When Serindipity Comes A Knockin'

Every Tuesday, I make the trek down to Hachinohe for a Japanese language class organized by the local international council. The classes are organized into six increasingly difficult levels (I'm currently in level five) and are attended by young immigrants (mostly Chinese) as well as local JETs. I usually ride up with Charlie Mac and only once have I ever driven down there myself, with Charlie acting as co-pilot. Well, shortly before I left my house today, Charlie sends me a text message saying that he wouldn't be going to class today. Well, if you've ever gone anywhere with me, you would know that I have what is, quite possibly, the worst sense of direction in human history. I wasn't too worried though, as the route to class is fairly straightforward and I've watched Charlie drive there a million times (rough estimate).

So, of course I got lost and ended up in a completely different part of the city. Which is strange, because it's pretty much a straight shot once I get off of the expressway, so I'm not sure how I fucked it up. Well, at least I knew whereabouts I was and was able to find my way back home fairly easily.

As I was rolling back into Momoishi, I couldn't help but remember a comment that Jamie had left on my blog the last time I posted about toys, claiming that there was something of a toy store in Momoishi, just before the bridge to Hachinohe. Well, at the time I found it hard to believe that I could have missed a toy store in my own backyard, although, admittedly, I haven't really explored that side of town much. But sure enough, there it was, a fairly sizable toy and model shop just on the edge of town.

The place is divided roughly in half with one side reserved for toys and figures and the other for model kits and is run by an old Japanese couple who really seemed to enjoy watching my every move. While they may have simply been amazed to see a foreigner in their store, I've come to expect this kind of treatment from years spent under the watchful eyes of the old ladies at Nelson's Dime Store in Racine, Wisconsin (oh my God, they have a website?). I guess I can't blame them, being under the age of 50 and having dark skin really stacks the deck against me when it comes to clerks whose name-tags read "Eleanor" and "Gertrude".

But alas, I digress. The toy half of this store was like some sort of nerdy fever-dream, the Japanese toy store that time forgot. While almost every box was covered with a thick layer of dust, concealed just below the surface were many treasures to be found from decades past. Perhaps the most exciting find was a few old, 80s transformers, still in their original boxes. I know exactly who's salivating reading that and he's incidentally the only person who'll be able to recognize the small piece of childhood nostalgia that I gleefully brought home with me (pictured). I kid you not, the box was so dusty that the old man wiped it down with a wet rag before selling it to me. According to the box, our old friend Rick Hunter's "real" name was Hikaru Ichijo. I did not know that.