I push aside the temptation to record this new experience as an anthropologist might, observing the process and noting it for future generations, instead deciding to be humble, obedient, and cooperative.  I will not pick a fight the way I've been known to with Tokyo cops.  I will not.

I sit in the back seat of the police car as the driver-cop says again, "You can't talk on the phone while you're driving." 
"I know," I reply and decide not to apologize right off the bat.  Clearly, my not-so-pleasant experiences with Tokyo cops not entirely out of my system, I sense in myself the combativeness starting to ooze out.  "Control yourself" I say in my head.  He takes my license, reads my name and asks if this is me.  "Yes."
"This will be a fine.  That's it."  Here, I decide this is his way of saying I won't have points shaved off my license.  I've been told of this dreaded points-system, something every driver fears.  I've heard rumors about a license with points increasing my insurance rate, delaying the ability to obtain the coveted "Gold License" showing what a wonderful driver I am.
"Thank you," I say showing I am indeed capable of being remorseful and appreciative.
"You can pay your fine at any bank or the post office."
"I understand."
"What do you do here?"  For a split second, I contemplate whether I should offer up my title at Rikuzentakata City Hall or say I work for my visa sponsor.  I go for the former.  "I'm the Global Public Relations Director for the City of Rikuzentakata."  The cops look at each other.  Are they contemplating whether this qualifies for an exemption?  In the States, I've been known to conjure up tears when I want to get out of a ticket.  It's worked and I'm not adverse to using this method to prove how sorry I am, worthy of a warning but not a fine.  I've been told this won't work in Japan and decide not to tempt fate although I'm positive I could make myself cry on cue if I absolutely had to.  Before I complete this thought I also realize in giving them my title, I must now inform the mayor, deputy mayor and several other people in city hall of this traffic stop.  I immediately start writing the e-mail in my head, appropriately apologetic, explaining why I took the call, etc.  I can visualize the mayor, half-annoyed and half-amused laughing as he tries to scold me.  City hall will be buzzing with this news when I arrive tomorrow.  Great.

I'm handed the form I'm to take to the bank or post office to pay my fine.  I lean in, looking at it.  I decide to try something.
"I've never been stopped in Japan so I don't know how to do this," I say, and then, "Can I pay this at any bank?"
"Yes," the driver-cop tells me very politely and I wonder if he's just a bit sorry he pulled me over.  I allow myself a quick fantasy about how he'll have to explain to his superior who will surely read my title and yell at him for "not finding a way to let her go."  A girl can dream.
"Once you pay the fine, that ends everything.  It's not like you'll be on trial or anything," and here it takes everything I have not to crack up.  A trial?  For talking on a cell phone? 
"I see."
"You must pay this by March 11th," he says, pointing to the date on the form.  "This much," he says, pointing to my fine.
"I will."

They go over the paperwork, ask to see my phone, take down the model number (I kid you not) and then ask, "Was this a work-related phone call?"  I decide I will give them all the details.  That I've been playing phone tag with this man who's now in New York, that this has to do with children in Rikuzentakata, assistance for them, etc., etc., etc.  (Just a few guilt-inducing facts in case it registers.)  Maybe I'll end up on some list of people not to pull over?  Again, a girl can dream.

"Please sign here," and I'm handed the form which I sign.  And then, "And here," he points to the space above my signature, "Explain why you took the call."  I look up from my signature blankly.  He understands my confusion.  "Say that you had an important call to take, that it was about work."  Oh.  I get it.  I explain myself in the best Japanese handwriting I can muster up, adding for good measure the call came from the US.

When it's all done, I take the rest of the drive slowly and continue writing the e-mail to the mayor in my head wondering just how much of a scolding I'll get.

Life in Japan.  And so it continues...

The Perils of Japanese Language: Semantics, Nuances, and Dialects

I came back down to Tokyo from Tohoku for a quick meeting.  Done with my day, I head back up to Tohoku to continue my work at Rikuzentakata City Hall.  I'm in Tokyo Station.  Return ticket bought, I walk around the station for a few minutes looking for this famous bento store (boxed meal).  This is the only place in Tokyo that sells the most amazing sushi box and I have high hopes they'll have a box left.  I take my ticket out of the back pocket of my wallet, go through the gate and proceed towards the store.  I find it, make my way through the swarms (why is this place to packed??) and do not find my sushi box.  Undeterred and convinced I just can't find it, I ask one of the staff members where it would be.  He checks. 

"We're out."

Crap.  I decide to settle and pick what has to be the next best box of goodness and reluctantly proceed towards the cashier.  At which point I begin 24 hours of major hassle. 

