Yesterday, I was minding my own business, working hard as usual (by that I mean 'surfing the internet' for roughly 6 of the 8 hours in my workday), when I was unexpectedly interrupted by a wizened little Japanese guy who looked about six centuries old and sported eyebrows that were pure white and bore a genuinely disconcerting resemblance to gigantic toothbrushes. This bizarre elfin creature proceeded to force upon me (with utmost courtesy, of course) a small tin of seaweed soaked in soy sauce. I was apparently expected to consume said seaweed, and although slimy oceanic plant material generally doesn't find its way into my diet until after 12:00 noon, good manners more or less dictated that I accept his offer.
The really peculiar thing about this was, this man does not work in my office. He was circulating with a tray of tins of goopy seaweed, serving them to everyone in the teachers' room, and nobody seemed to find this odd...but I had most definitely never seen this man before. Does he work at my school?! I later looked up to discover that this odd little man had done one better than just serving up seaweed - he had co-opted the sitting area by the copier and set up an entire seaweed shop, and was busily hawking his wares to any teacher fool enough to walk near him. Unfortunately, his merchandise was not restricted to seaweed; my olfactory spidey sense shortly informed me that this old goon was also dealing in dried squid, which stank up the entire office in short order. So here we were, with a total stranger parked in our tea corner selling dried sea animals and wet sea plants, sporting eyebrows out of a Pixar movie, and suffocating in the diverse and pungent aromas emanating from his makeshift storefront.
I was the only one who seemed to find this strange.
Shrugging, as I often do in Japan, I moved on without pondering the mystery too much further. In short order, however, when I returned to my desk from doing a few quick errands, more Japanese magic had occurred. There sat upon my desk a plate, a fork, and a heap of banana, whipped cream, crepe and chocolate. What?! Leprechauns with seaweed, and now mysteriously appearing crepes?! If I were in any country other than Japan, I probably would have suspected the crepe to be laced with something that would render me helpless and/or insensate and compliant for transport to the sex trade in Thailand. Since this is Japan, though, drugs were unlikely in my unexpected dessert. Nevertheless, I eyed it suspiciously.
'HOMU-MAKINGU!' shouted a voice disconcertingly close to my ear. I turned to see one of the OLs (office ladies) beaming proudly at me for her use of English - and standing about six centimeters away from me. Japanese and American notions of 'personal space', I have found, differ dramatically. The OL (sweet, wonderful woman that she is, despite yesterday's close-encounters Engrish sneak attack) proceeded to explain in Japanese that the home ec (they call it homemaking) class had made crepes, and wanted me to try their work. Well, at least it was a little more appetizing than a glob of seaweed soaking in fermented soy bean juice. It actually tasted pretty good, and I'm not usually much of a fan of banana OR chocolate, so I guess the kids are doing pretty good work in that home ec class of theirs.
But my day was yet to get slightly more peculiar. The stream of unexpected foodstuffs had not yet run dry - and believe it or not, the combination of foods showered upon me was about to get a little bit stranger. I was typing away, not paying much attention, when suddenly somebody sneak attacked me with a bag of beans. The beans plopped onto my desk, and when I looked behind me, none of the three people standing there idly chatting took responsibility for this unexpected delivery of legumes. I was not the only one so blessed; my seatmate across the desk also received such a parcel, and the two of us were equally confused. Apparently sometimes Japan confounds even its own natives.
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