Well, this week has certainly been eventful. Wednesday I took my Japanese driver's class and test (the same one Hubby took and passed with flying colors the previous Friday). I scored 100% the written portion! Though I credit much of that to my husband who warned me what to watch out for and guided me in my studying. I also passed the driving portion. Even with the entire test being administered to me in Japanese, since the instructor was relieved to have a Japanese speaker in the driver's seat for a change. That, I did on my own. So I am proud of that. And in just half a day, my status in Japan was upgraded to that of "professional driver," since all licensed drivers here are considered professionals.
All this in time for the arrival of our new (used) car. A silver 2003(?) Honda Fit four door hatchback(?). Obviously I know my vehicle quite well, all the more so because the entire instruction manual is in kanji-tastic Japanese. So far from said manual I have learned the car has a dashboard, and the coolant light comes on (though the critical portion of that warning/explanation/suggested maintenance was in kanji so "it comes on" is literally the only part I got).
The very next day I was tasked with getting the parking stickers for our new car from the pass office, and with getting familiar driving around base. I made a wrong turn trying to get to the pass office, thus spent some time driving around lost and trying to just focus on staying left, following signs, and being courteous and cautious toward other cars driving around. I was so focused on this, in fact, that I ended up too far left at a curb and as I made my turn into the intersection, went "THUD! boom. rattle grind rattle rattle." Oooooh yes, a flat tire. FIVE MINUTES into my career as a "professional driver" in Japan.
Luckily (and I mean really luckily) it happened right next to the Autoport on base, so I parked, went in, asked them to fix it, and they did. It was, I kid you not, 35 minutes from "THUD" to "Here are your keys back. That will be $135, please." Truly miraculous. I got to the pass office, got the stickers, drove back to the Navy Lodge, and spent some time swearing I would never ever ever ever ever ever get behind the wheel of a car in Japan again. Of course I know I will have no choice but to drive the super narrow streets of this land. But it was a nice thought nonetheless.
Hubby was amazing about the whole thing. Very kind and understanding and encouraging-ish in that "you HAVE to drive again soon" sort of way. But he didn't get mad and that was the best thing. He very patiently asked me to be more careful.
Japan, however, decided to add insult to injury. Later in the evening we (and by "we" I mean Hubby) drove down to central Sasebo for dinner. I was still despondent and shaky from the day's events. As we were walking along the sidewalk, I tripped in a very public, noticeable, toe stubbing, awkward squawking, arm-flailing sort of way. I barely kept myself from actually hitting the ground. Hubby asked immediately if I was okay. I just frowned, nearly in tears, and said, "I can't even get WALKING in Japan right!"
I am already too tall for many doorways and ceilings here. My feet are too big to even fit into what they call an XXL size shoe here. I love this country, but I have decided it is most definitely not on my side spatially.
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