End of the Year Party, Part I

This blog should probably keep up with my experiences as they happen, but in direct defiance to that idea I'm going to recount something that happened over two and a half months ago. Perhaps these sorts of experiences can better be told with this kind of extended retrospect, or maybe that's just how I justify the journalistic laziness I've had with this blog lately. But, even with two and half months between now and Suisan's end of the year party I think this deserves to be told.

While holding a hastily gift-wrapped bottle of transcontinental barbecue sauce I sat in a car heading for a nearby town called Matsushima. Our final destination: a nice hotel with a view of Japan's self-proclaimed third most beautiful landscape: an inlet bay with hundreds of rock-walled islands; beautiful, no doubt; third most beautiful? doubtful. My secret Santa gift: one of about a dozen BBQ sauce bottles my parents sent me in attempt to show their love and provide me with the ability to recreate my dad's mouth-watering Texas barbecue. They love me, no doubt; me recreate Texas barbecue in Japan? doubtful.

In accordance with ever-important Japanese punctuality, we arrived early and left the car with the valet but, little did I know at the time, I left my crinkly bottle-shaped gift on the car seat. So after touring the lobby and chatting with other early comers I realized I forgot my gift. I told the teacher I came with and we tracked down the valet. It looked to be a busy night for him so he told us to wait in the lobby. So we stood near the front door inadvertently becoming the designated greeters for the party until the last guests arrived and made their way to the private room. So we waited in the lobby until every seat in the party hall was filled. And we waited...We waited until everyone was waiting on us. We could no longer be considered punctual, and in Japan, that's the shame of shames. As the minutes ticked by I could see the growing tension in the teacher's face and sensed frustration in the awkward silence.

I distracted myself by thinking about the journey that that little bottle of barbecue sauce made across the largest ocean in the world just to be wrapped in Pooh Bear themed paper and left on a car seat postponing the merriment of all the staff of Suisan Fisheries high school. That bottle was single-handily keeping over fifty Japanese adults from starting the most important faculty social event of the year. All the teachers would have to patiently wait for the arrival of that bottle before touching the food and drinks set out on the table in front of them. But, then again, that line of thinking was just my attempt to displace blame onto a bottle of hickory smoked goodness, and barbecue sauce can never be blamed for anything except of course for making meat delicious.

To be continued...