Robin has been and gone, two weeks left of work

Every single time I go to the ward office I encounter the same Russian hooker—always in high heels, even today in the pouring rain (I went out in my “Hello Kitty” shower shoes) and even, I assume, knowing that she will have to tread carefully across the ward office patio of slick slate tiles, which, in the U.S., would be a potential lawsuit waiting patiently in the back pocket of some self-righteously angry, slight injured scam artist.

I don’t know why she and I seem to be on the same schedule, to collide once a week and tussle over the single remaining computer at the ward office. And, while I realize it might be discriminatory, I find it rather degrading to have to wait for the sloppy seconds leftover from a hooker—even if it is as sterile as a computer.

Still, I am rather fascinated by the shoes. She is a hooker come rain or come shine, like the post office (”neither rain nor sleet nor driving snow will keep us from our appointed rounds . . . “). Only with more padding and make-up than the post office. Well, actually, with the post office reform bill now once again a forerunner of P.M. Koizumi’s agenda, perhaps the post office here is her equal in the padding department (high salaries, taxes, etc., according to the big K). But, she definitely wins the make-up contest. She has that one by a mile.

As I wait for her to slowly hobble her way through an online translator (a keyboard pops up on the screen and you can hit individual Russian characters with the mouse), I take in the busy bustle of red tape in the office—workers registering for this and that, nodding, towering over model skyscrapers of pension paperwork. The basket of umbrellas is tight, near overflowing. So much so that it rounds and the top. The whole thing resembles a flower arrangement of wooden and plastic handles—a form of pop art. Khaki tan is prevalent. Japanese office workers come in four hues: crisp white, khaki tan, muted black and navy blue. No red. No pink. No orange (or OR-ON-GEE, as they pronounce it). Nothing on the “ROY” side of the “ROY G. BIV” rainbow spectrum.

But, speaking of that rainbow spectrum and those a little more on the “ROY” side, my friend Robin flew in all the way from Tulsa this weekend. She didn’t stay too long, but we had a great time walking around and taking photos, shopping in the 100 yen store and even going to karoke. She sang “California Dreaming” with my friend Isom, even. Personally, I belted out a decent version of “Mack the Knife,” did a passing job with the Paul Simon classic “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” and pretty much butchered the Liza version of “Caberet,” which I also cannot spell, apparently. Anyway, I am used to the Me First and the Gimmie Gimmies punk version of that classic musical tune. So, my timing was hella off.

I was so impressed that Robin made it to Hamada all by herself from Tokoyo, and I am honored she deemed me worthy enough for the trip. I had a great time walking her around Hamada, taking pictures of the sea, the castle ruins, the shrines, the temple I worship at, and some seriously old and odd cemeteries. I was sad to put her back on the bus yesterday morning, but I know she was tired and ready to head home for some R&R, as am I. And, speaking of which, only two more weeks of work for this disgruntled employee. I cannot wait.