A sense of humor is essential to live here
Holy shit, what an ordeal.
Just when I had the rent-paying thing down, had the sequence of buttons on the ATM memorized, there appears a new Japanese law: No money transfers above 100,000 yen can be conducted at ATMs. Transactions over this amount must be transacted at the counter, with proper ID checking, to prevent money-laundering and terrorist funding, due to pressure from the international community. I'm willing to bet that it's the USA that has made my life more difficult in Japan.
It took me about 10 minutes to figure this out, after I saw the guy standing in the ATM lobby greeting people and holding some sort of flyer. There were also signs. Naturally, tho, I cannot read them, so I tried my rote-method at the ATM three times to no avail before I asked the guy why it wasn't working (or tried to, anyway). I eventually got the gist of what he was telling me and went to the counter inside.
I plunked down my huge wad of cash and my passbook to the smiling teller, and she nodded understanding and slid me a form.
Naturally, I had no idea what to do with said form, and she smilingly waved me over to the customer service counter. A smiling man came over to help me. He somehow asked me for ID, and I gave him the military ID that I always use. After another 10 minutes of explanations in Japanese, with his handy laminated visual aid of different kinds of acceptable forms of identification like driver's licenses and alien registration cards, we finally came around to the conclusion that my military ID wasn't going to do it and I would need my passport. Which I never have on me. So, I said I'd be back.
I gathered the children from their freezing vigil outside and went back to the house and unearthed my passport. I speed-walked back to the bank, sending the kids off to the game store so they would be more happily occupied.
I walked in, took a number, and when it came up moments later, I plunked down my cash, my passbook, and now my passport. The smiling teller again waved me over to the customer service desk where the smiling man came over to help me. He nodded at my passport and began to fill out my form, since I had indicated that I couldn't do it myself. After peering at my passport, he began to look apologetic. "Nihongo addresso?" Oh, no. Yes, I am identified properly, but there is no proof of my address in Japan on my passport or my ID. Fuck. So I tried many words to get at what would be acceptable. Bill? Receipto? Utility? Tokyo Gas? The last one got a nod of understanding. So, hopefully, what that meant was that I could bring in a utility bill as proof of address. But that would have to wait til tomorrow, because I (and the kids) just couldn't take another race back and forth from my house and more possible frustration. So I said ashita (tomorrow) and walked out dejected to his sumimasen (excuse me, sorry).
So, this morning, I got out the door with exactly one hour to spare before the beginning of the window for the kids' new bunkbeds to be delivered (11 am - 2pm). I couldn't risk going to the bank after the delivery, because the bank might be closed by then. Race-walked to the bank with the forms, the passport, 3 different utility bills, and the cash. After I took my number, the same (very patient) man sat down with me and I showed him my stuff. He verified that the address was the same on all 3 bills, made copies of them and my passport, and began to fill out the transaction form (after trying to get me to do it. Kanji? Nai. Katakana? he tried hopefully. No, I don't even know that. Looooser). Then he noticed that the names on the bills didn't exaclty match the one on my passport. Because they are in Jeff's name. FUCK. He showed me a printout, with translation, that he had obviously prepared for today's visit. Mostly it said what I had already figured out (the no transactions over 100,000 yen at the ATM, but also the new info about why), but it also said 'bring your alien registration card.' That damn thing again. We don't have one, having a SOFA (Status Of Forces Agreement) letter and military IDs. I said 'husband' and pointed at the bills. He understood 'husband' but looked confused at what to do. He muttered 'husband' a few times and consulted his documents. Hmmm...'husband passporto?' Oh, no, does that mean I have to make yet another round-trip? Arrrgh. I showed him, in desperation, my husband's name on my military ID. Ping-pong! He seemed happy with that and made a copy of my military ID.
Finally, the moment I had been dreaming of. He took my wad of cash. He counted it once by flicking though it bill-by-bill (there were a lot of them). Then he did some prestidigitation and fanned out the bills and counted them in groups of four. Then he tap-stacked them back together and repeated the process. Then he went away with the stack. I never thought I'd be so happy to see money disappear!
He came back and gave me my receipt, the carbon of the form I could not fill out. He pantomimed to me that next time I would need to bring a copy, front and back and picture-page, of my husband's passport and ID. By that point, I was so relieved that I nearly hugged the man, but instead I bowed and said arigato gozaimasu. sumimasen and practically skipped out the door (after grabbing a huge stack of transaction forms I'm hoping to bribe someone into preparing for me). I sped off and made it home at exactly 10:59. Of course, I'm still waiting for the delivery guys to show.
I hope that anyone under a SOFA letter comes across this entry before they attempt a similar adventure at the bank, and that it helps them.
This experience really drove home the main difficulty I am having here. Being illiterate is humiliating, and I feel for any adult who can't read and write. Add this handicap, which in a native language is more easily remedied, to an almost non-existant grasp on the spoken language, and you have a recipe for serious frustration. I feel like a fu**ing idiot so much of the time. I've got to learn more of this language and get out of my bubble of isolation.
Some haiku for the mood:
Linguistic Seppuku
Like drooling toddler
I cannot communicate
When I cannot speak
Illiteracy
Paying rent in Japan is
Humiliation
I love your cuisine
But I cannot order food
In your restaurants
You apologize
For not knowing English words
When it's your country
We can't get below
the surface of the weather
and I hate chit-chat
Maybe I will learn
By the time I go back home
Enough to get by
Just when I had the rent-paying thing down, had the sequence of buttons on the ATM memorized, there appears a new Japanese law: No money transfers above 100,000 yen can be conducted at ATMs. Transactions over this amount must be transacted at the counter, with proper ID checking, to prevent money-laundering and terrorist funding, due to pressure from the international community. I'm willing to bet that it's the USA that has made my life more difficult in Japan.
