Time and Money

The two most precious possessions for a traveller are time and money. Both are terrible to run out of.

Having spent an hour in transit, I end up 120 seconds late for my first shift. Much worse than it sounds, being in a culture of impeccible punctuality. Luckily, this work place is quite possibly the most casual in all of Japan, and they let it slide. My mentor, who is known as "Doctor" for some reason, strolls around the place pointing out the various quirks of the shop. We have 19 different varieties of english beer (including "Harry Porter") served in pints and half-pints, fish and chips, salt outside the doors to ward away demons, and a sign writer with a sense of humour. The toilets are split not into the usual "male" and `female", but instead into "happy" and "lonely". If you want two people in the toilet, you have to pay by the minute. Rather than happy hour there is "unhappy hour", whereby 10 dashes of tabasco sauce are added to every drink after 2am. We also have music - 6000 records, CDs and LPs to be exact (what is an LP anyway?).

I pour my first ever pint of beer. I say "omataseishimashita" (sorry to keep you waiting) to customers. Doctor tells me to help myself to lemonade from the tap and leftover bread, and any beer that is not going to be drunk is up for grabs too. Life is sweet! Of course, my time is spent in the much less glamorous end of the bar, the kitchen. I fulfill the classic stereotype of the poor british lad by peeling a few potatoes for making mash potatoes. In Japan, Fish and chips, bangers and mash and chilli con carne are exotic fare indeed, and the Japanese customers indulge in the atmosphere by communicating with gestures and broken English, no matter how many times we assure them we can speak Japanese.

Midnight comes along, and it is time to leave Britian for Japan once more. I rush down to the train station, smiling at the sight of the businessmen and trendy young people milling around the street in a drunken stupor on a Wednesday night. Little do I know that I am about to join them...I misread the train timetable, the last train left one minute ago. Oh the power that the smallest quantity of time can hold...one minute means the different between sleeping on my futon and milling on the street with the drunks of Shibuya, penniless. I have only enough money to get home, and no more, as I did not plan to be spending a night out in Shibuya! Eventually I return to the pub and explain my situation, to which Doctor immediately tries to give me a wad of cash big enough to stay at any luxury hotel. I end up borrowing 2000 yen ($20), which gives me enough left over to grab something to eat as well. I figure my money should be right now, I have enough for a night at the manga cafe, a train home and breakfast if I need it.

My love affair with manga cafes intensifies this night, as I find quite possibly the best manga cafe in Japan. Ordinary manga cafes have high-speed internet, comfortable leather seats and a range of soft drinks and premium coffees. Here I have all that, a collection of DVDs, flavoured milks, a playstation 2 and soft serve ice cream in genuine ice cream cones! The last thing I want to do here is sleep. But sleep I do, breathing in second-hand smoke (I am in the smoking section for some reason), and listening to very un-sleepy Jazz music played over the speakers. A manga cafe is a little bit like a casino - a strange twilight zone where you forget whether it is day or night amid the constant lighting and buzz of activity around you. I wake up in this twilight zone and check my phone...its 4am, back to sleep. I have an alarm set for 6:50am, enough time for me to help myself to a cappuccino, some orange juice and cornflakes before my time expires at 7. I wake up again and check my phone...just a cute little animation with the word `late!`. Huh? 9am?! But...but....but...my alarm?! I resist the temptation to step on my phone, and rush past the cappuccinos and fruit juice to the front counter.

But it is too late, the damage has been done. The value packs at manga cafes are very cheap, but the overtime is not. The first 6 hours cost $12, but for the last two I am up for $8. Normally, this would be cause for a minor grumble. However, with my scant funds, it is much more problematic. I dump my coins on the table and say `here is $4`. He looks at me. I look at him. `and umm....I dont have any more money actually`. Fortunately, they have a deadbeat form for people like me, where you can write out an IOU and run to the bank and back. After writing down my name, address, phone number (They check by ringing it), I feel they are very trusting to allow me out the door without paying. Then they throw in `oh, and if you dont come back soon, we will report you to the police`. Ah, I see...

I dont carry my main ATM card for security reasons, but I do have a backup emergency cash fund for times like these. I feel very clever! Until I go to enter my PIN number...what?! Ok, it must be...What?! I know my third try will be my last, and spend about twenty minutes pacing back and forth in the cold, early morning rain trying to make the number appear in my head. I try one last time...DAMN! The machine does not eat my card fortunately, but refuses to let me try again. I go back to the train station, sell a few old train tickets I never used back to the station (they will give you refunds for anything here), and head back to the manga cafe, defeated. While walking, I interrogate my phone, the source of all my troubles...turns out it was set to `manner mode`. It decided it would not be very good manners to make an alarm noise, and so it emitted a feeble vibration instead.

I empty the entire contents of my wallet out on the counter, down to the last 1 yen coin. He counts it out...You owe us 380 yen, and you have 320 yen. You are still 60 yen short. 60 yen?! Thats 60 cents! 7 minutes of overtime! Once again however, it is the smallest deficit of time, the smallest deficit of money that makes all the difference, and so I remain on the deadbeat register. I could have walked out a free man if I had just not bought that bag of chips yesterday, or if I had woken up 10 minutes earlier...At least the guy sees the humour in the situation, and tries to stop himself laughing as he follows the company line - `If you do not come here by 6 o clock tommorow, we will report you to the...ok, well, there is a possibility that we might report you to the police`.

I walk home with 3 yen in my pocket, huddling in my jacket as rain patters down around me. I want food, I want a drink, and I want a shower. But more importantly, I want to take my entire life savings with me the next time I go anywhere.