Showing posts with label Ponzu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ponzu. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

The Dog Days

We're in the middle of a run of unbearably humid and hot days in Osaka. Daily temperatures in Ibaraki are about 95ºF with the air nearly saturated with moisture. It's so bad, I'm writing sentences like a possessed weatherman.

We were thinking that we could be strong, that we could just grit our teeth and survive the next two months without an air conditioner. But we were wrong. We're weak. Yes, we're wusses. Yuki ordered a savior for us last night and it should get installed by Saturday. We need it. The computer needs it. It gets overheated way too quickly.

Guess who is having just an awful time?


Every day, she spends all her time in a never-ending quest to find a comfy spot -- some cool shady place to nap. When I open the front door to get some air circulating, she tries to take advantage:


Look, a chubby long-haired calico just wasn't built for a Kansai summer. Don't despair, Ponzie. Help is on the way!

Saturday, April 4, 2009

The Trust System

It's been a rainy Saturday. On my way to the station in Uji, I passed a table placed on the sidewalk. On top of it were about half a dozen baskets of oranges. And a tin box with a slit for you to deposit coins. And a sign. Since it was raining pretty steadily, I didn't read the sign carefully but I could spot "300円" written near the bottom. If you're playing along at home, this most likely means that a basket of oranges (I'm guessing you get six) cost 300 yen. And you should deposit your coins into the tin box. Sorry. Exact change please.

As I walked, I marveled at how something like this can exist in the world.* I grew up in NYC. People from my hood would laugh at things like this. And then take the tin box. And the oranges. And the friggin' table. My buddy Ric just told me that a friend of his -- a visitor from Japan -- absentmindedly left her purse in the restroom of a restaurant for a few minutes. When she realized her mistake and went back to retrieve it, it was already gone. Along with money and her passport. Yeah, I know. Providing one anecdote to prove my point is lame. But you get my drift, right? Why can't oranges on tables in the rain exist in Brooklyn? Or the Sunset?

•••

In other news, the final box from San Francisco was opened and emptied today. We managed to fit all the stuff into our place. The bookcase that I found on the curb helped a lot. Free furniture is always helpful.

On the other hand, this one didn't help with the unpacking at all:



* At the exact moment that I was marveling, I was also thinking that I wasn't surprised. This was Japan after all. You lose your wallet on the bus here and it will make its way back to you; this happened to a friend of mine.
It was a weird collision of feelings -- a sense of amazement and, at the same time, actually thinking that this is how things work here and you know this is how things work here and yes, I expect things to work here this way.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Good News & Bad News About the Cat



Good News -- The big cat stand arrived yesterday. It got Ponzu's seal of approval pretty quickly. Now she has something to scratch, something to climb, and something to help her see the traffic below. The new cat stand is an upgrade on the one we had in SF -- currently being enjoyed by Buster:


Bad News -- The damn cat stand takes up a big chunk of the kitchen. There's a never-ending battle being waged for space in our apartment.

Good News -- The cat likes living in the Ibaraki apartment. She kinda digs the tatami, although we're always keeping an eye on her to make sure she doesn't scratch it up. The apartment may be old but the tatami is new. Plus she really likes Japanese cat food. She was a semi-fan of the turkey&gravy or salmon&rice cat food she sometimes got in the States. But lemme tell you, she can't say no (actually, she can't say anything except...meow) to katsuo (かつお) aka bonito or maguro (マグロ) aka tuna.

Bad News -- Um, she's starting to gain weight. And that train may not be stopping anytime soon. It's a pretty hefty job just trying to hold the cat in my arms. If I were to drop her on your foot, you'd definitely feel it. But help is on the way. We get our second and final delivery from SF on Sunday and I packed the remainder of her diet cat food in one of those boxes.

Good News -- We're all done with the moving. She doesn't have to worry about another flight or long stay inside her pet carrier.

Bad News -- It's gonna be checkup time soon. Nobody likes the vet.
Plus, she's got the Osaka summer heat to contend with in a couple of months. Maybe she'll get shaved. At least that's what Yuki's promising.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Ponzu can fly

It didn't start off well.

The night before the flight, I called United to make sure they knew the cat was coming. She would have to travel in the cargo bay since her carrying case was too big for the cabin. No problem. Actually, it looks like pets are not allowed in the cabin on flights to Japan. Oh? It's gonna cost you $210. Right.

At the check-in counter on the day of the flight, we ended up with a staffer who acted like she had never dealth with boarding a pet before. No problem; we had three hours before takeoff. She slooowly checked the reservation, caaaaarefully looked up the price and...what's this? "It's $85 for the cat in the cargo bay."

