Come here often, bebe?
Aug. 8th, 2003 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akujunkanExchanging money has been a comedy of errors to rival all others. Estute readers may remember my passing reference to the cute bank guy of two days ago. I got to know this guy fairly well as he had never exchanged money before and I first filled out the form for a deposit, then cash exchange, and finally traveller's checks, while he ran back and forth copying my passport, asking for alien registration card (I don't have one yet), and asking a host of supervisors what on earth he was supposed to do to get my money exchanged. Although he forgot to have me sign my traveller's checks, I remembered, and although he wanted me to countersign on the wrong line, I was able to correct his mistake. Meanwhile, one of the students in my supervisor's soccer club injured himself, and I was left on my own to negotiate the wilds of currency exchange.
Two days later, another comical translation error turns the 4,200 yen I owe to my landlord (which I thought the city was going to pay for me (it will, but only after I pay it first)) into 420,000 yen. Damn you, place holder! Needless to say, I do not have $420.00 on my person, so it's back to the bank for more exchange. The rent collector comes to my office at or before 11:00 - it's now 8:35.
I run to the bank, which is about half a kilometer from my school. It starts to rain. I have no umbrella. I arrive to discover that the bank doesn't open for another half an hour. That's all right, I know another bank 2 kilometers from the other side of my school, which opens at 8:30. I make the 2.5 kilometer journey in the pouring ran, and arrive soaking wet to discover that they won't exchange currency at that branch. The woman draws me the most useless map ever created in the history of mankind (literally, this thing was two parallel lines, a box, and a dot. I tried to get her to give me directions in Japanese; she wouldn't). I set out, and pragmatically determine that there's no way I'm ever going to find this other branch, besides, it's in the opposite direction of my school.
Very well. I backtrack again, and head into Toyama Ginko, at which I don't have an account, but being one of the two banks in front of the station, it must exchange currency - law of averages. I get in there, sopping wet. It's open and it does indeed exchange currency, but of course, is unable to do so until the exchange rates come in at 10:00. It's now 9:30.
I head back into the rain, where a kind obaasan takes pity on me and gives me her umbrella as she heads into her apartment. I thank her profusely, "It's no problem," she says, "There's a hole in it; I'm sorry." The hole is the size of a pinhead.
I trek back to my apartment and grab a book, then make the 2.5 kilometer trek back to the first bank, which is now open. (BTW, the rain has stopped, and I'm stuck steaming in the humidity, holding a now-useless umbrella.) I go inside. It's 10:00. My cute bank boy is there. Things are looking up. We get through the initial stages of the exchange with only the minimum of rigamorole (I've got the right forms although he does forget to get my passport for a photocopy).
He asks me how long I've been in Japan. I misinterpret the keigo and tell him, three years. He asks how long I'm going to stay. I again misinterpret and tell him, a week. He looks rather shocked, lowers the keigo level and we sort ourselves out amidst laughter. He goes back to exchange my money.
Of course, this bank won't get the new rates for another half an hour. I sit down, thankful that I've brought a book, and wait. Of course, the only open seats are smoking seats, so I'm stuck in stenchy stale-tobacco land. Everyone in Japan smokes when it will most inconvenience the foreigner and then doesn't smoke - when it will most inconvenience the foreigner.
My money is ready. I thank the guy and he asks, literally, in Japanese, "So will you be coming here often from now on?" Ooh, I'd like to be, but those were the last of my traveller's checks.
He's really cute. I'm now considering the logistics of family and friends sending me cold hard cash on a regular basis.
Two days later, another comical translation error turns the 4,200 yen I owe to my landlord (which I thought the city was going to pay for me (it will, but only after I pay it first)) into 420,000 yen. Damn you, place holder! Needless to say, I do not have $420.00 on my person, so it's back to the bank for more exchange. The rent collector comes to my office at or before 11:00 - it's now 8:35.
I run to the bank, which is about half a kilometer from my school. It starts to rain. I have no umbrella. I arrive to discover that the bank doesn't open for another half an hour. That's all right, I know another bank 2 kilometers from the other side of my school, which opens at 8:30. I make the 2.5 kilometer journey in the pouring ran, and arrive soaking wet to discover that they won't exchange currency at that branch. The woman draws me the most useless map ever created in the history of mankind (literally, this thing was two parallel lines, a box, and a dot. I tried to get her to give me directions in Japanese; she wouldn't). I set out, and pragmatically determine that there's no way I'm ever going to find this other branch, besides, it's in the opposite direction of my school.
Very well. I backtrack again, and head into Toyama Ginko, at which I don't have an account, but being one of the two banks in front of the station, it must exchange currency - law of averages. I get in there, sopping wet. It's open and it does indeed exchange currency, but of course, is unable to do so until the exchange rates come in at 10:00. It's now 9:30.
I head back into the rain, where a kind obaasan takes pity on me and gives me her umbrella as she heads into her apartment. I thank her profusely, "It's no problem," she says, "There's a hole in it; I'm sorry." The hole is the size of a pinhead.
I trek back to my apartment and grab a book, then make the 2.5 kilometer trek back to the first bank, which is now open. (BTW, the rain has stopped, and I'm stuck steaming in the humidity, holding a now-useless umbrella.) I go inside. It's 10:00. My cute bank boy is there. Things are looking up. We get through the initial stages of the exchange with only the minimum of rigamorole (I've got the right forms although he does forget to get my passport for a photocopy).
He asks me how long I've been in Japan. I misinterpret the keigo and tell him, three years. He asks how long I'm going to stay. I again misinterpret and tell him, a week. He looks rather shocked, lowers the keigo level and we sort ourselves out amidst laughter. He goes back to exchange my money.
Of course, this bank won't get the new rates for another half an hour. I sit down, thankful that I've brought a book, and wait. Of course, the only open seats are smoking seats, so I'm stuck in stenchy stale-tobacco land. Everyone in Japan smokes when it will most inconvenience the foreigner and then doesn't smoke - when it will most inconvenience the foreigner.
My money is ready. I thank the guy and he asks, literally, in Japanese, "So will you be coming here often from now on?" Ooh, I'd like to be, but those were the last of my traveller's checks.
He's really cute. I'm now considering the logistics of family and friends sending me cold hard cash on a regular basis.