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In the case of Sad Girl, I don't know what to think other than perhaps I let slip yet another opportunity to be the one to step out of my comfort zone and tear another soul from its own boundaries of comfort, and perhaps frolic and skip together down a pachinko-lit street in the suburbs. Previously, perhaps a month before the encounter with Sad Girl, I first found Taco Girl. I don't concern myself nearly as much with the "what ifs" with Taco Girl, though. I know where I can find her, should I ever receive the boost in my confidence or lose the inhibitions which prevent me from walking up to strangers and introducing myself.
Taco Girl has a name, but I didn't have the nerve to ask for it when I met her. The reason for her alias in my thoughts is logical. She works part time at the local, and possibly only, Mexican restaurant here in the suburbs of Tokyo. After leaving the United States, I didn't really expect to be able to find any form of Mexican food for a long time. I left without any sadness regarding a drift away from what so many people classify as "American" food, for I know that fast food has seeped deep into the arteries of Japanese society along with pop music; however, I also left with the fear of not tasting perfection of Mexican cooking for at least the next five years. So, naturally, when I discovered the fast food restaurant cleverly disguised as a Mexican restaurant, I had to try it.
The first two times I attempted to dine there were unsuccessful. By the time I made it to the door, business hours were still technically running. I looked through the glass doors, past the life-size storm trooper wearing a sombrero, and saw a woman violently sweeping a mop around the restaurant. For whatever reason, the last order at this fast food restaurant is approximately thirty minutes before closing time. Mop Woman was not to be bothered.
The third time I attempted it, I was successful. As if finally reaching the Holy Grail, I was so awestruck to comprehend that I was actually standing inside, not locked on the other side of the glass. That's when my first, and so far, only encounter with Taco Girl.
I don't know why, but only one person ever works at a time at that restaurant, or so I've noticed up to this point. She was alone that day, just like what I assume would be any other day, and mildly concern to see foreigners standing in front of her, possibly about to die from excitement. My other American friend and I were craving tacos, and may have seemed a little too eager as we ordered.
The tacos didn't turn out to be anything amazing for the overpricing, but she was a genuine person. It didn't seem like the restaurant gets very much business on days where there aren't soccer games going on for the J League in the stadium a few hundred meters away, so I imagine that it must be lonely to work a shift all alone, without even the hope of a customer to come in and bring some sort of change through the air. Perhaps if I had taken even a few moments to introduce myself, which would otherwise completely destroy the vertical relationship of service person and customer, the monotony could have broken, even if only for those moments.
As a foreigner in a land where vertical relationships exist everywhere, there's a certain allowance. We're not expected to behave like locals or understand the complexities of society, so even if we do understand why things are the way they are, we can feign ignorance and make the connections that would otherwise cause ridiculous amounts of tension and unease. I wouldn't go nearly as far as to say it's our duty as foreigners to break social boundaries, but it should still be recognized that no matter how much time we spend in another world, and no matter how much we may understand about the social rules that dictate the lives that people live, we will never be accepted by all parts of that society as one of its own. As such outsiders, it's not unacceptable to break rules, since our very existence is already infringing on them.
But back to walking up to people somewhat randomly and strumming up conversation, I acknowledge that it's awkward. I acknowledge that it's awkward for both the giving and receiving parties. About a week prior to the Sad Girl incident, which I shall describe in detail in the coming paragraphs, while in Shibuya with two of my other foreign friends, we were stopped on the sidewalk by an Indian-Canadian man who arrived in the country at approximately the same time as we. In that time, approximately two months, this man decided to not even attempt to learn the language of the country, which I can't even pretend to understand. To live in a country for as long as possibly two years but refuse to even begin to attempt the language that is necessary to execute daily functions is absurd to me. But, that may be me. In any case, this man stopped us. He obviously was lonely and looking for the companionship of some fellow English speakers lost in an alien land. But, I have to say that it was more than a little awkward. And so, I worry that, should I begin to truly enact my plan to meet more people, I will come off as creepy, or possibly even more awkward than I actually am, if that's possible.
However, I still intend to do it. Sad Girl was the perfect opportunity in so many ways. Somehow, even though there was obviously a somewhat less awkward way to approach her, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I regret that by the time I was ready, she was gone.
After running from the Nakano train station to a concert hall a few blocks down the street, the other American and I barely made it in the doors in time to watch a wind orchestra concert. It was amazing, and more than worth the run, but afterward, it left our stomachs still empty. We decided to stop for dinner on the way home, just something quick, as our student lives seem to have settled to. But, since the concert let out, there were people going in to restaurants all around Nakano. We stopped instead for a short while at a coffee shop, deciding that it would be best to just grab some food somewhere in the area around where we would have to transfer train lines. Time slipped past quickly, and it was past 22:30 when we reached Musashi Sakai. Most places are closed for business at that point in the night, other than bars and the occasional fast food restaurant. Of course, that excludes KFC, which closes relatively early. Instead of trying for a Japanese food restaurant, as the ones which weren't actually bars were closed, we stopped in the McDonald's, cringing slightly at the idea of grease settling into our arteries. As much as people may make the excuse that McDonald's is healthier in Japan, it's still not healthy.
He went to the restroom, and I stood in line to order a grilled chicken value meal, complete with a medium size Qoo to drink. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young woman, probably a college student, sitting in the corner with a small paper cup of black coffee with a stirrer propped inside it. Again, in Tokyo, it's unusual to find anyone alone, ever. Even in the suburbs, it's unusual to see someone dining alone, especially if that someone is female. It's just not done here.
I took my order and sat down a few seats away from Sad Girl, who played with her coffee, grasping more and more tightly to her cream colored trench coat with dark seams. It's difficult not to stare. I've noticed myself blatantly staring at people sometimes, and have taken it upon myself to stop that behavior in myself. So, as I sat there munching on fries and waiting for the return of my adventure companion, I glanced out of the corner of my eye. Sad Girl too, seemed to have taken an interest in me. She is far more subtle at foreigner staring than many others I've encountered on the trains in the past, making sure to keep me only in her peripheral vision, and out of her direct line of sight.
But why do I think she was sad? Being alone doesn't mean being sad. The way she stared down into her coffee cup when she wasn't looking my way clearly painted that she wasn't mean to be alone that night. She hadn't bought any food. There was only the coffee, the mixer and her. She was waiting for someone. But that someone didn't come into McDonald's to find her. Instead a woman walked over to her and asked if the seat next to her was open. After she affirmed that it was, she got up to leave.
I happened to be leaving at that same moment. When she passed me on her way to the door and my way to the garbage separating area, she looked directly into my eyes. "Sumimasen�" I was confused. I had spent the last several minutes contemplating whether or not to get up and talk to her, and here she was in front of me, speaking a single phrase to me, and no other person. Excuse me. It was nothing.
And then she was gone.
As we walked back toward the train station, we discussed Sad Girl, and why she was so interesting. I decided that if we should find her, which is incredibly unlikely, I would take that step. I would introduce myself in a much less awkward way than the usual.
Just as we were about to climb the stairs in the station, we passed by a couple. A girl was smiling and glowing as a boy smiled back. Sad Girl was sad no longer.
Is it wrong that I still wish that I had been the one to take away her sadness? |
