Since the teachers must line up at the end of the night, I end up getting ahead on all my lesson planning while I wait, sabotaging my plans to not hang out with Yoshino Thursday night. The only interruption is Manager, who (after asking me why I haven’t left yet and remembering his own instructions to me earlier today) tells me I’ll have a teacher interview Thursday at four. Not sure why, when we’re losing students, but instead of asking, I nod and smile.

Because the weather outside is relatively good, when we finally are released from Zozo, I take my gurgling tummy grocery shopping: the usual fare from my three local supermarkets plus some Attack laundry detergent, Halloween Pudding Kit Kat, instant coffee, and a jumbo pack of Mentos (not that I’ll repeat yesterday’s antics ever again). I buy as much as I can carry without dislocating my shoulders, drop everything off at home, then head to 7-Eleven. There’s a small shelf next to the cold food section displaying new items. I can’t read the box, but they look like graham crackers for about eight hundred yen. Graham crackers again, eh? Hmm, maybe I’ll give it another week.

The only cash open is in front of a new employee, glaring at me with all his might. I take the three remaining futomaki and inari zushi bento boxes to the counter and add a bunch of bananas and a handful of Black Thunders. His co-workers are still helping people. I take out my wallet; I’m not waiting in the long lineups to get served by someone nice. I’m hungry, now bordering on hangry. When he nudges each chocolate bar with his barcode reader until they flip over instead of picking them up individually, I take out my giant personal shopping bag and lay it on the counter. “Fukuro iranai,” I mutter, just as he tries to wiggle my bananas into a plastic bag without touching them.

The new guy gasps. “H-hai,” he stutters, taking the bag away. “Anou … chopsticks, okay?”

“Uchi ni arimasu,” I refuse.

“Ah, sou ka …” He is now grinning from ear to ear. “Eh … can you … use … chopsticks?”

“Um … yes?”

“Ah! And, do you … like … sushi?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice every other staff member I usually chat with peeking from the back room, snickering. “I do.”

“Ah! Me, too! I like sushi the best!”

Good grief.