here in ol' japang, there's a right way and a wrong way to do everything. it must be very difficult for people to individualize. i'm doing my best to learn, but i'm behind the curve already (being foreign is simply the wrong way).
apparently the wrong place to park your bike is next to the huge sign with a picture of a bike on it next to a fence surrounding a huge, open, concrete park. there was already another bike there, and it was next to about 3 hundred motorbikes.
came out' the gym to no bike. i was fairly sure it hadn't been stolen. i walked around for a while and tried the key in a few other bikes, all of which were nearly identical to anne's. no fuckin dice. then i spotted a team of little fuckin douchebags in jumpsuits loading all these bikes into the back of a large truck with spinning lights on it. i quickly ran over to explain that i didn't speak any japanese. the bike wasn't on the truck, and homeboy signalled toward the bus (bus-o) stop. i went over and found another set of jumpsuited douchebags with identical occupations. there i found the wheels, loaded in the front of the truck with about 15 other chumps' bikes blocking it in. they called over el capitan, who spoke a small bit of english. un-fucking-believably, they wouldn't let me pay to get it right there. i have to get on the goddamned train and go two goddamned stops and pay 2 thousand goddamned yens to get it back. "thank you (with a modifier denoting politeness)" i said. i wondered why i said that while walking away, and further wondered why i didn't just jump on the fuckin truck and take the bike. i doubt they would have stopped me, as they surely would have been dumbfounded by how wrong i was doing things.
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