“What’s wrong?” Griffin asks.
“I bought too many things,” I say. “We should go back to the hotel and drop this stuff off. I don’t think I want to carry it everywhere for the rest of the day. I should’ve stopped here later, at the end of the day.” I’m babbling a little, but I feel a bit silly and bad. Griffin didn’t complain even once the entire time I was shopping, and I feel slightly guilty. If I were here with most other guys I’ve dated, I would’ve heard some complaints—or at least an obvious hint that he was getting bored.
Griffin shrugs. “No reason to go back, unless you want to.”
“But all this stuff…”
Griffin gestures at the uniformed clerk who rang me up and starts talking to her in Japanese. She responds, says, “Hai,” a few times, then smiles and hands Griffin a piece of paper. He fills it out and signs it.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“They’ll gift-wrap all your items and deliver them to the hotel by close of business today.”
“Oh! Well, that’s a nice service. How much do I owe them?”
“It’s free.”
“Free?” I stare. It isn’t like I bought a Rolex or something. “Really?”
“Sure.”
“But the gift wrapping too?” I gesture at the lady. “I feel like I should tip her.”
“There’s no tipping in Japan. And she’ll put a Post-it on every item after she wraps it up so you know which present is which.”
“Wow.” I turn to the clerk. “Arigato.”
She smiles sweetly and says something, which of course I don’t understand. I smile back, and it’s like we’re speaking some kind of international language that doesn’t require words.
“They sure know how to treat a girl like a princess,” I whisper as we leave the department store.
“There’s a saying here that customers are like gods,” he says. “It’s part of their training.”
Afterward, we hail a cab to head to Shinjuku. A black taxi stops, and before I can reach for the handle, the door somehow opens automatically. “Wow. Did you see that?”
“Hard to miss it,” Griffin deadpans.
“You know what I mean! That’s so cool!
He laughs. “Get in, Sierra.”
I climb inside. The seat is fitted with a pristine white cover. The driver must be confident about keeping his car clean, because stains would show easily on such white fabric. Griffin follows me in and speaks to the taxi driver. The door closes automatically, and we’re off.
“How does he do that?” I ask, looking around.
“There’s a lever.” Griffin points out a contraption that’s been added to the bottom of the door. “The driver can open and close the door this way.”
“So we’re trapped inside and can’t leave? That’d make a good horror movie. Or a thriller like Speed!”
“You can still open the door the regular way. It’s just that passengers don’t.”
“Do other cars have this feature, too?”
For the first time, Griffin seems a little unsure about something. “Hmm… That’s a good question. Maybe some special cars for handicapped people? But other than that, I don’t think so.”
I hold Griffin’s hand and watch the city go by as the taxi moves along the busy streets. Eventually we stop in front of a huge intersection. Griffin pays the driver and asks him about something, and then we’re out.
Instantly, we’re immersed in brimming energy. Shinjuku is full of people moving briskly. Some are young and in fashionable clothes, their hair dyed brown or dark auburn and styled prettily. A couple of dolled-up girls in pink and white kimonos hail a cab. A few business types in their late forties stop under the shade of a tall building and wipe the sweat off their foreheads with handkerchiefs. Buses stop and doors hiss open as scooters roar by. Catchy tunes blare from a few stores.