A few nights ago, we went out to an Italian place in Omotesando for dinner. I rode my bike, while Yukari took the train from work.
Walking home, I handed Yukari my bike lock, to put into the backpack. Got home, went to bed and then got up bright and early the next morning to go running.
Coincidentally, part of the running route took us along the same streets we had walked home along the previous evening. As I was puffing along, I noticed a brown, cotton glove on the sidewalk that looked remarkably like a glove I keep in my biking backpack to use when I need to futz with the chain or other greasy bike parts.
Nonplussed, I kept on running for another 20 feet, until it hit me that that probably was my glove, fallen out of my backpack the previous evening when Yukari put my chain in. I went back, picked it up and ran with it the rest of the way home, no doubt further cementing the weirdness of foreigners in the minds of passing Japanese.
In Chicago or New York, the glove would have been urinated on, torn apart by a pack of wolves or otherwise disappeared. Here, it was waiting for me on a busy sidewalk, right where I’d left it.
Posted by pmk at June 10, 2004 1:30 AM | TrackBackdoes that make the japanese polite, or lazy?
gotta appreciate the zeal of the crackhead.
“oooo ground glove!”