Just another reason why I miss him

Yesterday I almost started crying in the teachers' bathroom of the high school where I work. I would never tell anybody else this story if I could talk to him as freely as I did when he lived in the same country as I. However, now my morning is his night and regardless of such minor problems, it's just not the same.

Actually, he would hate this story, just as I am sure that you will. He would just repeat words he's told me hundreds of times before. Toby, there are some things that you need to learn to keep to yourself.

That is your warning to stop reading. If we were to talk tonight the way we did before he left, he would have saved you. I don't really want to share this with my family, friends, and any other random stranger who happens to blogger search "best friend".

But...

I was kneeling over the toilet. Seconds before, as I was about to flush and as my eyes glanced over the poo I made, I could had sworn that I saw a white worm slither and disappear into my poo. I gasped. I began to panic. Thoughts began to push and shove their way around the crowded, frenzied train station that is my brain. How could this happen? Is that my punishment for eating those undercooked octopus balls at the firework festival last weekend? Or maybe it was the microwaved chicken on a stick that I could have sworn was pre-cooked? Why oh why aren't I a vegetarian? This would never happen to a vegetarian. No, no, no, this would never happen to a VEGAN. And what the hell am I supposed to do now? I don't recall "tapeworm" being in the medical word section of the little JET memo book we received. How am I going to explain this to a doctor? Why, oh, why, oh, why did I eat that goddamn takoyaki?

I was so disgusted, feeling scared, helpless and tears were just about to arrive on the next approaching train...but then there was an announcement over the loud speaker. Luckily, they were all words I know, so I was able to understand.

No need to worry, silly girl. Don't you remember? Chu made us spaghetti last night for dinner. It's just an undigested spaghetti.

Of course, worrywort that I am, I couldn't just take the announcer's word for it, which was why I was kneeling down beside the toilet. I stared for several minutes, making sure I didn't see any other spaghettis move anywhere. Finally, my mind became at ease, and all the station attendents waved away the last train of the night. They could finally finish up their day.

200th Post

The person I call my best friend has the same job as I. Since he's arrive, we've fallen back into old habits of calling each other every night and telling the other of our day. However, in Japan, the charges for cellular phone usage is much higher than us spoiled Americans are used to. You see, the companies here give you less than a hundred free minutes which has trained the Japanese people to communicate only through texts. The rates for calls become even higher when you frequently call other carriers. But that's his bad. I told him to get Softbank.

I've always liked texts. I prefer indirect, noncommittal communication. And when I was once questioned on why I waste my time settling weekend plans via 6 texts when I can just make a 2 minute call, I answered
"I dunno".

But I did know.

I know that I have very awkward phone ettiquette. And I also know that i can't keep anything under 2 minutes. It's good to know yourself, I reckon.

Tonight, this friend of mine told me about a student in his class. The assignment was to explain an illness to the doctor, and get a diagnosis.

Doctor: What is your problem?
Boy: I want a hamburger and coke.
Doctor: Are you okay?
Boy: I want a hamburger and coke.
Doctor: Oh, you have the autism.

I laughed. You see, the clincher is that Autism was not on the list of ailments to choose from. Later in the conversation, I begged him to tell me again, with all the same accents, and he did. He's good like that.

I told him that from now on, I was going to tell people that story as if it were my student who wrote that. There's no way it could maintain halarity if I were to start that story with "my friend said". Know what I mean?

So if you and I are alone under beers or whiskey, in the throws of banter, talking about work, and I happen to mention this story, I'd prefer if you'd ignore its true origin. Just assume I'm a liar.

And that i enjoy subtle cheekiness.