Tamaplaza
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-eight years and a million words
I spent the first part of the day puzzling through the ongoing destruction of the global economy. Who'd have guessed a harmless little pseudo-lifeform could be so disruptive. I really, really hope that this job hangs together until I'm off probation. (And then for, you know, another few years.)
No new requests from the HR department at that shop, which is good. It's becoming such a regular thing I'm starting to wonder what the staff actually does all day. I've interacted with four people and my headhunter tells me they're not really busy with hires!
At 11 I spoke with Mari. Her day had been badly delayed by a late stocking-up trip to Costco (of all living hells) because of the runs happening at the local grocery stores. I won't bore you with the maddening details but Canada has followed Japan's lead on hoarding toilet paper. Cretins. Mari suggested that I have a look at the next major stop on the den-en-toshi line heading outward from the city, as she'd found a number of interesting prospective rental properties that way. Plus, I could find a few of the things I need to round out the apartment. For instance, the floor of the combined sink/shower area is always wet, so I wanted a squeegee before the mold sets in. And the aforementioned rice maker. And some garbage pails and some bowls fit for a someone who his health test says weighs 104kg.
So I went to "Tamaplaza", a place named without kanji or hiragana. It turns out to be a rather decent mix of detached homes and apartment buildings of all sizes, focused on a shopping complex built around the train station (The Tokyo Style; which I hope becomes popular in North America as we abandon the automobile). I walked around (for once I'd remembered to take my sneakers!) and snapped some photos.
I wrapped up with more housewares shopping. Mari'd selected a rice maker, so I have that as my big-ticket purchase to date. Plus most of the other crap, but not a squeeze bottle for ironing. (Rats!)
I ended the productive part of my day by miraculously being in the apartment when someone attempted a delivery. It was the postal service with my bank card!! The postie asked me to write my name on a card as a way of registering my presence with the post office. Such a paper-work-obse- I mean, organized country. They will mail the card to us again in July to have Mari and the kids added to it (if I understood him correctly).
All the instructions for activating the bank card are in Japanese, so I'm photographing and asking Mari for help as usual.