It was dim and drizzly and probably Friday. Stepping off at Kichijōji, I had no plans beyond welcoming in the evening with a drink of some description. I would have been well served parking myself in some tiny inlet of Harmonica Alley, perhaps the very spot my brother and I enjoyed shōchū and complimentary bar snacks on my second trip to Tokyo, but instead I was lured inside a nearby HUB by the prospect of Happy Hour prices. It took one brief pan to realise I had chosen poorly. Designed to resemble a British pub, the place had all the charm of somewhere designed to resemble a British pub. But—and this is crucial—it did appear to offer liquid with alcohol in it. There was nothing for it, then, but to follow my right foot in and ride the thing out.
When one bounces between bits of the world, having a coffee here, a beer there, and perhaps a light lunch over there, the act of ordering and paying, so intuitive in the homeland, quickly becomes something of a quagmire; having witnessed every conceivable variation, one is left milling about awkwardly at the threshold, unsure of how to proceed. In this particular instance, my customary milling was cut short by lurking floor staff and I was promptly escorted to a table in the non-smoking section, very much like you wouldn't be in your average British pub. A brief survey of the drinks menu revealed only cocktails were priced in the spirit of the hour, none of which sang off the page, so I resigned myself to the least exorbitant beer and awaited the server's return.
Five minutes elapsed before a Good Samaritan in a baseball cap leaned over from an adjacent table and told me I would need to order at the bar if I actually wanted anything. Slightly embarrassed, I thanked him and rose to do just that, knocking over a menu stand with my grossly overstuffed backpack as I did so. True to form, the Samaritan again intervened, springing from his seat and waving me on my way with a reassuring smile. Not wishing to put him out, however, I decided to tend to the matter myself. In respect of the stand, the operation could be considered a success, for I managed, with no great exertion, to restore the thing to an upright posture. In respect of the contents, on the other hand, I must confess to coming up short, in as much as their ideal placement is inside the stand from whence they came and not scattered about the floor. Now looking a touch exacerbated, the Samaritan stooped to collect the stray menus while I flashed crimson and vanished around the corner to obtain a much-needed tonic.
I had in mind to take my drink to a different table, out of sight of anyone who had witnessed the previous scene, but, alas, nowhere suitable was available, and I was forced to negotiate my way back to my initial spot under the television. Having done so, and completed three eager sips, I was approached by a member of staff and asked if I wouldn't be so kind as to move tables to allow for a party of more than one. I did not actually understand any of the words, mind you, as none of them happened to be 'movie' or 'pencil' or 'train station', but the context was clear enough and I dutifully rose to find another seat. Dumbly scouring the room, I noticed I was being beckoned to occupy the spare spot at the Samaritan's table.
Up close the Samaritan revealed himself to be the person I had seen earlier, only closer. Beneath his propped cap was a broad pockmarked face whose textured appearance added character to the whole, somewhat in the manner of Edward James Olmos. Opposite him was a tall gentleman with prominent incisors and a sense of humour perpetually visible in his eyes; to his right, a man with a wave of orange-dyed hair and a scribbled-on moustache. One married, one divorced, one single, they had the makings of a terrible sitcom. They were here, it transpired, to meet girls. I must have been something of a disappointment in that regard.
Upon discovering I had not seen Tokyo Tower (in truth because I hadn't wanted to, but I didn't say that), I was whisked away to visit the thing, all expenses shouted. Now I'm afraid I will have to leave it there, as the evening proceeded pleasantly and without incident.