by Kevin Ramsden

“Why is your dog wearing a mask?” The Observer asks the woman in the seat opposite who is holding a tartan pattern canvas pet carrier on her lap, which indeed contains a tiny dog wearing a very small, cloth mask.

“I beg your pardon” the woman answers warily, as the dog lets out a muffled, high-pitched yelp.

“I said, why is your dog wearing a mask?” The Observer asks again, in the same flat monotone in which he always speaks.

“Because of COVID-19”, the woman responds, looking nervously around at the other passengers in that part of the subway car, looking for support, unsure of the intentions of the strange looking individual addressing her, “to protect him from the virus.”

“I don’t think it works like that” The Observer says, “I don’t think he can catch it from people”.

“But maybe from other animals” the woman says, “He can be infected by another animal”.

The Observer looks carefully around the subway car they are sitting in for a few moments before returning to the conversation.

“I can’t see any other animals in here, can you?” he asks.

“Well, no” the woman splutters, “But wasn’t it a bat that gave it to a pangolin in a market in China, or something like that? That was how it started, right?”

The Observer considers this for a second or two, then ventures, “Does he have any bats or pangolins as friends then?”

“Of course not” the woman snorts, “What kind of question is that”

“Just a question” The Observer replies.

“No, he doesn’t have any bats as friends. He’s a dog.” She says. And then with some exasperation, “Are you insane?”

The Observer shrugs and smiles back, “No, I don’t think so. But I do have my doubts about you”.

At this, the woman shoots him an angry, contemptuous look, and gathering up her masked chihuahua in a bag, shopping and cellphone, stands up in a huff and stalks to the other end of the carriage.

Bending forward, The Observer watches her retreat with amusement, and then comes to the realization she was not actually wearing a mask herself. The irony of this makes him laugh. He does like irony. Irony provides him with a lot of observational material. He can elicit a good few questions from a situation involving irony.

Having dispatched the paranoid woman and her well-protected pet, he now turns his attention to the young man sitting next to him, one seat over. The young man has a pair of those strange little pods inserted into his ears, and is nodding his head slightly. Probably, The Observer decides, in time to some new pop song. And most definitely a pop song The Observer would be completely unfamiliar with. Stretching out an arm, he prods the young man’s arm with a stiff finger. The young man overreacts somewhat to this, in The Observer’s opinion, by yanking out the ear pods and shuffling a little further down the bench seat.

“My apologies” says The Observer turning towards the jittery youth, “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to get your opinion on something”.

The young man makes a little shrug like gesture with his mouth and says, “What do you want?”

Smiling broadly, then casting his eyes up and nodding toward a sign on the carriage wall up and directly opposite them, he asks flatly, “What do you think those mean?”

The young man shakes his head slightly, “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man”

The Observer tuts, “The little pictures on the sign. What do they mean?”

The youth laughs, “I don’t know, bro. Give up your seat to oldies and stuff”.

“Exactly” says The Observer, “You’re pretty observant for someone so young”.

The young man simply stares at him.

“OK. Let’s play a game” The Observer says, “You tell me what you think each one means, then I’ll tell you what I think”.

“Why?” the young guys asks.

“Why not?” The Observer says.

Clearly amused now, the young man smirks and says, “Sure, why not, dude”

“Great!” The Observer says, “From the left, OK?” And the young man shrugs his approval.

Young Man: “Oldies, I guess”

The Observer: “Snake charmers”

The young guy casts him a wary sideways look, then continues.

Young man: “People with injuries”

The Observer: “Heavy intravenous drug users”

Another look.

Young man: “Pregnant women”

The Observer: “Balloon smugglers”

A shake of the head.

Young man: “People with little kids”

The Observer: “Unidentical twins”

A nod and a chuckle.

After a moment of silence, the young guy turns to The Observer and, replacing the ear pods, says, 

“The dog lady was right, bro. You are insane”.

