Sons of Loki

I’m back in McDonalds. No idea why I come here; it’s certainly not for the overpriced food. But I guess it’s the familiarity. I know what I’m getting. I know that the staff will say “<Welcome>”, “<What drink would you like?>”, “<Are you eating in?>”, and “<Thank you please wait>”. In fact, when I ordered today, the cashier was mute for some reason, so I just said “Big mac setto. Orenji juusu. Kochira. Hai.” without the other side of the conversation.

Woke up this morning afternoon feeling glum as usual. Then I went out on the balcony and the sun was shining, the air was warm, the sakura was in blossom and there was a scent of spring in the air. I always find smell induces nostalgia in me. There was a particular smell in Uguisudani, where I used to live, and today it had returned to Fuchu-shi.

I thought I’d cycle to Musashi-koganei for a coffee and a bit of study, to try and begin gearing up for the big test in a month. (A month!) But then I got out on my bike, the weather was beautiful (easily matching an English summer day), I had “Katamari on the Rocks” in my ears and I cycled past the baseball teams practicing and under the falling blossom petals and past the big bowl of Ajinomoto Station and thought life is beautiful, I’m going to cycle to Shinjuku again.

So I did. There’s not much you can say about Route 20 from Fuchu-shi to Shinjuku-ku. It’s got bike shops and family restaurants and bric-a-brac shops and PC depots and houses and more family restaurants. I made pretty good progress, reaching Meidaimae within an hour. As I got closer to Shinjuku, though, and as the NTT DoCoMo building loomed on the horizon like … uh … the Empire State Building looms over Brooklyn, the crowds on the pavement increased and I had to cross the road. Through the whole journey my chain came off seven times, seeing as it’s pretty old and rusty, I only have one gear, and that I tend to push my little old lady’s bike past its capabilities. In one case the chain came off the pedal gear, resulting in me having to grab my emergency screwdriver (thank god I had that with me), partially disassemble the chain case, and thread it back on.

Then I saw the cops. A group of three, obviously bored. Hey, what’s this? A gaijin on a bike! I had the misfortune to stop at a red light, so the three of them come bumbling over.

Cop 1: “<A bike.>”
Cop 2: “<A bike!>”
Me (removing earphones): “Huh?”
Cop 3: “<The bike.>”
Me: “<The bike…?>”
Cop 1: “<Whose bike is this?>”
Me: “<My university’s bike.>”
Cop 2 (into radio): “<Registration six-three-four-eight-nine-seven-zero…>”
Cop 3: “<What university?>”
Me: “<Tokyo Gaidai.>”
Cop 2: “<…four-four-three-one-seven-one…>”
Cop 1: “<Oh, Tokyo Gaikokugo Daigaku? Ah, it says on the bike, here.>”
Cop 3: “<Oh, Tokyo Gaidai.>”
Cop 2: “<…nine-six-five-six-eight…>
Me (exasperated, pulling out wallet): “<Here’s the bike registration and my student card.>”
Cop 1: “<Oh, I see.>”
Cop 1 (apparently losing his mind): “<Say, what country’re you from?>”
Me: “<Ah, England.>”
Cop 1: “<Oh, England.>”
Cop 2: <”…eight-four-two-one-six, over.”>
Cop 3: (not at all sorry) “<Sorry for interrupting you.>”
Me: “<Everything’s alright, then?>”
Me: “<Turns out that just because I’ve got a beard and no epicanthic folds and I’m on a bike, I’m not necessarily a criminal?>”
Cop 1: “<Yes, excuse us.>”
Me: “<No problem! Excuse me!>”

At least it’s funny in hindsight. And I didn’t show my gaikokujin card, though I did kind of fold by showing them my student ID. I just wish I’d had the guts to ask, “Why have you stopped me?” because the answer is “Because we think this bike is stolen,” and … Yeah, racial profiling in action. I have never seen a Japanese person on a bike being stopped.

Anyway, these things happen. No sense in letting it get you down…