The Barbarian Sensei: Plastic

©1996, Nik Frengle

You know the feeling I mean: You're sitting at home by yourself reading porn magazines. Reading them for godsakes! In a flash of self appraisal you realize what you're doing. Then nothing can be done--you must party.
I didn't even question the urge as I was running down the pitted street of my little town towards freedom to party, the Nankai train station, with its 8:43 train to civilization. Like an arctic tern I was ready to migrate to the eternal day of Shinsaibashi, it's bright lights and covered streets made for partying.
It's kind of like an artistic thing, I think. I mean when you have to party you get kind of feverish and inspired. You get all geared up to practice the ancient art. Sometimes it can be bad because you forget other base instincts, like the one to score. Well, I was in such a state on a certain Friday night.
Landing in the Pig and Whistle at about half past nine, the hour that it really starts to get crowded, I downed two beers in about ten minutes. By 10:45 I was feeling too good to catch the last train back to boredom. Having made my decision, I figured I should start thinking about where I would spend the night. 'Love Hotel' came immediately to mind. But of course, I thought, you can't stay at a love hotel without a girl, so I set out to score.
Picked the wrong girl. Actually the girl I picked was definitely 'scoreable,' just not by me. Anyway, I ended up with her and a bunch of others headed to the Boston Club, the currently trendy place to be for the always trendy Japanese. It was about one o'clock by now and I was definitely feeling the effects of the six pints I'd downed at the Pig. So I sat down in the Boston Club, and tried to get my head to stop spinning, which wasn't easy with the music turned up to about a million decibels.
So, anyway this snotty effeminate waiter comes up to where I'm sitting and informs me that my seat is reserved by someone else. Fuck you, I tell him. He feigned ignorance at the word, although an asshole like him would doubtlessly have heard it before. So he tells me politely, you know using keigo and all, to move. I pretended not to understand, which wasn't hard, since I don't move with a very polite crowd that don't use all of those nasais and degozaimasus and stuff. You see, I knew if I got up I'd probably spew. So anyway, he kind of threw up his hands and left me comatose. I was in that state for about an hour or two, maybe three. When I sort of snapped out of it I felt much better, so I got up and went to the bar.
My four thou got me six drink tickets, which I spent on ginger ales and cokes. At the bar I met a cool girl. My nihongo isn't too bad, which is good, because the kind of girl that I tend to like isn't the ace student who speaks a flawless rendition of middle English. Anyway, she was such a girl. In fact, she dropped out of high school, one of the rare 1/2%.
Since I had spent four thou to get in to the Boston, I lost all desire to score, or at least all ability to pay for a love hotel in cash. I forgot about my plastic. When you don't think about scoring, being with women is a lot more fun. So I danced and drank Coke and ginger ale and talked with the girl.
I also met a Norwegian engineer. Pöl was his name, I think. He pointed out two muscley types and told me they had the nickname of the 'terrible two.' I looked a little closer, and lo and behold the two assholes that had flicked me shit on the Midosugi. I didn't really want to see them, cause I'd pissed them off that time. They had said something like 'bet you're on those little teacher assholes, huh?' Smartass that I am, I shot back, 'funny, you look like the two dicks that couldn't even score a teaching job at my school when you came in for your interview last week (which was true).' Luckily, the subway came along just then, so I stepped on, waited til the door closed, smiled at them through the window, and gave a one-finger wave goodbye to 300 kilos of dick.
So, anyway, I didn't want to see them, you know. I'd like to say it was cause I was worried about seeing the police with my recently expired visa, but actually I had completely forgotten about that. I just didn't want to get my ass kicked, so I tagged Chico, and headed out.
Chico's a guy I always seem to bump into at about 3 in the morning, which it happened to be. So we're coming out of the Boston, right, when these two girls come up to Chico. Girls always seemed to know Chico, which didn't do them any good, cause he had a thing for gaijin women, which is one reason he hung out with me sometimes--his English isn't so good.
