The Kimochi Warui Diary
Jotaro’s status as firefighter had substantially increased our clout in this nearly-empty sushi restaurant. Basically, we had free reign to talk with anyone and everyone.
While the sushi chefs were asking Jotaro questions, I swapped seats and sat next to the aunties.
With plenty of alcohol coursing through my blood, my best Japanese was coming out. I was no longer held back by second-guessing and internal translating.
We were having the standard English-Japanese conversation—grade level stuff. Where did you learn Japanese? Where did you learn English? Where are you from? Why are you visiting Japan? Do you like living in Osaka? Any difficult words in the conversation could be translated through my dictionary app.
While I had taken these basic conversations for granted, Jotaro was entirely lost.
“What the fuck are they saying?” There was a hint of irritation in his voice. Even the aunties could pick up on it. I envisioned a grin on my face wider than Lupin the Third’s as I saw another opportunity to push more buttons.
I made a flamboyant gesture of waving him off—ensuring sure the aunties saw it—and put my fingers up on my head to make two horns: the Japanese gesture for “angry,” like a horned demon.
This made the aunties burst out with laughter.
“You’re a fucker,” Jotaro said, and he punched my leg with the point of his knuckle. It hurt like hell, but a lifetime of our brotherhood together taught me something:
The laughter at his expense was far more painful than hitting him back—something I’d never won at, given his overwhelming strength.
I then noticed that our cute little waitress was picking up plates around the restaurant. Now that I felt pretty good and drunk, I knew now would be the best time to make my move.
I approached her and immediately asked for her LINE info. Apparently, LINE contact info is really personal in Japan—even more personal than giving out a phone number. At least, what’s what I’ve heard.
But hold on… Where did I even hear that from? From some other foreigner? Who the hell cares what they think? I’ll keep playing the foreigner card by doing whatever I want, and if she doesn’t like it, she’ll just tell me “No” or ignore me after giving me the contact info!
Women from all walks of life must deal with creepy guys, and creepy guys must deal with getting rejected. It’s just part of the game. No need to get salty about it!
I harassed her endlessly, and while she never quite said “No,” she never quite looked thrilled to give me her contact info. I made it impossible to refuse as I pulled out my LINE QR code and made her scan it.
Next thing I know, Jotaro was pulling me out of the restaurant. We were walking through a dimly lit street on our way back to the hostel. The lights were whizzing by me as my drunken view of the world spun around me.
But even through my rapidly spinning view of the world, there was no way I didn’t recognize the orange and green glow from a certain store sign:
In fact, I even recognized that this one was the one just a couple of alleyways down from our hostel. And that’s when I had a thought:
“Hold on…” I said. “There’s something I must do.”