I am beginning to understand and appreciate the confessional nature of the Catholic Church. There is something cathartic to admitting ones failures and I had one last night. The short of it is: I ordered, ate and enjoyed a Domino's pizza. I am the first to admit that I did not come to Tokyo to eat Domino's pizza, especially given their politics--which made my failure all the worse-- but sometimes a food just calls out and the past several days the Domino's pizza store about 200 feet from my front door was sending me very special vibes. I think it's the presence of so much Zen Buddism here. But before I would completely debase myself by walking to the storefront window and enduring the awkward ordering process that would involve inelegant pointing accompanied with a surfeit of nodding and fake smiling, I made a deal with myself: if I could figure out how to order a Domino's pizza on-line from that particular store for pick-up, then I would allow myself the indulgence of a big old pie with lots of pepperoni and hot melty cheese. Seemed like a plan. I love plans.
Before I went to the website, I went to my favorite continuing education site: YouTube. First up after a little Googling for Domino's and Tokyo resulted in a 9 minute and 30 second video of a woman who claims she is going to show you how to order Domino's pizza on line in Tokyo, but what she really does is takes 9 minutes and 30 seconds to lament how small the portions of everything are in Japan, lots of grousing about how expensive pizzas are, and then proceeds to take the viewer through nothing more than a systematic clicking of the on-line menu. Must tsk-tsk-ing was involved in this excursion. She did not, as I had hoped, help me figure out which Domino's was 200 feet away, nor did she actually place an order. I'm not sure, in the end, exactly what the purpose of her YouTube contribution was, but it did not further the cause for how to order pizza in Tokyo on line from Domino's. I did learn one thing: an option for a topping in Tokyo is mayonnaise. I'll let that concept settle in and suggest we move on. (My YouTube guide made an unkind allusion to the French but I am not about to pursue that line of thinking.)
After an inordinate and embarrassing amount of time spent Googling and Google mapping (they don't make it easy), I landed on what I determined was, in fact, My Neighborhood Domino's Pizza store front. Then there was the registration, the arcane Google translate headings and boxes that kept moving and, to my shock and delight, no request for a credit card or even a PayPal account. Once I registered with my name, email and [rented] cell phone number, I was presented with a number of ordering options.
I would like to say that I understood them all, but that would be a bold face lie. What I did understand was that if I ordered on-line and selected the "pick-up" option as opposed to home delivery, I qualified for buy-one-get-one-free. At this point, it would be advisable to look around the room, take a quick inventory of the number of pizza eaters in attendance, and proceed from there. But I was raised by Mildred. One does not pass up any opportunity to get anything free and so that is the option I chose. Pay for a large one-topping pizza and get a large one-topping pizza for nothing! It's almost America! I comforted myself with the voice of my YouTube tutor reminding me that indeed, the portions in Japan are smaller than they are in the USA. I did not take into account that Domino's is a USA-based company and so when I presented myself at the counter for my pick up order, the pizzas are, in fact, LARGE. There are, however, no X-tra large options. Large is as big as we go here. Were it not for the fact that breakfast pizza to me is the equivalent of Holy Communion to the Church, I would have been overwhelmed. But the fact is, I'm thrilled! This is such a terrible thing to admit here in the City of Sushi, but this is what it's come to. Sometimes pizza is the answer.
One final chapter on the pizza before I leave for my trip to Akihabara, the City's Anime and Magna District. I am still struggling with the money here and ferreting out the correct denominations. Somehow, having foreign currency feels no different than giving someone Monopoly money. This is a dangerous line of thinking. On more occasions than I care to admit, I dig all of the coins from my purse and present them in my open hand to a clerk who is always gracious and kind and never rolls so much as a tired eyeball during these exchanges. Last night, I took what I thought were two 10,000 yen bills with me to pay for my pizza. (Total cost was 19900 yen or about $20.) What I actually laid out for the young Domino's counter worker were two 100,000 bills (each one the equivalent of about $100). Without missing a beat, she handed me back one of them and then proceed to count out my change in new, crisp 10,000 yen notes. I thought later how quickly she could have pocketed an easy hundred bucks or more but it just was not anything that would even occur to her. I would like to think that visiting Japanese would get the same treatment in the US, but in the face of a minimum wage worker with a quick mind, it might not go as well.