One of the girls asked him if he'd seen Jessee. I saw him earlier at the Pig, but I didn't say anything, cause that mother's not getting any referrals from me. I'm no gentleman or anything, but Jessee offends me. He's from New York city, right, and he talks in this real fast street talk that I have kind of a hard time understanding, and which Japanese find almost impossible. He was talking about this girl, Aya, right in front of her saying something like 'shefinerealtightlilnipperbeaver,' and stuff like that. Anyways, I didn't say I'd seen him, and Chico didn't say if he knew, so these two girls tag along with us.
Eriko and Mari. They said they were 19, but they looked like 14. Didn't matter since I was too drunk to do anything really interesting anyway. First we went to this coffee house where Chico bought us all Chu-hais The mixture of Chu-hai with all of that beer in my stomach wasn't so good. I spewed in the gutter outside that place and felt much better. The owner seemed a little worried, though, so we left. It was about four in the morning.
"Where do you wanna go?" I ask Chico and the girls.
"Osaka is so dead after three," Eriko said in her best party girl voice.
"So what's left? Tokyo? Lets go!" I say. I hadn't been to Tokyo yet. Came right from Hong Kong to Osaka.
Chico laughed and the two girls giggled.
"No, really, lets go," I said and called out to one of the black cabs lounging by the curb at the end of the street. He pulled up and his automatic door almost knocked me in the gutter.
"Where you go?" he asked in English. At least he stopped.
"Tokyo. How much?"
"Is this guy serious? Where do you want to go?" he asked Chico in Japanese.
"Yes! I'm serious. About how much to Tokyo?" I really hate it when people speak as if you weren't standing right there.
" About 80,000 yen. But why don't you just wait a few hours for the Shinkansen?"
"Because I want to go to Tokyo now," I answered, his stupid questions starting to bother me.
"Lets see your money," he said, the cash registers clicking little yen signs in his eyes. I showed him my Visa card, which seemed to satisfy him, and got in the back. The other three were hesitating.
"What's wrong? Get in! Lets go!"
They got in, probably figuring what the hell, he's paying.
We stopped at the 7-11 in Nagoya and got a few litres of beer, which made Mari really friendly. She had her hand down my pants when the cop stopped us.
The taxi, I had noticed, had been going awfully fast. Not my problem, I'd figured. But when the cop saw a foreigner in the taxi getting felt up by an underage bimbo, it was probably just too much for him. Me throwing up on his nice black boots probably didn't help.
Before I knew it, I was in a police station in some little town between Tokyo and Osaka. The taxi had been free to go, though he'd gotten a ticket. I'm kind of hazy, but apparently the taxi headed back to Osaka with the girls and Chico. The charge for the taxi never came up on my Visa, so I guess I forgot, or somebody else paid or something.
So, this policeman, who I'd already showed my passport to takes me to this little police box. He says to me, all authoritarian-like, did I know that my 90-day visa expired last week? No! I say, all surprised-like. Time sure flies when you are on vacation in Japan!
"Do you know," I said, "I was just on my way to Tokyo to catch a plane? Yes sir, it's the truth all right. No, I don't have the ticket with me, I am supposed to pick it up at the airport. Yes! That's right, Narita. Yes, I know, but reservations are a devil at this time of year, and there didn't seem to be any available last week. Yes, sir, I know it is against the law. I'll never do it again. I promise. Shall I write a gomenasai letter? There is? Five thousand yen per day, so lets see, that would be umhh...twenty five thousand yen. Do you take VISA? Oh, I see, at the airport. Well, then, I will be on my way. To Tokyo, yes that's right, Narita. No, I am sure that is not necessary. A police escort really does seem rather excessive, don't bother yourself."
So, this guy makes some phone calls and then takes me to the Shinkansen station. By this time it is about ten in the morning. I'm starting to feel pretty sober, and remember I'm supposed to be at work at noon. While we're waiting I call up the school and tell them I'm really not feeling too well and won't be in today. It is important to maintain good work habits. Hah hah hah, yes, futsukayoi headache. Hideko is great, and probably wouldn't check, but I called Peter, my flat-mate, and told him to tell everyone I was sick. He is a good guy and I knew he'd cover for me. I was going to tell him more, but the train came and I had to say bye.
I thought the cop would just put me on the train and make sure I got on. But he got on with me, for godsakes. I'm thinking to myself how am I gonna ditch this guy, all I have to do is get back to Osaka and there's no way they're gonna find me. There aren't too many good ways to get off of a train going 180Kph, though.
