Week 090: Breaking and Entering*

Not that it is in anyway related to anything else, but before anything else is said, I must share this quote I came across on my iPad that I jotted down whilst on my Eurotrip, said by my sassy friend Kristina Germany: “I always get those weird e-mails that say, ‘Enlarge your…’ what is it? ‘Big Willy?'”  I believe this blog will end with another quote, if I have my way.

And now, onward and outward!

I had to wait a bit to write this post due to certain vulnerabilities that will very soon become clear.  Last Friday night, the goyls and I had our short night out (see last blogpost), and I went home free and easy, with no wallet strain or drink bloat.  The next morning, I set out to do a little shopping before meeting my former co-worker, but took a slight detour when my key stopped working.

Google search for Leopalace key, with a Leopalace desk/table underneath.

Now I had a bit of a panic, as Leopalace (my apartment company) keys are a wee bit different from normal keys–you can’t make copies,  and using them is different, too–you kind of have to get em’ in the right position and stick ’em in until you feel a click, then turn.*  But mainly, the differences lies in if you lose them–you are presented with a replacement fee of almost $150.  If you have to break the lock, it costs upwards of $300.  Anyway, I wasn’t feeling that click, and I didn’t want to leave my apartment open.  I thought about going out the back door, but decided against it because the result was still the same; an unlocked apartment.  So I thought, “Hey, I know!  I’ll just maneuver the deadbolt into place, close the door, and wiggle it out when I come home!”  Somehow, I managed to get the bolt into place, and no sooner had I done it than my thoughts of, “This is legit!” turned to, “Oh, shit.”  Because like most of those “It seemed like a good idea at the time” moments, the feeling of realism smacking me in the forehead came immediately.  I wasn’t getting that baby bolt open without  a fight.

After feeling around, sticking things in the middle to try and lift the slidy bits, trying the mailbox, etc.; I headed to my nearby co-worker to see if she had a screwdriver.  She did, and we tested it out on her lock.  I could get the doorframe bit to detach, which left me feeling hopeful.  But back at my apartment, confronted with a gap of 2.5 inches and some wonky angles, my hope started fading.  I was able to unscrew part of the doorside bolt, but that bit stayed firmly in place, and I wondered if it was glued on.  I decided to get on with my plans and worry about it later.

Fast-forward about 10 hours, after meeting up with my current co-workers for some dance festival in Yoyogi Park (*read: Latin Circles [Japanese for hobby clubs] plus Thai festival food), and my co-worker and I made our way back to my apartment feeling more optimistic determination.  We had a whole set of mini screwdrivers; courtesy of my ex-coworker, and with four hands, we tried to unscrew that biznatch.*  After about 3 minutes, we gave up, and started scheming alternative options.

“Did you check the window above your door?”  My co-worker asked; referring to the window into my loft.

“Yup.”

“Did you check the sliding back door?”

“Yup.”

“Let’s check again, just in case.”  So we traveled around to the back, ignoring what I’m sure are “Keep Out” mini-gates, as well as diverting our eyes from the apartments with open curtains (well, except for when I pointed out the layer of moldy clothes on my neighbor’s back curb).  Sure enough, the backdoor was locked, but as we stood outside, both of our eyes drifted upward to the window above the door.

“Is that one..?”

“Let’s see!”  I reached up, and sure enough, the window slid open.  It wouldn’t be my story telling if I didn’t somehow throw in that a window of opportunity opened.  So we went back to my co-worker’s nearly identical apartment to concoct a plan.

“What if I stood on the chair, lifted myself up, and kind of came down on the desk?”

“Well…it’s kind of a long drop…”

We put her chair on her balcony (she lives on the second floor) to test the theory.  The chair, as you might imagine, was a bit short.

“Does the ladder to the loft detach?”

“Well, I’ve tried it before, and I don’t think so…”  But even as I said it, I went over to try, and sure enough, I was able to pop it out.  There were joyous shouts all around as we carried the ladder onto the balcony.  My co-worker climbed up and sort of straddled the door, which looked fairly uncomfortable, and still didn’t solve the issue of the long drop.  We briefly discussed the idea of bringing the ladder through the window when an idea struck me.  I grabbed the pole for opening the window and pushed down on the lock from my position in the window.  Easier than saying, “Open sesame,” the door unlocked.  We had found our key.

We confidently headed back to my apartment; K with her pole, and me with a ladder tucked under my arm.  We again made our way to the back of my apartment, where lo and behold, our plan fell easily into place.  In no time at all, we were waltzing into my apartment and loading “Arrested Development.”

For a few days after, I decided to risk leaving one of the doors unlocked when I went out, debating whether or not I should tell my Program Coordinator and risk paying a hefty fee, as Japanese companies often seem inflexible about things like this.  In the end, I figured it was better to just come out with it than worry about my stuff being stolen, but hallelujah!–the company didn’t charge me to replace the lock!  So now, I’m sitting safe and sound behind locked doors, with the assurance that I can leave my apartment secure tomorrow.

Now you might wonder why I would post information about how to get into my apartment, and the answer(s) is simple. One, I’m obviously not leaving my window unlocked anymore, and two, the path behind my apartment is narrow and covered with rocks.  Breaking into my place was an extremely noisy endeavor; to be honest, I’m surprised nobody called the cops on us when we tried to get in the back door.*

The best part?  K documented the whole shebang.

Slightly terrifying picture of myself.

Up the ladder to my room.

Banging the ladder around the back alley.

Seriously, nobody thought this was weird?

