You Do The Math, Or, A Train Leaves The Station

Here's a math problem for you:

Dine Me

Last night was some kind of dinner for The Kaisha.

You may recall that The Kaisha branch where I work was gifted with four thousand yen as a reward for raising two million yen in sales during the last campaign. It was decided that the money would be used to take those of us who could attend to dinner. Nine of us were able to come. Jun picked a Japanese restaurant in Ginza that, for our four thousand yen and another twelve-hundred yen from each of us, gave us two hours of nomihodie (all you can drink of sake, wine, beer, or oolong tea) and a five or six course meal that left the Japanese staff full to groaning and the Westerners asking, "Wait--when's the food coming?"

So, in our two hours (starting at eight and ending at ten) we didn't eat much, but we did drink. And drink. And drink.

After we drank, we did karaoke at a place near the school. Karaoke in Japan is not a cheap proposition. Here, it's not a karaoke machine in a bar or a bowling alley (or, in the case of where we used to go in New Mexico, a bar in a bowling alley), where all the geeks have one too many and then get up and warble out "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. No, here you get your own room with your own karaoke machine and a waiter who brings in drinks. Here, you pay by the hour. Each person pays by the hour, I mean. So, if two of you come, you each pay. If nine of you come--or eight, in our case, as one member of the party had peeled away to attend the second party of another Kaisha branch in another part of Tokyo---each of you pays for an hour.

I sang The Rolling Stones' Paint It Black. Ben and Yuko sang that "Come on, Barbie, let's go party" song that was popular for a while in America. Ken sang some Nirvana. The women in the crowd sang syrupy songs in Japanese.

The hour cost us about fifteen thousand five hundred yen. I put in 2,700 yen.

That is karaoke in Japan.

We all made the last train.

Ben and I came back to Higashi-Mukojima and decided to keep drinking.

I spent about a thousand at the 7-11, buying a couple of beers and a pack of smokes and some chips to snack on. Ben also spent a thousand on beer and snacks. Since April was asleep at my apartment, we went up to Ben's place.

Wine Me

I'm a talker when I drink, a philosopher, a solver of all problems. Ben and I talked about what we're all doing in Japan, we Westerners and the Westernized Japanese who could have jumped ship--left Japan--but didn't. I have my pet theories, and Ben, after three years, has his. We compared them. I still like mine better.

About an hour later, we got a call from one of the other members of the party. This person, also drunk, had gone home and then decided to call around to see who was still partying. Drunken philosophizing was close enough to partying to justify spending the yen on a taxi to Higashi-Mukojima. Summoned to the station, we retrieved our guest and returned to Ben's apartment, where we continued to drink. We didn't talk much because it was clear that the other two people in the room were not interested in talking. What was less clear was what was expected of me. I'm perfectly content to play wingman, or, in this particular case, to stay if invited. The invitation was implied but open, a situation that I wasn't comfortable navigating, so when one member of the party left the room, I asked the other person if I should stay or go.

I'm not a hinter in these--or any--situations. My usual approach is just to ask straight out. Let there be no misunderstandings is one rationale for this approach. I think also that stating one's intention prevents a tangle of...

...tangle of...

...something...

However, the direct approach is not always easy for other people to navigate. And, in fact, it's taken me years of concerted effort to learn to do this. I still have yet to learn that not everything can be handled by the direct approach. It doesn't, in other words, always work my way. Some people don't really...

...don't really know...

...don't really know how to be direct maybe?

And, too, some people enjoy a tangle of...

...tangle of...

...implications?

My direct question ("Do you want me to stay or to go?") was ignored.

Maybe.

A bottle of wine was opened. I was given a glass--well, mug, actually--beer mug filled with cheap red wine.

The lights were turned down and the music was turned up.

One of the members of the party suggested a shower, got into the shower, called out to ask someone to bring in a towel.

Ahhhhh...

So, this is supposed to be a math problem, right?

Have you been keeping track of the numbers?

Let's see:

Nine members of the original party met at eight p.m. and spent four thousand plus twelve-hundred each on dinner. Two hours of a three hour dinner were spent drinking. After leaving the restaurant, eight members of the second party spent one hour and two-thousand seven hundred each in a karaoke franchise in Ginza. Last train was at twelve oh four and two of us made it and spent one thousand each on beer at seven-eleven. At two a.m., we were joined by another party member. One direct question was asked and answered by one bottle of cheap red wine.

So, what did you come up with? What's your answer?

Three?

Three?

As Ben would say: Sorry, mate.

That's the wrong answer. It's not 3--it's closer to 3,000.

Wait. Huh?

In fact, the answer is:

3,900

Yen. Three-thousand nine hundred yen.

I wanted you to keep track of the yen, kids, the yen--not the yearnings.