I didn’t want to tell you this because it probably is a low point of my life but here it goes…
The week after I came back fom Canada, I went out with some people and we went to 2 or 3 bars in Sendai. We were quite the group and I’m usually never the last one to leave because I have to take the stupid last train. But that night, everyone left before me, a good 90 minutes before the last train. So I stayed at the standing bar. There was a good crowd, some ghetto ass folk I never met before so I said ‘Fuck It’ I’m staying’. Ernie, the owner of a bar in Sendai (Aptly named Ernie’s bar) was doing a good job of convincing me to miss the last train and continue partying. But, as I do 90% of the time, I came to my senses and decided to run and catch the last train.
I got a seat on that train, which is quite the feat, because it’s usually full. 5 stations to my station, 18 minutes. I tried reading my book, but I was quite drunk and I always hated reading on moving things (Ok, I was drunk). So I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I woke up a minute later and decided to put an alarm on my phone in case I fell asleep again. Closed my eyes only to we woken up by a train driver in an empty train at the end of the line. This being the last train, I quickly realized that I was in trouble. I was in a town called Shiroishi, often called Shiroshitty. It would cost me a good 150$ and up to go home by taxi. So I did the only thing a person like me can do when they get stuck in a situation like this: I stole a bike. It took me a long time but I finally found a bike that was unlocked. I rode around and discovered the darkest corners of Shiroishi, testing this new bike to see if it could survive the long ride home (about 2 hours, on a good bike). When I realized that this bike wasn’t locked for a good reason (It was as shitty as Shiroshitty), I decided I would shift my priorities. I had to spend the night somewhere horizontal. I looked for a love hotel: None. Not even a bench. Not even a park. So when I crossed the bridge I came to the conclusion that for a GHETTO event, I might as well sleep like a ghetto boy: Under the bridge.
I slept on the sidewalk, under the bridge. For an hour. Then I laughed for an hour, thinking my mom would be proud. Then I rode the shitty bike for an hour. Then I spent 40 minutes in a convenience store because it was cold outside. And then it was time for the first train. The moral of this story?
A moral? What do I look like? Hans-Christian Andersen? Just don’t fall asleep on the train like an idiot.
Yours truly, the village idiot
ps: I returned the bike… but in a different place. Beware. You never know where Montreal-North ghetto boys might be walking.