When we get to Tokyo there are these three policemen waiting. They take me to the airport in a van. I'm beginning to feel really sober and its looking more and more like I might not be back in Osaka in time for the "Nelton Club."
The three gentlemen in blue escorted me to the United desk. They stood right behind me, which I thought was kind of funny, but the airline lady kept looking at them. I didn't, of course, have a reservation or ticket waiting for me. So I asked her in English what the cheapest destination was. No, I told her, I didn't have any preference, except I didn't want to go to America. See, I wasn't sure, but I thought there might be a warrant out for me. Its a long story, but anyways, this airline lady says I can go to Seoul for ?85,000, so I say sure, book me, heres my plastic.

Except actually there were no seats to Seoul that day. So I say what's the cheapest place you actually got a seat to? She screws around on her terminal and finally says Bangkok is the only place they got flights to that day. See, I am still playing the innocent victim of a simple misunderstanding who was headed to the airport when I was stopped. My case was weakened a little by the fact that I had no luggage with me at the time, but I had already met this argument with the perfectly plausible explanation that seasoned world travellers such as myself usually send their things on by post so they don't have to screw around at the baggage claim.
But I couldn't very well go to another airline's desk after I said I already had a reservation. Japan is a traveller's wet dream--you can stop off and make a load of money and move on. Even though I was getting banished, I was still hoping I could be back at work tomorrow. I know, it is kind of irrational, but good work habits, once established, never really die. I figured I could probably just get right back on the plane once I got to Bangkok. That's why I got the return part open--I didn't want the cops or customs guys thinking that might be what I was doing.
So, anyway, the cops take me to the customs office and leave me with a customs guy. I write my gomenasai letter, and try to sound real sober and respectable. Luckily I had managed the previous evening not to spew on myself. Little things like that help when maintaining respectability. When I'm through with the letter, they stamp my passport with a five day extension. The Japanese bureaucracy can be so sweet if you just write a gomenasai letter. It saved me twenty five thousand yen, and meant I shouldn't have any trouble getting back for class tomorrow--no violations, no problem, I figured.
Things seemed to be going my way--I got bumped up to business class. Free drinks and plenty of good food. Tasty stewardesses too. I was, after a bottle of champagne, optimistic.
By the time we reached Bangkok I was pleasantly buzzed. I strolled down the long, long corridor to the customs and immigration checkpoint feeling like a king. I felt like nobody could touch me, you know, powerful and safe. I strolled through customs no problem, flashing my Visa gold and passport. I love plastic.
Except I couldn't remember the number I needed to get Instant Cash from the bank machine in the lobby of the airport. The little piece of paper that said "Your PIN code is ........" on it was in Ozaki. I had ?1000 left in my wallet, from which I got two one hundred baht notes plus a couple of brass coins.
The taxi guys spoke standard English: "Four hundra baht I take you Bangkok." Shit! I thought I was in Bangkok. I guess the Thais decided to build their airport somewhere real inconvenient just like Japan. So I ask this really hot Thai woman in some kind of red uniform with wings where I could get the train. She smiles really nicely and takes me up the escalator and points down this long corridor.
So I go down this corridor and find myself in a hotel. At first I think maybe this is a really nice train station, but then I see Airport Hotel on the cocktail napkin in the lobby bar where I sat down for a little rest and a drink.
Then I remember I should probably make reservations as soon as possible to Tokyo. The soonest they could get me back is tomorrow night though, the reservations lady said.

"Yo, Peter, it is Miles," I say once I figured out how to use the phone, "I'm still sick. Did Hideko ask about me?"
"No. Where the bloody hell are you anyway?"
"Kind of a long story, but I'm in Bangkok."
"Shit! What're ya doing there, you crazy bastard?"
"Like I said, kind of a long story. I'll tell you tomorrow night. Just cover for me tomorrow. I'm deathly ill, ok?"
"Yeah, sure, mate, no worries?"
I'd have to remember to call the school tomorrow morning. Luckily I had Monday off.
