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Here in Japan, people sort their rubbish into different categories – burnable rubbish, cans, bottles, big items, paper, and perhaps a few more that don’t readily spring to mind – and they all get deposited at the rubbish collection point on different days. Whilst the separation of rubbish may be very commendable and good for the environment and whatnot, I used to dread bottle day.
My fear began shortly after my wife and I had set up a small business teaching English in a tight-knit community. To relieve the accompanying pressures of relinquishing an income and settling into a neighbourhood where I knew next to nobody, I developed my father’s habit of relaxing with a nightly bottle of wine. This, of course, meant that we accumulated a lot of empties, the curse of every alcoholic in denial. Bottle day would come and I hoped that none of my neighbours would see me carting two large bin bags of empty wine bottles off to the collection point. The bin bags were clear, affording anybody and everybody a good view of what I was throwing away! If timed correctly, I could usually get out of the house unseen but, unfortunately, the neighbourhood had a “rubbish police” of sorts. The force comprised elderly ladies from our community who would stand guard at the rubbish collection point to ensure that nobody tried to deposit anything for collection on the wrong day, and, whilst doing so, get a good look at everything you were throwing out. So, whilst old Mrs. Fujiwara with her husband’s two empty sake bottles might have had no objections to the system, it filled me with guilt and worry to be observed dumping such large numbers of empty wine bottles.
On one occasion, I had just deposited one of my bags when the old lady on patrol cheerfully mimed drinking and said, “yoku nomu, ne?” which could be roughly translated as, “You don’t half like a drink, eh?” I think she was merely attempting to be friendly, but nonetheless I thought it a tad impolite to make such a joke to somebody you have never before spoken to. I mean, she’d have been as well just coming out and saying. “My, but aren’t you a right old alkie?!” And being the sole foreigner in the community, I was worried that I would become the target of gossip. It might not have bothered me if I had had a regular job in the city and these people were nothing but my neighbours, but, like it or not, I was the local English teacher and I taught these people’s children and grandchildren. Being considered an old lush, I thought, probably wouldn’t be conducive to building a solid, dependable reputation. I ended up driving away that day with the second bag of bottles still in the car and seeking out another nearby bottle collection point – one in a neighbouring community and at which there was no visible patroller. But when you’re throwing away bottles by stealth, you have to wonder if you’ve got a problem.
Anyway, two and a half years later we bought a house in a nearby area, one in which there was no such “rubbish police”. But I almost wish there was, because these days I have cut back on my wine intake considerably and can proudly walk to the collection point without a care in the world about who I should meet on the way; I’ll likely only have a couple of empty bottles.
This morning I had only one empty wine bottle, a couple of coffee jars and one small beer bottle, so I was quite pleased that a neighbour was at the collection point and would be able to see that the local foreigner wasn’t a right old boozer. I greeted the man, an elderly chap who I often see walking his retriever by my house, with a cheery. “Ohayo gozaimasu!” as I ever-so-deliberately placed my few bottles carefully in the correct collecting crates.
“Good morning!” said the man in heavily accented English. Then, “British golf open.”
“Sorry?” I said in Japanese.
“Golf,” he said. “British golf open.” And then he looked at me as if expecting an answer. When I looked somewhat confused he said, “Joshi”.
“Women?” I said.
“Yes!” he said excitedly. “British golf open!”
“Is it today?” I asked in Japanese.
“Yes!” he said. “Perhaps.”
And with that I bade him farewell, thinking I might have to return to depositing my empties by stealth after all.
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