I had been in Japan for well over a year by this point, August 25th, 2016, but I hadn’t seen ANY of Japan. Between going back and forth on U.S. Navy deployments, and visiting family back home on the East Coast, I realized I’d seen more of the Pacific Ocean than I had of Nihon (I’ll save you the trouble, it’s a BIG ocean, with not much in it besides Asian Warships, Ocean Liners, and the occasional Sea Animal). I was finally transferring from working on a ship to working in a Navy building and decided that this month in between would be an excellent opportunity to do some exploring.
The very next day, August 26th, a Saturday, I woke up with no plans at 0530, mind still contaminated with military schedule, took a shower, packed my NorthFace backpack with two outfits, wore a third, and got on a train bound for Tokyo. The only problem was, the day prior, I had purchased these Patagonia pants that were…..well, whatever is tighter than “extra slim fit.” I consider myself a pretty confident guy, but that entire walk to the station, train ride, airport walk, I was PRETTY self conscious of these pants that articulated every curve of me with great attention to detail. Keen words of wisdom, never shop for clothing after dinner and celebratory “I’m finished with deployment for the rest of my life” drinks WITHOUT trying the clothing on at some point in time.
Disregarding my lack of comfort, I trekked on towards the airport, researching airline ticket pricing the entire way, waiting to pull the trigger until I knew for sure what time I would arrive/how much time I would have to get through security. I found the cheapest ticket, I believe around $200, and it took off an hour later. I was 45 minutes away from the airport…..The next available flight was 3 hours later and $100 more expensive. Yabai. I was now on a timeline, a short, constricted one at that…and I was leaning on the “late” side. As luck would have….I missed my exit, thinking I was heading to Terminal Two and had to double back. I got off the train, ran to the other side of the station, got on the train, took it one stop and SPRINTED to the ticket counter, accounting for the tightness of my pants and being painfully reminded of the “slim” factor with every step. Sweating, I politely asked the women if she spoke English. She even more politely responded,”Yes, where is your destination Sir?” “Sapporo” I panted. And she told me that the next available flight was in three hours. “Eh?! There isn’t a flight in fifteen minutes?” She typed the magical logarithm into her computer and seemed pretty uncomfortable, getting ready to tell me it wasn’t possible. I told her I’m not checking luggage and am more than happy to sprint to the terminal. She smiled, I payed, she printed a ticket, and I was off.
Have you ever seen a chocolate macchiato man drenched in sweat, running through the airport at full sprint in hiking boots, SKINNY hiking pants, and a backpack?