Were Speaking Mandarin

I must learn how to say, “please do not take the highway route out to Haneda airport” in Japanese.  It turns a forty-dollar cab ride into a seventy-five dollar cab ride and it isn’t any faster.  I’d been walking the rain with my colleagues, up the road from the Meguro canal to Meguro station.  We were a group of seven and at 12:10PM every spot was fueled and most had the seating capacity for only eight people anyway.

“I’m just gonna go to the airport.”  I’d already had my obligatory bowl of ramen here in town yesterday.  I don't need a second.  I was debating going to Shinagawa station or just heading straight out.  A colleague traveled with me.   We discussed the merits of both and I decided to just take the cab all the way, as time was getting tight.  And I mentioned that It would be fine as long as we didn’t take the highway.  He laughed and agreed and then he got out. 

Wechat buzzed and I looked to see who it was that was calling me.  The driver asked and not looking up I said “Yes, to Haneda.  Air China flight . . . But please do don’t take the highway."  I looked up to see him nodding and smiling and turning left into the Meguro entrance to the highway.  He hadn't understood.  Soon we are up and into five minutes of slow merge traffic.  I groaned and grunted.  But without language I had no intelligent way to complain. 

At the airport it seemed as though everyone were Chinese.  The folks who checked me in were speaking Mandarin.  Everyone who sat beside me as I (finally for this visit) ate my last chance sushi, was conversing in Mandarin.  Someone from some airline decided to announce that a small village of people with surnames Wu, and Bao and Chen were all late for a flight that was now boarding.  These names were announced in triplicate and I immediately fumbled for me headphones and Spotify to block it all out.  I had a few minutes left and went over to one of the airport stores to grab something or other for Christmas presents before heading back to Beijing.  But the line of people speaking Mandarin waiting to buy things was strung around out of the store and into the hall.  Some other time.

I’ve been able to type out a few entries on the flight.  To my left a guy is eagerly watching some Transformer movie with cars becoming robots.  Up before me is the dreadful Air China loop providing "entertainment" for folks who need it.  The stewards and stewardesses sing songs about how great the airline is.  Now a Chinese woman who plays the violin visits two obscenely rich blond women in Beverly Hills and is obviously impressed with their food and their gratuitously large swimming pools.  It’s the third time I’ve had to consider this gal, on this flight alone.  Go away.  It’s Friday night and I’ll be back home soon.  Soon. 

Friday,  12/01/17