(March 2013)
When we moved out of our last apartment the
landlord sent round an agent to give the place a once over before we got the deposit back. We’d had an unexpectedly good relationship and it was
relatively painless. I’d geed myself up for a bit of an argument, so the fact
that he didn’t even try to gouge us on the price for a new set of tatami mats
was almost a disappointment. He did, though, charge us for a new internal door
and sadly I could have no complaints about that.
Two weeks later it comes back with a little
sticky note attached. My name’s wrong, apparently, so despite the hanko
matching they can’t process anything. Hmm, makes you wonder what the point of
the hanko is in the first place if it can’t act as proof of identity, but when
in Rome. Fill it in again, this time including my middle name, and off it goes
once more.
Two weeks later it comes back with a little
sticky note attached. My name’s wrong, apparently, so despite the hanko
matching they can’t process anything. Hmm, makes you wonder what the point of
the hanko is in the first place if it can’t act as proof of identity, but when
in Rome. Fill it in again, this time reversing my name order, and off it goes
once more.
Two weeks later it comes back with a little
sticky note attached. My name’s wrong, apparently, so despite the hanko
matching they can’t process anything. Hmm, makes you wonder what the point of
the hanko is in the first place if it can’t act as proof of identity. Fill it
in again, this time in romaji, and off it goes once more.
Two weeks later it comes back with a little
sticky note attached. My name’s wrong, apparently, so despite the hanko
matching they can’t process anything. Hmm, makes you wonder what the point of
the hanko is in the first place. Fill it in again, this time changing
something, maybe, because I’ve lost track of all the various permutations of
names and alphabets I may or may not have already tried, and off it goes once
more.
Two weeks later it comes back with a little
sticky note attached. My name’s wrong, apparently, so despite the hanko
matching they can’t process anything. Hmm. Fill it in again, this time starting
to doubt my own identity and existence as a separate, sentient being. Who is
this person they need a name from? Maybe it’s not really me? Maybe I’m not
really me? Maybe I’m the imposter? How
could I, how could they, how could anyone know for sure? Who am, in a very real
sense, I? And off it goes once more.
Two weeks later it comes back with a little
sticky note attached. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND YOUR SHITTY LITTLE NOTE. IT’S ME.
IT’S CLEARLY FUCKING ME! HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES? DO YOU WANT ME TO SIGN IT IN
FUCKING BLOOD? LOOK! I’M DOING IT! IF IT’S BLOOD YOU WANT THEN IT’S BLOOD YOU’LL
FUCKING GET. Arseholes. All I want is a squat-rack. Is that too much to ask? And off it goes once more.
Two weeks later it comes back with a little
sticky I WILL KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP. YOU AND ALL YOUR FAMILY. I WILL DO YOUR
CHILDREN FIRST AND MAKE YOU WATCH I SWEAR TO GOD.
Later that day I get a call from the British
consulate. The Certificate of No Impediment they issued to me – the one I had
to pay thousands of yen for, the one I had to travel to Osaka and back for the
sake of a 2 minutes conversation for, the one that cost me days worth of time
and money – has a spelling mistake. In my name. It won’t actually affect the
transliteration into katakana, but there might be issues at the ward office
when we try to register our marriage. They might not believe I’m me. Probably
best to come back to Osaka and do it again.
It’s at this point that one of the doors
acquires a substantial hole at about chest height. Plywood splinters, it also transpires,
are surprisingly sharp.
And off it goes once more...
And off it goes once more...
You really got the essence of your frustration through on that one and all you needed to do was cut and paste. I got mad, although I would have punched the door before I started thinking about the family murder threats.
ReplyDeleteAll that for a few thousand yen a month, yet someone who is white could steal my credit card and use it for hundreds of thousands of yen inpurchases while signing the receipt with something like "penis head", written in perfectly legible English.
Well, empty threats against anonymous functionaries cost nothing. Those doors are surprisingly expensive.
DeleteI have never once seem a cashier check my signature against the card. It does rather make you question the point of if all
I am not, by nature, a violent person. I have my moments but have learned to channel them through training. You'll see why being unable to join a gym was some kind of perfect storm.
ReplyDeleteNow we've got a garage a home gym is something I'm giving serious consideration to. A rack and a bench, a bar and some plates and with the saving on gym fees it'd probably pay for itself in a couple of years, even if I had to get most of it new. Where'd you get all the stuff for yours?