Once in Tokyo

A challenge was set to write 800 words on the topic ' lightbulb moment ' by ReadWave,



Sometimes you have to sweat the small stuff.

Six weeks of living in a foreign land. Six weeks of relying on secretaries and colleagues to help, direct and aid in the necessities of life outside the office.  Simple necessities like how to get to the office from the rented apartment, to differentiate between tooth polish and denture fixative, deodorant and tinea spray, and what is food.  Gai-jin is the Japanese word for foreigner. It means not of this world.  Max had never felt more welcomed and befriended anywhere in the world as he had been made to feel in Tokyo.  That is the way of Japan, for every expectation there is a direct contradiction.  A place unique in the world inhabited by a homogeneous and obedient population known as 'we Japanese'.
A delight to experience but for a man like Max it presented a challenge within which to assimilate.  He knew he could never be Nihon-jin but as he was to be here for three years he wanted to learn the language, the cultures, how to get around, do the simple things. Try and fit in, a bit.
His apartment was nice, with the correct height toilet, a western oven and stove, proper bath and shower, even a washer and dryer big enough for a family of ten.  There were Japanese design elements like the small tatami room with shoji panels.  There's a tokonoma in the hallway, it's a lighted alcove or sacred place for the display of seasonal or family tributes, shodo and ikebana.  It was this tokonoma that gave Max his challenge, a challenge he had been putting off since he moved in. 
Illuminating the alcove was a long fluorescent tube secreted behind a pelmet at the front of the opening so it lit the space without glare or shadow.  It was the only light for the hallway running from office, tatami room and bedrooms.   Trouble was, it flickered, annoyingly.  Max had decided that he was going to take on the solo and landmark challenge of buying a replacement from a local store. He had seen on his way to and from work, a small business run by a weathered man dressed in traditional tradesman attire of apron, balloon trousers and getta shoes but displaying a vast array of ultra modern lights and electrical accoutrements .  There was no chance the man would have any English language skills and that was the point.  Max's plan was to remove the tube, take it to this Japanese electrics man who smiled querulously at him as he passed by each morning and evening.  With a series of gestures and very limited language Max would explain he required an identical unit which did not flicker.   It wasn't much of an exercise in cultural bridge building but Max had decided it would be his start towards living independently.  He diligently practised the key words and phrases he had been coached in by his secretary who thought the whole thing most amusing but could not understand why he would not just ask her to get it fixed.  
He would do it this weekend.  The little electrics man was open every day and as far as Max could determine he lived in the shop, or above it. 
Saturday morning.  The planned time for the expedition.  Max woke with the familiar hangover from a Friday night out with colleagues and employees. Tokyo is nothing if not a Friday night town.  Brewed coffee and torn croissant consumed, Max showered, dressed and confronted the tokonoma.  Feeling behind the fascia Max determined the fluorescent tube was not only concealed at height but recessed and required an awkward approach, which may have been why the agent did not replace the tube on handover of the apartment.  It was of little moment to Max who was tall enough to reach and rotate the tube. 
It gave easily to a twist and released from the slotted ends of the mount allowing Max to lift it from the recess and rejoice at his minor but critical achievement.  The tube was very long, over a meter and a half and Max noticed it was a local manufacture with local identifying marks which he could not understand.  This was of little concern as Max had decided to take the tube to the store to ensure like for like.  That was key to the plan after all. 
Taking the tube to the foyer Max propped it against the entry alcove to reach for his coat.  The action nudged ever so gently the tube which followed the course of inevitable gravitational action punctuating the donning of Max's coat with a pop of released pressure as the glass tube disintegrated into a thousand tiny shards and a cloud of powered phosphorescence. 
Max collected the two metal terminal ends from the detritus, stared blankly and forlornly,,, and called his secretary.

What happens in Vegas ...

Phil sat in the shade of manicured imported palm trees and watched the irrigation stain leech towards the crisp edge of the artificial turf.  He is reviving in a place where value is relative, where worth is conceptual and where merit and morality have dollar equivalency. The streets and pavements are spotless, polished by the tyres and shoes of those entranced, entrenched and enticed. There is a cleanliness that impresses, an order, a photogenic neatness that pervades all images. A beauty of façade, a glimpsed obsolescence, a romantic nod to history but no regard for preservation. There is spectacle, encouragement and entreaty at every intersection along The Strip. 

And of course there are the people, the genuine, the pleasant, the scammers, the criminal, the kind, the helpful, the cruel, the nice and the deceptive. Vegas is a desert oasis fought over by cowboys and Indians, miners and traders, a community built by enterprise and motivated by envy.

 Phil's chair was positioned away from the castellated wall to ensure it would not pierce the resin-covered styrofoam faux stonework . His mood was being slowly fuzzed by the iced yard of cocktail he'd half consumed.   The be-jewelled, be-feathered and near naked girls working the passing crowd for photo tips had started counting their money, removing their headgear and slipping on more comfortable flat shoes as they prepared to relinquish their spot to the Grand Canyon trip hawkers, pimps and ticket scammers.

The girls, Phil had decided after watching their smiles and nubile bodies, were sweet college kids who had sourced last season's showgirl costumes in order to display and pay their way in this place where money talks and more money talks more.  Phil felt in his pocket for the shrunken fold of dollars. Mostly singles for tips, a couple of twenties, one fifty and a fiver or two. He didn't have much to say in this place now.  After a year of saving and a bit of borrowing he landed into McCarren LVA  pumped, primed and eloquent. That was five lost days ago, four nights of high limit craps and blackjack, limo trips, sexed up nightclub visits and fancy restaurant meals for fun friends he didn't know. This morning he'd walked from the free tram, ignoring the $8 temptation of the air conditioned Deuce to bring him here where he could use a discount coupon to buy this watery cocktail.  He had three more days. He would be hungry by Thursday.

Vegas is a desert valley.  A dessert valley with ten trillion gallons of stored water. Vegas is happiness and fun. It is fake and there is nothing more real. Vegas is bright light and despair,  oblivion and world renown entertainment, fine food and homeless hunger. Vegas is dark and joyful. Vegas is underlying threat, unending optimism and omnipresent opportunity.

You need to be there for things to stay there.