Public Transport Rage

The streets of Osaka are once again lined with undigested ramen, puréed tako yaki and haggard russian whores nabbing stragglers on their way home from brutal benders with the ubiquitous promise of a "massaji." Meanwhile, the wind chill factor is stealthfully robbing me of my body heat as I struggle to stay warm on a chilly February night in Nishinagahori. My friend the Neon Kani waves a dandy hot red claw at me beckoning me home, but my palette for adventure has yet to be breached.

Gambling on a chance encounter I blow on the dice and roll into a crusty dive bar with a bad choice in decor and an even worse choice in background music. Agnostic Front rattles through blown speakers poorly nailed to the walls as I shout over the chorus for a Kyohou Milk. While I wait for the bartender to pause her game of Tekken, and shout a nasal "irrashaimase", the guy on the barstool next to me makes an intoxicated and ungraceful swing on his chair to face me.

"You english?" He says?





I question myself as to if he means," am I from the UK, or do I speak the english language?" I decide not to pile drive his obviously inebriated cranium and answer with a simple "yes."

"Then, friends?" He asks in non-sequitur fashion which once again leaves me in a quandary of what verbal goal he was actually trying to accomplish.

I decide again to cut him some slack and fork over a smile and a "thumbs up."

He lurches as he slaps my shoulder then orders me a second Kyohou.

I can't complain about that.

The night continues on as my new found nihonjin friend, who looks like a reject from Smap, and wears more gatsby in his hair than the entire band, fights to manuver his mouth around the limited english his alcohol damaged brain still grasps. I in turn share his struggle as I exercise my infantile command of the japanese language.

Although our language barrier is sky high we end up sharing a few laughs and mangled conversations over our attractions to the opposite sex.

Finally, as he stumbles ahead of me out of the bar we continue our chat as we find ourselves headed to the same subway station. Once there we are cattle herded into the cars as weary station workers try their hand at caroling in the last of the bingers before the trains shut down, and all souls are left on lonely streets destined to ride the depressing doily laden seats of a cab home or flop down in a 2 meter capsule.

Our ride is uneventful until a younger salary man to my right loses his balance when the train jerks to a stop at the next station. This would be of no incident if he did not in turn land his elbow into the face of the ojichan next to him who, already disgruntled and drunk, now becomes enraged and drunk. A pathetic, if not childish brawl breaks out between the two, and they begin to tug and pull at each others collars; Both too cowardly to actually land a punch. I keep my mood apathetic while I catch the action out of my peripheral.

That is until I notice a young mother and child seated dangerously close to the action.

I personally don't care about another man's tiff, but with lag time on these two's motor skills and their sensory perception being equal to that of a pile of packing peanuts, I decide to intercede so as to avoid outside injury.

Its a short but slow stroll into the shoulder high heads of the "train raged troglodytes" stepping on each others Oxfords and wrinkling their Armani apparel. With a simple and calm swipe I divide the two with my forearms placing them on opposite sides of the train (width-wise, duh!). At first they are disoriented and confused by what just played out. Still, I can tell they are pondering a return to their juvenile behavior. So I shoot each of them a stern glance I have practiced on my K3 kids who will be graduating from kindergarten this year. Finally, they decide being intercepted by an "unpredictable gaijin" is more than they bargained for tonight, and they both throw in the towel and eventually pass out on their respective sides of the train. Most likely waking up many stops past their destination and forgetting the whole thing even happened.

I turn to laugh with my bar-buddy for the night, but find in a panic he has jumped off on an unplanned stop. The whole incident severely tested the limit of his nerve while slumming it up with a gaijin, and alas he buckled.

I wave a brief adieu to my lost doe-eyed friend as he stares back in a look of betrayal and dismay. The train slowly jerks to life once again and heaves with a sigh as it begins its last chug on the tracks for the night.

"So long, see you again never," I mumble to myself as the iambic pentameter of the train rails resume their role as the soundtrack to my life.