My wallet is gone.  It's really gone.  I dig through my bag.  I move things around, take things out.  It's not here.  I had it five minutes ago when I took the ticket out.  Someone I bumped into in the last five minutes grabbed everything I need to operate fully in Japan and walked off with it.  It's not panic I feel.  It's the five-stages-of-pickpocket-angst that hits me in 15 seconds.  Disbelief, shock, rage, "oh, this is so not cool" and then reality.  I have no cash, no cards, no paperwork.  My passport is in another little bag in my purse.  Is it there?  Yes.  Relief.  I must find a cop and report this.  And so it began.

I make calls.  Alpha Male first. 

"What do I do?  I've not ever been robbed in Japan."
"Go find a station employee and ask where the nearest police box is."
I look around.
"I can't find a station person."
"Relax.  Keep looking.  They're there."
I keep looking and still can't find anyone in station uniform.  Where have they all gone?
"I can't find anyone!"
"Where are you?  Specifically.  Which exit did you come through.  Go back there.  Someone will be at the gate you walked through."  Of course he's calm.
"I see them."
"Good.  Go.  Call me again when you're at the police station."
"Okay."

I call another friend, a cop, and leave a message.  I call a friend and say I'll need to borrow some money, completely forgetting she's on a date.  I call someone up north and say I won't be coming back up, until at the very least I have a new driver's license.  Really?  Do I have to go through that whole process again?  The last time I went to the two police stations in Tokyo that issue licenses to foreigners, I left having had words.

I find the police station and tell them what happened.  So began three hours of paperwork.

Here is where Japanese language comes in.   The cops, two of them in full uniform (what are all those gadgets for?) are polite but unsympathetic.  I tell my story, and they make me repeat it.  I do.  And again.

Several times in the three hours I filed my report, the younger one taking my statement said, "When you lost your wallet" and I politely corrected him by saying, "When my wallet was stolen."  Semantics, I know, but "lost" is when I put a credit card on my desk piled up high with things, and then can't find it in that pile whereas "stolen" is having something taken from me by someone who shouldn't have it.  The cop, evidently not accustomed to being corrected, does.  Correct himself, that is.

"Right.  Stolen.  Not lost."
"Yes.  Stolen."

I head back to my apartment.  With no cash, I'm grateful for the fact the pickpocket did not get my train pass.  It has enough money on it for me to ride the train. 

The next day I start the process of going to all the right offices and banks filing more paperwork, explaining again what happened the night before.  At the immigration office (foreigners in Japan have to carry an ID card) I sit with other foreigners all speaking different languages.  When my new card is issued, I'm handed it with a warning.  "This is a very important document.  Don't lose it again."

It's the nuance of the word "lost" here again that rattles me.  I didn't lose my card.  I didn't misplace it.  It was stolen.  I decide not to correct the official who is surely tired of dealing with opinionated foreigners but am not happy with the insinuation.  Fine.  Whatever.  Since when has the Japanese language gotten this passive-aggressive? 

On the way home, I receive a call on my cell phone.  I don't recognize the number but decide today to take the call.  It'll be fine.  I usually let calls from unknown numbers go to voicemail but today I'm feeling risky.

It's one of the grandmothers from temporary housing in Minami-Soma whom I've worked with.  She introduces herself in thickly accented Japanese, her Fukushima dialect coming through loud and strong.

"Oh, hello!"  I say.  It goes downhill from there.  I do not understand what she's saying.  In person, I can figure out what's being said.  When she's in front of me, I can keep up.  On the phone, however, I'm guessing, assuming, hoping I'm getting the nuances of what she's trying to tell me.

I'm pretty sure she's telling me they've made something new, this group of grandmothers in temporary housing who in the past have made beautiful origami kusudama balls.

"Oh, really?"

And, here I think she's trying to explain to me what these are.  If I'm wrong, my answer will mean nothing--be completely out of context, so I think fast about how to respond safely, not giving away the fact I have no idea what she's saying.  I decide to go with "I see."  It seemed to work.

Next I think I'm being invited up.  I'm pretty comfortable with this assumption.
"I won't be able to make it until some time in late February" I say, and she replies with something, oh please help me, but I'm lost.  Say what to this??  Think, woman.

"Uh huh."  Now there's silence.  Crap.  Did that not make sense?  Not giving her a chance to think through my incorrect (?) answer further, I decide to butt in.
"Is it okay that I can't come until late February?"  She's excited, rattling fast and I'm so lost.

In the end, I believe I agreed to go down for a visit sometime in the spring to see something they've made, but I honestly can't be sure.

Having spoken Japanese since I was a child, I'm not accustomed to having to correct, stand down, defend myself, explain, listen hard, and hope I'm making sense.  Between the pickpocket incident and having to make sure my Japanese is clear to cops and government officials, conveying exactly what I'm putting out there, I'm exhausted.  Twenty-four hours of drama, indeed.