Over the weekend, I parked my car in the Uniqlo parking lot, which is vast and never more than half full. Usually, it's not a problem to park there overnight, but this time when I arrived at my car, I saw that it had an absurdly large sign tucked under the windshield wiper. The kanji was incomprehensible to me, but the picture defied linguistic limitations – an enormous red circle with a line through it; the world-wide sign for BAD. "Crap," I thought. "A parking ticket."
On my drive home, I contemplated how much The Parking Ticket would cost. It couldn't be less than 2,000 yen, but probably not more than 5,000. Right? Wrong. There was a ticket waiting for me in my mailbox, which I read with a nauseous, sinking feeling. As predicted, it wasn't less than 2,000 yen, but it was definitely more than 5,000. This parking ticket was 27,260 yen, which is the approximate equivalent of $250. Oh . . . my . . . God. I had to blink back tears.
I took the ticket to school with me the next day and showed my friend, Hiromi. "Look at this parking ticket!" I waived the offensive thing in front of her face. "Tell me what this says!"
"Eeeeeehhhh?! Honto?! 27,260 yen! SO expensive!" She turned the ticket it over and read the back, as well. "And you have to pay it by today! Or it will become even more expensive! You'll have to take it to City Hall."
My stress level was at its peak. How would I pay for the rest of my trip to Hokkaido? How would I put any money in savings? Would I get to City Hall before it closed? Where could I find a hairstylist that knows how to cut western-style hair?! Unrelated, true, but stress is a funny thing.
At City Hall, the woman at the reception desk looked at The Parking Ticket and shook her head before launching into a long and, I assumed, detailed explanation in Japanese. I was only able to catch the words 'bank account,' 'money transfer,' and 'do you understand?' I nodded my head frantically, "Yes, I understand!" But I didn't. I didn't understand at all. 5 PM was quickly approaching and I needed to pay The Parking Ticket or risk deportation. The consequences were quickly multiplying in my head.
I sprinted across the street to the Toyooka International Association, praying that my friend Takako was in. She was! "Takako-san, help me!" I gasped. "Where can I pay this parking ticket?!"
Takako looked at The Parking Ticket. She looked at me. She looked at The Parking Ticket. She looked at me. She looked at the back of The Parking Ticket. She looked at me. Then she started laughing. I laughed, too, but not because I was amused.
"Ailey," she said. "This isn't a parking ticket. This is a notice from the school board that they're going to transfer 27,260 yen into your bank account today to pay for the mid-year conference expenses."
"So, wait. This isn't a parking ticket?" The realization was slow in seeping into my brain. "You mean that this is money that I'm going to be getting? I don't have to pay this money to anyone?"
"No," she said. "Which is good, because that would be a really expensive parking ticket." She laughed some more. "But maybe you shouldn't leave your car at Uniqlo overnight anymore."
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