By Kirsten Phillips (Niigata-ken, 2005-08)
I had an inaka bank. 弟四銀行. Anyone outside Niigata even heard of it? Is it just a Niigata thing? Do they have those in Nagano/Toyama/Nagoya?
I was always nervous going to Tokyo because the only ATM that would recognize my ATM card was the 7-11. Not the Save-On, not the AM/PM, not the Circle K, not even some of the LAWSON’S in the big city would take my card but I could always rely on 7-11. Oh, how sad I was when I parted with my cute little pink ATM card with the cartoon duckies on it. Nah, I’m not shitting you.
Learning the Japanese ATM ropes was quick enough. Once I recognized the kanji for “balance” and “withdrawal”, my financial worries were over. Furikomi? Yeah, I love those! They’re sooo yummy, especially when they’re r-….wait, that’s not a food?
Ohhh, friends. Nothing could be more tragi込み than watching American citizen Numero Uno trying to pull off a delicate kanji procedure such as a furikomi on her own. Now my Japanese language skills are like a car in winter. It starts up when it wants to and very rarely gets its oil changed. My reading skills, however, are the dead muffler you are too broke to replace. I am not advanced enough for an ATM money transfer in English. In Japanese? Let the tomfoolery commence.
Fortunately Japanese bank tellers, via their keenly honed “gaijin in peril” receptors, quickly took note of my plight and leapt to my aid. Technically, my supervisor was supposed to assist me in all matters that required Japanese at a level higher than “7 donuts, please.” However, my supervisor was about as reliable as the MTA on a Saturday. Quite often I was obliged to depend on the kindness of strangers. Hey, I’ve seen Japanese people get befuddled by furikomi so I don’t feel too much like a blight on humanity. I’ve heard rumors that Japanese ATMs are capable of giving more than just money. You can do things like transfer balances, pay your rent, receive marriage counseling, buffer your shoes, etc. But don’t ask this girl which button you gotta press to make all that magic happen.
One more thing that freaked me out about Japanese ATMs (besides all the educational robotic keigo they kept spewing) was that they always gave me card back before they made good with the dough. In these here ex-colonies, I think one typically receives their card last. Before I grew accustomed to Japanese ATMS, I’d have a silent mini-stroke every time a machine uniformly spat out my card before giving me money. This was, to my uninitiated sensibilities, yet another subversive sign of rejection. Wrong card, moron! Or HA! You pushed the cancel button instead, jackass! (True Japanese ATMS would never say this out loud but you can bet they were THINKING it!)
Their abundance made them a true convenience in my quiet little hamlet. The fact that they all stopped breathing after 9 PM on weekends, made me sad.
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