I thought the first one might have misunderstood me, so I ask this other hot Thai woman in a red uniform with wings where the train station was. It involved a lot of chugging sound effects and hand gestures, but eventually she smiled and showed me the same corridor leading back to the hotel.
After another one at the lobby bar I had a hundred baht left. So I ask this guy where the train to Bangkok is. He smiles and points across the street. There is a little white picket fence and a real mangy lawn, with all kinds of mangy exotic plants, and some palms.
Bangkok, I repeat a couple of times to the guy at the ticket window. He smiles and says "thirty fi baht." My brain is sort of on hyper-overload by that point, and I'm sort of thinking in yen and wondering like why I only have to pay 35 yen, which is only about a quarter.
I get on this train that comes up right after I buy my ticket. I didn't really notice what the little destination sign said--I figured where else would a train leaving from an inconvenient airport go except Bangkok? (Actually, you can get buses from Osaka Airport to Osaka, Kobe, Kyoto, and a few other places, but like I said, my brain was in super-pickled overdrive, and unable to use my vast Nihon experience as a guide to the logic of inconvenience.)
So I got on this train. First class seemed like a good idea to me. So I walked down the train to find a good seat. The first class seats were at the back, past some sleeper cars where a lot of Germans are drinking and playing cards. They force me to drink a couple of beers, but I am starting to feel a little tired by that point, and so I continue towards the back of the train. The last car is totally empty.
I must've fallen asleep immediately. I'm not sure how much later it was, but this guy that looks sort of military-like is shaking my shoulder. I remember I sort of growled at him and he stopped. Next thing I know the first guy is back with this other guy that looks sort of like a cop.
"Your ticket, sah," he says.
So I hand him my ticket, a little cardboard thing. He looks at it and then starts yammering something at the other guy. I fall asleep again. They must've decided to leave me alone or something, cause when I wake up for a minute my watch says six. I guessed it must mean 6 a.m., though the darkness outside could mean either. I had no idea if there was any time difference in Thailand or not.
It must have been just a little while later, but suddenly I wake up really sudden-like and am all confused. I look out the window and there is light off in the distance. I look around and realize that I'm on a train that's going up the side of a mountain, and theres lots of other mountains outside and I can't remember where I am or how I got there, and my heartbeat is real quick and all of these questions come to me and seem really important, like who I am and where I am going and stuff. I felt kind of panicky.
So, anyway, I am all confused-like when there is this tremendous crash. I flew into the seat opposite mine. I'm still confused, so I stand up. The window is an old one, and I had to use both thumbs to open it. I stuck my head out the window and the last thing I remember is seeing the front half of the train leaning off the mountain.
I think I must have fallen forward towards the window and stuck my hands out, because I had a lot of stitches in them when I woke up. That part still hasn't come back to me yet. Actually, at the hospital I couldn't remember anything. Nothing, not even my name. But it wasn't the same kind of panicky, I-just-woke-up can't remember like before. This was just a sort of completely blank can't remember. I didn't know what language the nurses spoke. I didn't know why I spoke to them in Japanese, nor how I knew Japanese. And I was really tired. I slept for a long time.
When I woke up, I still didn't understand anything except that I was in a hospital that could have been anywhere. This lady, who must have been a doctor came up to my bed.
"How do you feel?" she asks in really good English.
"Uh, ok, I guess. Where am I?"
"This is McCormick Hospital in Chiang Mai. You were brought here unconscious from the mountains. There was a very bad train accident. You are very lucky, you know."
I didn't feel lucky. My head hurt and I went back to sleep. When I woke up I asked the nurse where Chiang Mai was. In the north, she said. North of where? She named a lot of cities, I guess thinking that's what I meant. I only knew one of them--Bangkok. Somehow I hadn't forgotten that Bangkok was in Thailand. And then everything else came rushing back to me. But, see, I didn't believe it. It was like a movie or a dream--too fantastic to be real. But when I looked in the drawer next to my bed and found my passport and United Airlines ticket, I realized I had to believe it.
