Sarujento Naito

September 3rd, 2009 | 0 Comments | courtesy, Customer Service, Police, Security / Safety, Trains |

A couple of weeks ago some friends met in Roppongi (六本木 ) to bid farewell to another friend that was leaving Japan for good. After dinner, the women in the group wanted to go dancing. But it turned out to be their bad luck night for they were in the company of all the wrong men. Despite the fact that it was a Saturday night, some of the males were married guys who were mindful of their drinking as they were thinking of their duties the next day. The others were simply not interested in dancing or in not being talk due to noise. And all men were united in their unwillingness to cough up \7,000 to go into a club whose courtesy drink comes in a glass that is five centimeters tall and 3 millimeters wide. Since we were already in a place that was nice, good and cheap and the conversation was interesting, we decided to stay.

Eventually the time came to go catch the last train of the night. Everybody headed for whichever line suited them best. One friend and I had the same destination since we were both staying with a wonderful lady who had not accompanied us that evening since she is a devout person who would neither dare nor risk upsetting the Hindu gods.

Our trip was not long, but we had to transfer to a different line twice. When we reached Shinagawa Station (品川駅), we ran to catch the last train to Shinbanba (新馬場). We failed. Nevertheless, we were only about two kilometers away from our hostess’ home, so we decided to walk.


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As it always happens when you go for an unexpected stroll, you get to talk about anything and everything. We did so was we followed the railroad tracks. At some point, however, we realized that we had been walking for about two hours and there were no signs of Shinbanba Station.

As it also tends to happen with unexpected strolls, we were lost. My friend wanted to turn back, but I convinced that was not a good idea since we would only be heading back to Shinagawa; we needed to know where we were relative to Shinbanba. She did not want to knowingly wander aimlessly, but I insisted once more that we needed to keep walking while being on the lookout for an area map or a police station.

After a few more minutes of wearing out our shoe soles and hopefully burning some calories, we saw a train station. Since we were on one side of it, we began to search for a sign that would tell us the name of the station. Then, above some street I saw a sign that read Ōsaki City (大崎市). At that point it became clear we needed to find a police station, which I knew could not be far from the station.

My friend was not very keen on the idea of going to talk to the police; she was somehow concerned about having some trouble. I told her that, as far as I knew, in Japan it was not illegal to be lost. She replied that in many countries of the former Warsaw Pact people remain weary of law and order institutions.

Just as we were about to enter the police box, I realized that the policeman (an older man) sitting at the desk near the entrance was giving some young guy a talking-to. As I watched the young man nod and bow incessantly I felt the police officer’s body language indicated he did not want us to interrupt, so I told my friend we should wait outside. Almost immediately, another cop came out. He asked how he could be of service to us. I explained that we were lost and needed to get to Shinbanba.

“Shinbanba? That place is kind of far from here. My suggestion is that you better find a coffee shop nearby and wait for the first morning train. By the way, where did you come from?” The good officer could not restrain his laughter when we said we had come from Shinagawa. He recommended, yet again, that we seriously consider going to some coffee shop.

However, we insisted we would rather walk, so the cop told the youngest officer at the station (who had come out by then) to go to fetch the area’s maps. While we waited, the middle-aged officer asked about which country we came from. After hearing our answers, he began to speak Russian to my friend, assuming she belonged to those generations of Soviet Bloc citizens that were required to learn it in school. He only addressed me in English, but he was aware that Costa Rica is a neutral country (the propaganda machine back home ought to be proud) that has no army.

When the younger policeman came back with the maps the older officer began to talk to him in English, asking him to use it when explaining to us how to reach our destination. The younger officer, embarrassed and red-faced, told his senior that doing so would be too difficult for him. The older cop gave him a little shove and a tap on the head, telling him to get his act together because promotions could come by a little faster if he became proficient in at least another language.

Needless to say, I asked the senior policeman if they were required to learn other languages. He told me that for some time now that National Police Agency has been asking its officers to “voluntarily” learn another language and a little bit about the geography and history of the countries where that language is spoken. The objective is to improve the security of the Japanese people as well as the services the police provides to the foreign community in Japan. According to him, they are usually advised to learn English, Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese, Russian, Farsi and Tagalo.

We engaged in some additional chitchat about what my friend and I thought about Japan, Japanese people and how difficult local the language is –especially with respect to politeness and formality. After a short while, I told omawarisan (お巡りさん –a term of endearment use by the public to address police officers) we did not want to take any more of his time and that we would be grateful if he were kind enough to tell us how to reach our destination.

The officer made one last and futile effort to dissuade us from walking. According to him, not only was the walk long, it had a lot of twists and turns as well. Then he asked whether we could “allow” him to explain our rout in Japanese. After the third time we had gone over the details of our second stroll of the evening, omawarisan made sure we had memorized our rout. The younger cop, however, dashed into the police box and brought us a pen and a piece of paper so we could take some notes.

I thanked both cops for their kindness and time once they finished giving us directions. I asked about their names. The younger officer gave his right away. The older omawarisan, grinning playfully, said his name was just “Night Sergeant” (サルジェントナイト –sarujento naito). I conveyed my surprise that he was working the night shift. He shot back energetically and enthusiastically that he loved his shift because the most interesting characters and situations come about at night. There are various kinds of foreigners; those like ourselves, lost and in need of basic assistance; but there are also those that need to learn their lives in Japan do not have to be circumscribed to working jobs in the domains of the night and the groin. In addition, there are youths who must be reminded that they cannot afford even one little derailment in their lives, for that always leads to a free fall.

