What better way to resume blog writing than with a crappy story.
Since I've come back to Japan, I haven't really been blogging. For the most part, it's been due to lack of time and lack of content. I haven't felt like regurgitating the details of the weekends' parties, the monotony of work, and for the most part, I've become so used to Japan that nothing seems to astonish me anymore, no matter how outlandishly weird it is. Maybe I am finally becoming culturally sensitive... or turning Japanese?
In any case, today of all days began with a most uncommon experience punctuated with a crash and loud shout from the bathroom. I was still lying in bed with the awake-o-meter on about 80%. Next thing I know, S is standing in front of me with my make-up bag asking me if I noticed anything missing. At first glance, nothing. At second glance, the brand new bottle of foundation I had opened last night and used one -- note one -- time. I dared to ask what had happened.
Basically, after doing his business, S had flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and while turning around to dry them, knocked over my make-up bag with such force that the contents had gone tumbling into the still-flushing whirlpool inside the toilet bowl. With a valiant effort, he swooped down into the toilet to fish out the bag in time, but missed a 'small white bottle' which is now still lodged somewhere in the depths of the toilet.
I suggested a plunger. He suggested calling his father in France to ask him what to do (apparently they don't plunge in France?). As one friend put it to me, it figures that when I need a man, I get a middle-aged French couple on the telephone...
In any case, the day passed, and finally we decided that my new foundation could not be far inside the pipes because we could hear a funny blockage noise when we flushed. So now onto the hunt for a decent plunger in Tokyo. I look up the word for "plunger" and find that it's, well, "puranjaa," and I call Tokyu Hands to see if they have one.
"Puranjaa??? Pu-ran-jaaaaaa... souuuuu...." is the response on the line. It's one of those foreign words that no Japanese know the meaning of. I try explaining myself but finally give up and read the definition of a plunger from the dictionary, which seems to turn on some lightbulbs. We gather that in Japanese, it is a "thing that fixes the western toilet blockage." Physical description is a "rod with rubber on the end that you put in the toilet to remove the blockage, making a 'gutcha gutcha' sound." Very, very precise.
Japan has not ceased to amaze me, is the realization. It is still and probably always will represent to me the home of challenges and of miscommunication, not only between Japan, its people and me, but also between S and me.
End of story, we found the plunger but it didn't work, so no choice but to hold it (literally) 'til tomorrow.
I am not naturally one to believe in reincarnation, rebirth, or even small miracles.
