Scribbler's Cafe

Idiosyncrasies

I walk into the drugstore to buy some conditioner for my hair. When I bring my purchases to the counter, the clerk unleashes a torrent of cheerful chatty Japanese. Incomprehensible. She keeps the words spinning out of her mouth as she bags my goods, takes my money, makes change and hands me my receipt. She bows deeply and looks at me quietly, eyes blinking. I guess it’s over now. I say thank you and take my bag and go. I am baffled at what she have possibly been saying that took that long. Why did my little transaction require all those words?

On my way home the scenery out my train window rolls along like a badly drawn cartoon. I ponder the strange country I chosen to live in. I feel like a character in some melodramatic art school movie. I apply another coat of lipstick, improving the character of bewildered sensei number 39 with a sheen of slippery gloss.

posted by Scribbler @ Saturday, January 08, 2005