It took me about 10 minutes to figure this out, after I saw the guy standing in the ATM lobby greeting people and holding some sort of flyer. There were also signs. Naturally, tho, I cannot read them, so I tried my rote-method at the ATM three times to no avail before I asked the guy why it wasn't working (or tried to, anyway). I eventually got the gist of what he was telling me and went to the counter inside.
I plunked down my huge wad of cash and my passbook to the smiling teller, and she nodded understanding and slid me a form.
Naturally, I had no idea what to do with said form, and she smilingly waved me over to the customer service counter. A smiling man came over to help me. He somehow asked me for ID, and I gave him the military ID that I always use. After another 10 minutes of explanations in Japanese, with his handy laminated visual aid of different kinds of acceptable forms of identification like driver's licenses and alien registration cards, we finally came around to the conclusion that my military ID wasn't going to do it and I would need my passport. Which I never have on me. So, I said I'd be back.
I gathered the children from their freezing vigil outside and went back to the house and unearthed my passport. I speed-walked back to the bank, sending the kids off to the game store so they would be more happily occupied.
I walked in, took a number, and when it came up moments later, I plunked down my cash, my passbook, and now my passport. The smiling teller again waved me over to the customer service desk where the smiling man came over to help me. He nodded at my passport and began to fill out my form, since I had indicated that I couldn't do it myself. After peering at my passport, he began to look apologetic. "Nihongo addresso?" Oh, no. Yes, I am identified properly, but there is no proof of my address in Japan on my passport or my ID. Fuck. So I tried many words to get at what would be acceptable. Bill? Receipto? Utility? Tokyo Gas? The last one got a nod of understanding. So, hopefully, what that meant was that I could bring in a utility bill as proof of address. But that would have to wait til tomorrow, because I (and the kids) just couldn't take another race back and forth from my house and more possible frustration. So I said ashita (tomorrow) and walked out dejected to his sumimasen (excuse me, sorry).
So, this morning, I got out the door with exactly one hour to spare before the beginning of the window for the kids' new bunkbeds to be delivered (11 am - 2pm). I couldn't risk going to the bank after the delivery, because the bank might be closed by then. Race-walked to the bank with the forms, the passport, 3 different utility bills, and the cash. After I took my number, the same (very patient) man sat down with me and I showed him my stuff. He verified that the address was the same on all 3 bills, made copies of them and my passport, and began to fill out the transaction form (after trying to get me to do it. Kanji? Nai. Katakana? he tried hopefully. No, I don't even know that. Looooser). Then he noticed that the names on the bills didn't exaclty match the one on my passport. Because they are in Jeff's name. FUCK. He showed me a printout, with translation, that he had obviously prepared for today's visit. Mostly it said what I had already figured out (the no transactions over 100,000 yen at the ATM, but also the new info about why), but it also said 'bring your alien registration card.' That damn thing again. We don't have one, having a SOFA (Status Of Forces Agreement) letter and military IDs. I said 'husband' and pointed at the bills. He understood 'husband' but looked confused at what to do. He muttered 'husband' a few times and consulted his documents. Hmmm...'husband passporto?' Oh, no, does that mean I have to make yet another round-trip? Arrrgh. I showed him, in desperation, my husband's name on my military ID. Ping-pong! He seemed happy with that and made a copy of my military ID.
Finally, the moment I had been dreaming of. He took my wad of cash. He counted it once by flicking though it bill-by-bill (there were a lot of them). Then he did some prestidigitation and fanned out the bills and counted them in groups of four. Then he tap-stacked them back together and repeated the process. Then he went away with the stack. I never thought I'd be so happy to see money disappear!
He came back and gave me my receipt, the carbon of the form I could not fill out. He pantomimed to me that next time I would need to bring a copy, front and back and picture-page, of my husband's passport and ID. By that point, I was so relieved that I nearly hugged the man, but instead I bowed and said arigato gozaimasu. sumimasen and practically skipped out the door (after grabbing a huge stack of transaction forms I'm hoping to bribe someone into preparing for me). I sped off and made it home at exactly 10:59. Of course, I'm still waiting for the delivery guys to show.
I hope that anyone under a SOFA letter comes across this entry before they attempt a similar adventure at the bank, and that it helps them.
This experience really drove home the main difficulty I am having here. Being illiterate is humiliating, and I feel for any adult who can't read and write. Add this handicap, which in a native language is more easily remedied, to an almost non-existant grasp on the spoken language, and you have a recipe for serious frustration. I feel like a fu**ing idiot so much of the time. I've got to learn more of this language and get out of my bubble of isolation.
Some haiku for the mood:
Linguistic Seppuku
Like drooling toddler
I cannot communicate
When I cannot speak
Illiteracy
Paying rent in Japan is
Humiliation
I love your cuisine
But I cannot order food
In your restaurants
You apologize
For not knowing English words
When it's your country
We can't get below
the surface of the weather
and I hate chit-chat
Maybe I will learn
By the time I go back home
Enough to get by
posted by Sandi at 11:10 AM
2 Comments:
whoa - that was an ordeal...
glad you got things all sorted out in the end though...think you should pat yourself on the back for that.
always get annoyed at the banks here...
remember once i had to sign something, but my signature didn't exactly match the one they had on file.
so what did the bank staff do? they showed my my original signature & asked me to copy it...so i did, and everything was sorted. highly bizarre.
I don't know how you do it. I can't even function living in Seattle. Add short people who talk and write funny into the equation, and I'm a blubbering moron, crying in the corner.
We sure do miss you. I drive by your house on my way to work occasionally to check up on things. So far so good (from the outside, at least).
By the way, one of the posts below contained a picture of "fish on a stick." Consider this the one time I'm speechless.
I miss your parties and pretty faces.
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