HASHI-FORK

We arrived in Japan after a long flight that left us sleepy for three weeks. We had barely touched solid ground when my father, who is known for his tour guide abilities, propelled us out onto "the economy" as off-base Japan is called by the navy personnel.

With my blue eyes all agog and my blonde hair making a spectacle of me, I took in all the sights and lights of downtown Yokosuka. As it was dinner time, the smell of food filled me with curiosity. I kept asking my father what this and that was and not really listening to the answers because I was looking at newer things. We turned onto a street that was suddenly dark and quiet. What a Change!

After ducking under a small cloth that was hanging in front of the restaurant and sliding open the door, we arrived in a small and clean and charming room.....with chairs! And I had thought all Japanese sat on the floor! We carefully sat down so as not to break the fragile-looking furniture. I became enthralled watching two young men next to us eat. They naturally managed chopsticks (hashi) deftly. Father ordered what is now my favorite dish, ton katsu.

The food came and I stared at it for a few minutes. It looked interesting but where do you start? The salad (shredded cabbage) was right beside the main course. Where was the dressing? The soup bowl, usually the second course, had a lid. When this was removed a new smell met my half-closed nostrils. I think that will have to wait. The rice didn't look like it would pose a problem. The tiny relish dish was pretty and didn't appeal to my appetite. Dad, being an old hand with the hashi, dug right in. Mother carefully picked up the pork and actually made it to her mouth. I was a different story.

In the first place I was uneasy being in a foreign country eating with a foreign utensil. I was embarrassed before I even started eating that I would be clumsy and drop something or worse still, not be able to pick anything up! I broke the hashi apart and just sat there staring at my food and my parents, feeling like a complete fool. After about five minutes the guy at the next table yelled something containing the word "forku". Needless to say I was shocked and totally embarrassed when the waitress brought me a shiny fork wrapped in a dainty napkin. I felt like crawling in my soup bowl and pulling on the lid. I pecked at my food for another five minutes until the two men left. Then I immediately picked up my unused hashi and anxiously brought some rice to my mouth. Luckily and thankfully I didn't spill a grain.

Even now when we go to a Japanese restaurant I glance around the room to make sure no one is watching me eat. I haven't ever had any major mishap but if I do, I would rather that only I would know about it.

Author unknown

LOCAL COLOR

Have you ever counted the stop lights between Yokosuka and Yokohama? There are 83 of them. This is only one of the many exciting things you can do on a bus ride between home and school.

For the past two and one-half years, I have had the fortunate good luck to be a bus rider. The depths of deep sleep at 5:30 a. m. is a joy I hope I can steer away from in the future.

Quite often, I find myself falling asleep. It's very difficult to find a comfortable position, and most of the time I wake up to find my legs and arms asleep, too.

At night, on the late bus we are serenaded by the people in the rear of the bus. They are sometimes off-key and make up their own words, but they're effectively killing time and having fun.

Some of the conversations we have engaged in during these times have been on very interesting topics. Some of these include, types of fancy underwear, what it would be like to be rich, and school-oriented things. These usually get involved and use up much time.

Tunnel time, although now outdated, was previously popular. Upon hitting the eight tunnels, some poor soul would be jumped. No damage was ever done, but the next time people knew to be careful.

Yes, these bus rides are certainly exciting. I don't know what I would do without time besides sleep, have fun, study.......

Jennifer Lindwall

Provided by Helen Gallier Ambrose - "Freeflight" Creative Writing Class - Circa 1977