And now, the other promised random quote (with backstory):

My lesson for the day was to talk about feelings, and I assigned the A group to “Confused”.  I overheard one freshman girl saying, “I was confused by my boyfriend’s coming out to me,” at which point I chuckled to myself and wondered what her intended Engrish was, when she continued, “He said, ‘I want to be a girl.'”  So–no confusion there, actually.  I was pretty impressed with her idiom knowledge, and also very interested in the story.  Her partner asked, “It’s true?”  And she said, “True.”

*That’s what she said.

Week Halfway Point: Not quite counting anymore

(First half–written Sunday morning)

I’ve noticed that my blogging is often directly related to my ability to find a seat on the morning train.  This week left me with tired limbs and no blog notes, so I’m making up for it on my Sunday ride to Kawasaki.  I’m joining a BBQ on a beautiful day that is just begging for people to spend it outside.

Yesterday, I was supposed to meet some friends for a day trip to Kamakura, but due to my miscommunication and a lack of a phone, I was unable to meet up with the group.  Truth be told, I wasnt that psyched to go, since i have already gone multiple times, and everyone wanted to do the touristy thing.  So I went shopping instead, and decided to have a relaxing night after, since I pretty much do something every other day of the week.  

However, about 20 minutes into Brave, my doorbell rang.  I thought it might have been one of my co-workers in the area, and I scrambled to find pants to put on (let’s not pretend that those of us who live alone spend their time at home clothed).  It wasn’t my co-worker, but the two other guys from my company in the same building.  They expressed their regret at not having had a neighborhood hang out yet (well, they might not have, but there are a few of us in the neighborhood who do see each other quite frequently), and went on to say they would like to amend that immediately with a trip to Abbey Road, a Beatles inspired bar down the street.  They gave me a half an hour, and went on to invite others. After some time passed, I deemed it an appropriate interval to go knock on my neighbor’s door.  As I walked in,  he informed me that everyone either was out or not interested.  And as I followed him in and saw the two Japanese girls behind him, I inwardly though, “Ohhhhh, shiiiiiiiiitsu” (there’s some Japanese for you), because I realized that the neighborhood get-together I was joining looked more like a double-date.  

In general, this isn’t sobad; but I always feel like I’m third-wheeling or fifth-wheeling (or in really crap situations, 7th-wheeling).  But I swallowed my worries and headed out.  In the end, it wasn’t so bad; one of the girlfriends got sick and left early–which of course is not a good thing, but it made me feel less like a party crasher; plus live music in an 8 person bar doesn’t really encourage a chatty atmosphere.  

However, one thing of note is that when I got to the bar, I discovered the second transgendered woman I had seen in Japan–the first one being a lady I saw at the station with some friends.  And unlike some of the really heinous men who look like done-wrong hookers (honestly, I saw one guy with a crooked wig, smeared lipstick, hairy legs in a tiny skirt, and a shirt hanging very open to reveal a clearly unnecessary bra), these were legit ladies-post-lads.  

(Second half–written Sunday night)

Please–like you guys were going to look at anyone else.

The next day, at the BBQ, we had a very interesting little situation that shows my disdain for a certain part of Japanese life.  As a foreigner, it can be a bit frustrating for me about how much Japanese people adhere to rules, especially when the reasons for them seem a bit illogical.  But a bit of context: we arrived at the riverside BBQ area to find a large queue, which we were ushered into as rules were hollered at us through a megaphone.  We lucky English speakers got our very own copy to peruse during the barrage of do’s and dont’s, and we giggled about the “breast etc. should stick” (if you don’t speak Engrish, they meant we should wear the “I paid” sticker on our chest or somewhere visible).  After we exchanged our 500 yen for our breast sticker, we met up with the group, many who had camped out early to get a good spot.  They were still trying to get the fire starting when we arrived, and the rest of us started enjoying the easy-access food and drink.  

Now, a friend of mine and her Japanese boyfriend had brought along an iPod stereo, and they started to play a little music.  Very quickly after, a riverside official (what do you call a temporary camp employee?) rushed over to tell us to turn off the music.  After a few back and forths, my friend’s boyfriend grudgingly obliged.  About 20 minutes later, when all was said and forgotten, our friend who organized the event came up and said us, “They told us we need to move our camp because we played music.”  After a few dumbfounded moments when we realized it wasn’t a joke, we started grabbing everything and made our way to a new area.  So, we had to move about 20 feet away long after we had already turned off the music.  Now, I know that rules are important to Japanese people, and that’s probably a major contributing factor as to why Japan is so safe to live in.  HOWEVER, there clearly were SEVERAL camps with blatant underage drunkenness, and yet the group that gets punished (however pathetically) is the one that played music for 5 minutes.  Way to pick and choose.  My friend and her boyfriend were so offended they left; which to be honest, really only felt like a punishment to us as their friends.  But then, it’s kind of nice to see a Japanese person who thinks about rules that are practical vs. ridiculous.

After tempers cooled and the humidity rose, we started settling in and having fun.  Kelly’s boyfriend and I had an interesting chat about my- for lack of a better term- love life.  He seemd very concerned that some guy would lie to me and take advantage of my kind nature, and he told me he was going to make a “memo” so we could have a “serious discussion” next time.  I know my…er…”situation” can be difficult for some to understand, and even though her boyfriend and I talked at length about it, I don’t think he quite understood me.  I’m not sure it was a language barrier either.  Living in a foreign country has taught me that just because you speak the same language as someone by no means guarantees that you understand each other. 

My take on BBQs in Tokyo is this: go to someplace that isn’t regulated, like the Arakawa River (good places can be reached via Akabane station or Yanasegawa).  Futakotamagawa, where we went, does have some beautiful riversides, but I would recommend going on the free side and just having a picnic over paying the 500 yen fee to have a BBQ on rocks and rules.