And now we are at Akihabara, where terminal cuteness, music that sounds like it was recorded by the Chipmonks on speed, and Maid Cafe's reign.
The Maid Cafe's are brokered by young women dressed up as what has been described in the guide book as "French Maids," but that's not even close to being accurate. My way of describing them would be to say they are young girls dressed as little girls, with short, pouffy dresses, hair ribbons, lacy ankle socks or thigh-high's. Their primary job seems to be to get people [men] to come into the store or restaurant where other Maids will gush and fawn over them. They work the crowds outside very aggressively either down on the street level or from balconies, calling out to passersby and entreating them to come into the store. I watched as two young Maids on a second floor balcony exchanged flirty talk and gestures with a really creepy guy down on the street. Sadly, he seemed to think the young women had an authentic interest in him, or perhaps I've just been away from the male-ego-business for too long. I have seen the stupid look on his face before: it's when men are in the presence of beautiful women. This exchange and set up is supposedly all very innocent and allows even creepy guys like him to be the object of much gushing and fawning from pretty girls. From a Westerner's eyes, let me just say that I would wonder about a career path for these young girls. What sort of employer is looking for a potential employee with solid experience as a Maid Cafe hostess? I tried to take photos of a number of them, but they politely declined the opportunity. Same for a number of stores with anime characters in their display cases. I did manage to get some good shots inside bigger stores, but, in the end, I have to admit that I don't understand the appeal.
Walking around the streets of Akihabara ones eyes are assaulted with every imaginable version of visual cuteness (big eyed girls, some with big boobs, bearing elaborate costumes usually dripping/slipping off them) and everywhere there is a bad sound system playing music that sounds like a song from an unreleased Chipmonk's album or a girl-garage-band on helium. I wanted to at least go and check it out and so I did.
But not before I also checked out one of the stores that featured adult-only comic books. This is a phenomenon I am unfamiliar with so one of my self-assignments for the day was to go to an adult comic book store and buy a dirty comic book for my friend Steve V. Even more interesting. I swear that the two guys working the counter at Mandrake's adult-only fourth floor were the exact Japanese equivalent of John Cusack and Jack Black from High Fidelity. I so wanted to take their photos. They both waited on me at the check out. I'm sure an old American woman perusing their collection and then buying something was as much of an oddity to them as it was to me. But I did score a dirty comic book. You'll need to check with Steve V if you want a peak. One was as much as I could bring myself to purchase. For the record, there are no exploitive men-and-men dirty comic books. At least not at Mandrake's. I asked. Final note: It's surprisingly easy to communicate about smut between people who do not speak the same language.
I managed to find all of these cultural treasures today thanks to a young woman working in the gift shop of what may or may not have been the Anime Museum. It took me at least an hour to try to find the building and even when I did, I still wasn't convinced I was in the right place. When I said that I was there to visit the official Tokyo Anime Museum, she dissuaded me from any such notion, saying it wasn't much to see, was really just a small room and that I was essentially wasting my time. (It was another lost-leader from my guide book. When will I ever learn?) I noticed as soon as she began speaking English that hers was not the language of a Japanese- English class but straight off the streets of America. Sure enough. She was born and raised in LA, and moved with her folks back to Tokyo about three years ago. She is not as enamored with Japan as I am, which I can understand from a 20-year-old's point of view, but I was so tickled to be speaking English with someone without having to parse my vocabulary. I ended up telling her my Domino's story (an abbreviated version to be sure) and invited her over to help finish it up. She suggested I come back and visit her if I need more guidance and what I didn't tell her was that there is no way in hell I'd ever find my way back to wherever it was I stumbled on her in the first place. But I liked her immensely and wish her well. She seemed lost and sad. Like one of the anime characters but more modestly dressed.
With that, I will end the day's adventures and look forward to more Tokyo adventures in the upcoming week. There is still much to explore. For now,
It's getting late, I must be going now.
Mou osoi node watashi wa kaeri masu.
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