The worst part about arriving in a foreign country completely alone, with no one to look to for guidance, is that I had to carry all my luggage around myself. And I had a lot of it. More than, at that point, I seriously thought that I needed. Just when I was looking for a nice corner to unobtrusively “lose” a bag or two, my name was announced over the PA. So I hurried to where I had people waiting, carrying all of my luggage like a good little idiot that doesn’t know how to pack in a sensemaking way, and the first impression I gave to the representative of Unnamed Company sent to pick me up was a sweaty, stressed, irritated girl carrying enough luggage for a medium sized family.
“I brought my sister.” I said. To make light of it.
A quizzical look. A quick look around. “Where is she?”
I lifted one of the bags. For a moment, said representative took me seriously. Then realized that it had been a joke. And doesn’t know what to do about it. Does she laugh? Is she supposed to laugh? She spent so much time thinking about it, that she was quite relieved when the next person she needed to pick up arrived, and she could promptly forget that I ever existed. Said person arrived with all of his luggage on a baggage cart. At this point I realized that there were baggage carts, and wanted to stab myself in the face for my own stupidity. I refrained, but barely.
The representative took us out to the buses and told us to get on the Narita Hotel bus. And then left. I and my two male companions looked at each other, introduced ourselves, and then stared awkwardly at the street while we waited for this bus. There were three buses that stopped before the Narita Hotel bus, and we tried to board each of them, only to be wildly gestured away. I started developing the opinion that Japan was not such a good idea after all.
Our bus arrived. The two boys sat together and chatted about their favorite sports teams or something mundane that didn’t interest me. The only thing that interested me was getting to a bed before I killed something and got deported. I couldn't afford to be deported, as the banks that owned my student loans and credit cars would come for my kneecaps, my kidneys, possibly my liver and first born, and anything else they could carry away. So I sat quietly and did random acts of violence in my head.
We arrived at the hotel and happily, right there in the lobby was a little area set up to welcome new Unnamed Company ALTs. I gave my name and smiled pleasantly, and was greeted warmly. All the cheerful adverbs you can think of, while in my head painting the walls with the blood of my enemies. I used a chainsaw. Because it’s my favorite weapon in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. I got my papers and my training packet and my room number. And I smiled like I loved the world and wished them all goodnight. Then I heard:
“And you’re roommate is already up there, so you don’t need a key.”
All my hopes were shattered by that. I am an antisocial being. I suck it up. Surely she’d be just as tired as me, and want to sleep. I went up to my room, negotiating all my luggage—there were no carts here, and it was not easy. I was passed by several Japanese people and I swore they were laughing at the ridiculous image I made, with two rolling suitcases and one large duffel, a backpack and a purse. The elevator barely held me.
I got to my room and knocked, and was greeted cheerfully by a part Japanese American.
“Hi! You must be my new roommate! Welcome roomie!” She was so cheerful and friendly I wanted to punch her face in. I said hello. And was both pleased that she also had three large luggage bags, and irritated that she had three large luggage bags. The hotel room was not big enough for the eight of us. But somehow we managed.
And the first thing she wanted to do when I finally got everything dropped down and flopped my exhausted tail onto the bed? Go downstairs and meet the new people. Because she was a bundle of social cheer. I wondered if I could slit my wrists with the complementary razors.
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