My friend and I bid our goodbye to the two omawarisan and got on our way. As we walked, she commented that although initially she had not believed me when I said we should turn to the police for help, she had been delighted by kindness and friendliness of the cops with whom we spoke that night. The experience had been the complete opposite of what she had heard about the Japanese police.

Our serendipitous excursion finally came to an end when we got “home” sometime after 4am (the trains start running at 5 am…). A few hours later, as we recounted our fortuitous adventure to our host, my strolling companion mentioned she even dreamt about the omawarisan. While clearly intrigued, my Indian friend did not ask about the dream; the sparkle in the eyes of our eurofriend and her mischievous smile spoke volumes about Sarujento Naito.

The Train & The Cab Driver

July 15th, 2009 | 0 Comments | Customer Service, Public Transportation, Taxicab, Trains |

My previous post’s story about my friend’s customer service experience made me remember an interesting experience I had last year.

Due to a very severe thunderstorm, trains were stopped for a couple of hours. The inclemency of the weather was so wretched that lightning hit the very station where I was waiting out the storm. When at last there was an announcement through the loudspeaker about the resumption of service, some instructions were given to those passengers who were traveling the last stations along the line. I failed to understand them, partly because I was tired; partly on account of my language deficiencies, but also because either the announcer did not know how to use a microphone or the loudspeaker was nothing more than a broken buzzer.

I recall boarding the train and setting my phone’s alarm to vibrate ten minutes before the last stop on that train line since I had to catch another train from there. I fell happily asleep was woken up later by another passenger who told me we had arrived. Still somewhat dazed I managed to tell him that I was going to the last station, but he clarified for me that where we stopped would be the final stop of that train, which would not continue because of the possibility that felled trees could be on the tracks. My fellow passenger told me there had been an announcement indicating that outside the station there were buses awaiting to take us to the remaining stations of that particular rail line. On our way to the parking lot he asked what my destination was and, upon hearing my answer, indicated that we had get on bus No. 5, which was bound for the last three stations on that line.

The bus ride seemed to go on forever, finally arriving at my intended station right before midnight and hours after my other train left. The remaining three passengers got off and were greeted by two staff members of the railway company. I asked them what they suggested I do since there were no more trains to my final destination. They answered they knew where I was going and that they were going to call a taxicab for me. Despite my experience in Japan, as a Costa Rican I could not help but think that I would not pay the fortune the cab fare might cost; I played dumb and asked if there was an affordable hotel nearby. The station attendant told me not to worry, that my taxi ride should not be too long because it was so late in the night.

When the cab arrived three minutes later, the station master went to talk to the driver. While I was not close enough to listen, I could tell the driver was getting scolded for something or other. The taxi then turned around and left. The station master ran back to where I was standing to ask me to forgive the additional delay, informing me that it had been necessary for the taxicab to return to its base since there was a problem (it went unexplained).

Once taxi showed up again, the station master and attendant apologized profusely for making me wait and because the railway company had not managed well the contingencies of the day. I got in the taxi and was politely greeted by the driver, who made sure he got confirmation of my destination. Even I became a bit concerned when I saw him turn on the cab meter, I said nothing; I was too tired to have a discussion in Japanese.

The taxi driver was an older man that turned out to be very friendly and talkative. When he asked where I was from I replied that I came from a small Central American country called Costa Rica. He immediately picked up on it and said that he knew a few things about my country. He went over obvious stuff, that we have no army, that we are a neutral country with many national parks. Then he asked me if congress was still made up of 57 members and whether their election still carried out by closed party list. That level of detailed knowledge greatly surprised me, so I asked why he knew so much minutiae about such a small and far-away country. The driver answered that he had been a high school teacher and principal. I allowed myself to be ingenuous and commented that it must be tough to work the night shift as a taxi driver. He surprised once again. He said that he had retired early and that he was a cabby for fun!

As I listened on dumbstruck, the driver explained that as a child he always dreamed of being a cabby. But his parents, who had also been teachers, pushed him to study and to have an intellectual profession. Nevertheless, he never lost his true yearning and that is why he retired as soon as his youngest daughter graduated from college. According to his story, he told his wife that he was leaving Tokyo to go drive a taxi somewhere in the mountains, that he would be truly grateful if she supported and accompanied him, and that he would fulfill his dreams regardless of what she thought.

Among the many things he talked about, the cabby told me why he preferred to work at night. There is less traffic, it is not so hot and night customers tend to be better conversation partners. He said that even Japanese are very chatty customers when they travel at night accompanied by a taxi driver and the stars.

As we rode on, I could not stop myself from looking at the taxi meter and worrying that perhaps there had been something I misunderstood to the point that perhaps I might have unwittingly bought myself an expensive trip. To take my mind away from this, at some point I asked the cabby what the problem had been when he first arrived at the station. He answered that the station master chastised him for his poor presentation –he had forgotten his cap. I thought it was funny, but the driver said, with great seriousness, that the station master was right, a good presentation is a sacred thing at work.

When at long last we arrived home, the cabby pushed a button on the meter to print a receipt. He had to have seen the look of horror on my face because, as soon as he gave me the paper, with a joyful and contagious laughter he told me that I only had to sign as confirmation that I had been taken to my destination and the train company would pay his slightly over ¥30,000 fare.

I asked him if it would not have been cheaper for the train company to put me in a room in some hotel near the station from which I rode the taxi. He said that because it was low season (and a weekday) one could find rooms for ¥7,000, even in a Ryokan (a traditional Japanese hotel). According to him, however, the railway company would not suggest the hotel option because that would be tantamount to presuming it can trespass on a customer who is, in all likelihood, in a hurry to get to his destination since he was traveling with a preset schedule.

We bid farewell and the cabby left. I climbed the stairs toward my apartment, only to find out that I was not carrying my home keys.