Hissing a favorite expletive (“biscuit!”) under his breath, the traveler resolved not to make that mistake again. Sighing, setting his jaw, he again lugged his bags down to the lower level to obtain a reserved seat.
Tossing frequent “Sumi masu en”s to the other passers-by whose path he obstructed in the congested traffic area, he weaved his way to the Fare Adjustment window. Asked if he spoke Engrish, the agent pointed to the Information booth. There, an older gentleman directed him where to obtain said reservation. The traveler confirmed the word for “reservation” and prepared to set off. The gentleman invited him to leave his bags there. Upon consideration of his fatigue and the relative value off all contained inside them, he did leave them there, praising the Lord for the restoration of lightness of step. He did take his laptop-bag and guitar (being too trusting, yes, but not a TOTAL moron), and stepped around the corner. Then waited and peeked back around the corner to find the bags still unmolested 1 minute later. Shrugging, he trekked to the window to find the 7:32 pm train still available. Thru a mix of pantomimes and a few Japanese words tossed back and forth, the traveler had his reservation. Back at the Information booth, the traveler regained his bags, confirmed his ticket, and complimented the gentleman’s English w/ an “eigo ga jozu des ne,” to which he smiled and bowed deeply.