Utsonomiya: Coin-locker Conundrum
10/09/2007
Today was supposed to be an easy spot of sight seeing. Or so I thought.
Nikko was only an hour’s journey away by local train, and I thought that it would be best to leave my backpack at Utsonomiya Station since I’d have to change there for the Shinkansen. There were coin-lockers on every floor, even some that accepted SUICA cards.
The concept is simple: you put in your luggage, push down the lever and press your card to the ‘SUICA’ icon. You then take your numbered ticket.
It’s so simple that even a small child can understand it. Even one that can’t read (Kanji). But not me.
I don’t know what possessed me to type in the locker number. I guess it was because the ‘SUICA’ icon wasn’t flashing as it’s supposed to do. I pushed the card against it anyway, and the balance jumped from 2000¥ to 1500¥.
I had paid. Only I hadn’t because SUICA cards come with a 500¥ deposit and—unlike Oyster cards—this deposit is apparently shown in the initial balance. The credit should have gone from 1500¥ to 1000¥.
So I hadn’t paid. But I didn’t know that. All I knew was that I didn’t have a ticket with the locker number and time on it.
What followed can best be described as a farce.
Two women stopped on their way past and enquired what the problem was. Neither of them spoke any English and I wasn’t getting very far with my Japanese, but they weren’t in the least deterred by this.
With their concerned attention focussed on me, I wished that I could just forget the problem, assure them that everything was fine and that I’d be on my way. But the locker was irrevocably shut, with my backpack behind an evil, red glinting number: 3016—and I wasn’t sure how to get it back.
Before long, they fetched one of the station attendants. More to-and-fro ensued, but I didn’t manage to convey my dilemma, because the guy didn’t get it. Instead, he practically took me by the hand and dragged me upstairs, pointing at a ticket gate.
Oh well, perhaps I should just get out of here.
I showed my JR pass to the guard and walked through the gate. On the other side, I turned round and waved at the women who waved back enthusiastically but made no move to leave. Instead they pointed ahead.
There was the guy in his navy overall. I approached him, but heard shouts behind me, followed by nervous giggles. I turned back to the women—and was faced with the station attendant. In all the flap, I hadn’t remembered his face. And what was he doing up here anyway?
He dragged me to another row of lockers.
“Yes, just like them!” I nodded, then shrugged. Then pointed downstairs.
What was this all about?
We all returned to the basement level. By now, we had attracted the attention of some off-duty guards. They stuck their heads out of the door one of the staff rooms while we resumed negotiations.
Somehow I managed to convey that I was missing my ticket, and that my backpack was definitely in that locker with the evil red glint.
The attendant pointed at it. I nodded so vigorously that I got a little dizzy. “Yes, that one. Definitely that one!”
The guy opened the side panel, inserted a key and entered a magic code. Transactions rattled off on a roll of paper. He pointed at the list.
The most recent entry had been just before ten. That about coincided with the time I’d arrived. Not that I’d looked at my watch.
I nodded again.
All the while both women were still talking agitatedly to either side of me, I was furiously leafing through the phrase book, the attendant prodded me once or twice more, and I had to try and draw calming breaths and refrain from shouting that I just wanted to be left alone—to hell with the backpack.
The attendant gave me an ominous look—then turned the key.
The bag inside the locker wasn’t mine.
Silence—for the first time that morning—while Utsonomiya Station held its breath.
Another look, then he opened the adjacent, supposedly empty locker.
And there was my backpack.
Laughter all around: loudest from the off-duty guards lurking in the door, more restrained—dare I say scornful—from the attendant. He rouse from his crouch, slowly, fixing me with his stare while I retrieved my backpack with much simpering, then dragged me further along the corridor, with the women in tow. There was another row of lockers, drawing approving nods from them. Even a stupid gaijin should get the hang of this: you put in your luggage, you close the door, you insert 500¥into the coin slot and you turn the key, with the number printed on it.
Denni