The next time the doctor came by I asked her what day it was. Monday. And what time? One o'clock. I looked at my watch. Actually, that was the thing that made me believe my memories--my watch said three. Japan must have a two hour time difference. And I realized that I was supposed to be at work tomorrow. So I ask the doctor, like how am I doc, can I go now? Well, you should be fine, she says, but I think you should stay a couple of more days anyway. That was how I felt, too, when I went to stand. But something told me I should be going.
I also didn't feel like dealing with hospital bills. I have more outstanding hospital bills around than a teenager has zits, and I didn't feel this was the time to become a proper citizen. But I didn't say anything to anyone. Just got dressed and got my stuff out of the drawer. There was a white envelope in the drawer with something written on it. A bill, I figured, and left it.
I got up, feeling pretty wobbly, you know, I guess I must have been conked pretty good. So I am leaving out the front when this nurse comes rushing out waving a piece of paper. I make for the road on the other side of this big green hedge in front of the hospital. But, like I said, I was a little wobbly, and she caught up with me.
"Here your money Khun Mile. Train company pay your pain," she says handing me the envelope I had left in the drawer.
I opened the envelope and sure enough there was five thousand baht. I wondered how much they paid those poor bastards in the front of the train. I said thanks and asked the nurse where the airport was. She went with me to the road and flagged down a red truck with a canopy and seats in the back and said something to the driver. I got in the back a little hesitantly. The truck hardly seemed a prudent means of transport, but then again the train, which I've always thought of as the safest transport around, had turned out rather badly, so maybe this would be ok.
I was glad to still be alive by the time we arrived at the airport. The thing I'll remember most about the little I saw of Thailand will be the mad way their transportation system seemed to work. When they asked me if I wanted to buy a ticket, I said yes, but please can I get one on a foreign airline? As it happens, Thai Airways is the only airline flying in and out of Chiang Mai. It was with upmost reluctance that I handed the envelope with the wad of bills in it to the smiling woman in the uniform with wings.
Can I, I asked, make a reservation on United here? Certainly, may I see your ticket, sir? An when will you be travel? Oh, today may be hard. Your ticket open, you go any day. How about tomorrow? Nothing to Tokyo. Only Nagoya. I thought you go Tokyo? Nagoya ok? Ok, close connection in Bangkok, though.
Luckily they had laundered my clothes at the hospital. I might have smelled even worse than I actually did. I guess I hadn't bathed in three days. The weather seemed hot, too. I guess Thailand is tropical or something. Those are about my only recollections of the place. I was really tired and slept all the way to Bangkok, barely made the plane for Nagoya after having to get to a different terminal in Bangkok, and then slept all the way to Nagoya.
As I was walking up the ramp at the airport, I glance at my watch. It said 10, and this, I thought, is the right time. I flashed my passport and plastic and got a long, penetrating look and a 90-day tourist visa. I love plastic.
What I don't love is having my shoes cut apart and every orifice examined, though one good thing did come out of it, which was that some stitches in my shoulder that I probably wouldn't have noticed, became apparent. When they were satisfied, they let me go, my insoles flapping as I tried to walk away with some dignity. It was 10:30. I wondered if I could get the Shinkansen to Osaka at that hour.
Turns out I could, and did, only to end up once more at Shinsaibashi. I had missed the last Nankai train home, as usual. I found out that night that it is possible to check into a love hotel alone. Next morning I got woken at ten by an intercom telling me that I was being charged by the minute for every minute past nine. I paid with plastic.
The Nankai train from Shinsaibashi left at 10:15 and got into Kishiwada at 10:57. I sort of hurried from the station through the shopping arcade and down the street to my school. Even so, I was five minutes late.

"Ohaiyo, Miles-san," Hideko said, "you're a little late."
"You know, Hideko-chan, I've just come back from Bangkok to be here at work this morning."
"Ah, hah, that's omoshiroi. you had bad futsukayoi hangover, right? You shouldn't go out so much."

My first lesson was free talking, the subject being 'what we did on the weekend.' The uproarious laughter provoked Hideko to tell me afterwards to not tell such omoshiroi stories, out of consideration for other students who couldn't hear anything over the laughter.
It must have been at least a month before I was really myself again. I was sitting home on a Saturday night watching Naruhodo the World, and the next thing I know I'm running down the street to the Nankai station, like an arctic tern. Or maybe it was more like a lemming...