Of course it is. I paid and then the supervisor came over, took one look at Ponzu's carrying case, and says the cat can't go into cargo. You see, the case used clasps as fasteners, not screws. It's not secure enough for the cargo bay. Of course nobody I had talked to (not the woman on the phone the night before, not the staffer checking us in) knew about screws vs. clasps.

OK. Time for Plan B.

"We'll have to sell you a soft-shell carrying case and you can take your cat on board with you." Hey, Plan B sounded even better. Wait, I thought cats weren't allowed in the cabin on flights to Japan. So, three people got on the computer to find the purchase price for the new case. I looked down at Ponzu, who was not amused being stuck in a rectangular prison. You've got a whole 24 hours of that coming, I thought to myself.

Finally, they found it: $64.95. I paid and the staffer disappeared to retrieve Ponzu's new case. She returned 25 minutes later with the case (a clock on the internet explained that in 25 minutes, in a country with good food and bad infrastructure, a group of hard-working schoolchildren with nimble fingers would have been able to make five of those cases) and my nickel in change. More fussing with the reservation: tags were removed, replaced with new tags. How about the old case? I wanted to take it with me so I asked for it to be checked as luggage. They didn't charge me but made me sign a waiver because it wasn't properly packed (?).

Finally, after about 90 minutes, I was ready to go to security. At security, they asked me to take the cat out and hold it while I walked through the metal detector. The women awwwwed at Ponzu while the cat struggled to get free. The idiots in charge of the conveyor belt flipped her case over, spilling cat food and ice (the vet's suggestion for a long flight) all over the place. So, picture me: shoeless, holding the squirming cat, trying to get the cat food separated from the ice, listening to a lame apology from one security guard, answering another security guard's question about the cat's nail clippers...

With about 20 minutes to go, I got to the gate and thought maybe they would let me board early on account of Ponzu. Instead, they pulled me aside because I didn't have a receipt for the cat (remember, $85). At first, I thought they were trying to tell me the cat needed a boarding pass. But no, it was a receipt they wanted to see. Receipt? No, the lady never gave it to me. Really? Yes, she had to switch the cat from checked luggage to cabin and when she did that, she never gave me the receipt. We'll have to track it down for you sir. Blah. Blah. Blah. She left already? Blah. Blah. Blah. No, the gentleman said he never received it from you. Blah. Blah. Blah. You need to speak to her, sir.

Listen, remember you told me you had to cancel her check-in status? Then, you ripped up this card and made a new one but you never gave me a copy.
I did, sir.
No, you didn't.
Please check, because I did.
I have checked. You didn't give me a copy.
I don't know what to say to you, sir.
OK. I just want to get the cat on the plane. Do I have to pay again? Do I have to come back out to you? Whatever it is, just tell me what I need to do.
You don't have to pay, sir. It is recorded in the computer. You just don't have a receipt.
So I can get on the plane?
Yes, you can get on the plane. I just want you to understand that I gave you the --
Bye.

At the end of the day, I didn't really care if it had been her mistake or mine (but, you know, it was her mistake, Your Honor), I just wanted to get on the plane with the cat. A basis tenet of customer service is be aware of what concerns your customer the most. At almost every point of the check-in process, United had failed miserably. They spent 20 times more time looking at their computer screens and walking around looking for supervisors than they did assuring me that they would get my cat on the plane. They never said to me, "We'll get this straightened out. We'll get your cat on the plane."

Instead, I heard:
How much is a case? $45? I thought it was $65.
ten minutes of click click click
See?
$64.95!


Why doesn't anybody know about the carrying case regulations?

I just want you to understand that I gave you the --

So, the moral of the story is that nobody at United knows what's going on with pets on flights.

Travel wasn't agreeable with Ponzu but she didn't make a big fuss. I checked on her every hour or so, stratching her head and making sure she knew I was there.

At Narita, the Animal Quarantine people did everything the United people didn't. All those forms I filled out and faxed greased the wheels perfectly. We were in and out of the office in 20 minutes, just enough time for the lady to gasp at how...chubby...Ponzu was when I took her out of her prison.

On the bullet train, it cost 270¥ (about $3) for the cat to ride two hours to Niigata. Once she arrived, she could eat and drink for the first time in about 24 hours. She seems to like the apartment (it has pet doors and a better view) but the cold weather doesn't seem to agree with her. With me either, but it's hard to argue with nature.