“Thanks. You heard that with those little things in your ears. Amazing.” grins The Observer, and leaps up to exit the carriage just as the doors begin to slide closed, throwing a thumbs up to the lad as a parting gesture.

…

Up on street level, The Observer makes a beeline for the 100 yen shop just outside the main entrance to the station.  He doesn’t really need anything urgently, but has decided he has a point to make and now is as good a time as any. He enters the shop and proceeds to browse the shelves for a few minutes, picking up sundry items to inspect before returning them to their exact position. The Observer likes things to be neat and tidy. After several minutes of pointless perusal, he picks up a small note book and a ballpoint pen and heads to the cashier. Waiting patiently while the customer in front of him pays up and scurries off clutching a plastic bag full of purchases, he hums along with the tinny muzak bleating out of the ceiling speaker directly above his head. He is considering the effect this must have on the shop employees who have to suffer it on a daily basis, repeated over and over on a loop, almost a form of torture, when his thoughts are interrupted by the voice of the middle-aged, female cashier,

“Excuse me, sir”

Stepping smartly forward, he is quick to offer an apology as he places his goods on the counter.

“I’m very sorry” he says, “I’m afraid I was completely captivated by that mesmerizing tune coming out of the high-end sound system you have installed”.

The cashier looks at him blankly for a moment before starting to register the items he has placed before her.

“Do you need a bag” she asks flatly.

“No, thanks” says The Observer, “I have a perfectly good pocket that will do the job.”

“Fine. That’s 220 yen then, please” she says, failing to react to his weak attempt at humor.

“220 yen, you say” The Observer remarks. “Not 200 yen”

“No, 220 yen” the women repeats. “It’s the tax.  You have to add the tax”.

“Indeed, you do” says The Observer. “But have you never stopped to wonder why this shop is not then named the 110 yen shop”.

“What?” the woman sighs, puffing out her cheeks.

“Would it not be more transparent, and indeed accurate, to rename this shop the 110 yen shop, given the majority of the items in reality cost 110 yen” The Observer restates.

“Possibly” the woman replies. “But to be completely honest, I have neither the time nor the patience to debate that with you this morning. You come in here every Wednesday and try out one or another of your nutty ideas on me or my colleagues, and quite frankly we are a little bit fed up with it. So, 220 yen, including tax, please”. 

And with that she pushes forward the small, rectangular wooden tray for receiving cash, and steps back arms folded.

“Good answer” says The Observer, and fishes the exact change out from his pocket and places it in the tray.

“Thank you” says the cashier “Do you want the receipt?”

“No thanks” answers the Observer “I don’t think pads and pens are tax deductible in my line of work”.  And with a cheery wave he heads out and back on to the streets.

…

A brisk ten-minute walk later, The Observer reaches his next destination, a small, seen-better-days family run restaurant just outside the main gates of a university. It is his habit to visit this hostelry every Wednesday lunchtime, where he is a familiar face, though not necessarily welcome. The Shibata family that runs this restaurant is comprised of five members; Grandma Shibata, her daughters Reiko and Nori, and her son Yuji and his wife Yuki. Though not all of them work there every day, Grandma Shibata, who lives above the shop, is a permanent fixture in the kitchen, and Yuji runs the show at least six days a week. On this Wednesday, Reiko is helping Yuji with the lunchtime rush, and all the tables are filled, bar one. The Observer makes his entrance quietly and moves swiftly to claim the sole remaining spot. Yuji, who is just emerging from the kitchen with plates in both hands, witnesses this and involuntarily screws up his face in frustration. The crazy guy is back again. 

Settling into his seat, The Observer plucks the menu from the small metal stand on the table in which it is nestling, and scans the list of items on it with brow furrowed in concentration. He invariably orders the exact same thing on a weekly basis, but feels it respectful to the proprietors, nonetheless, to pay full attention to what they are offering. Shortly after, Yuji weaves his way through the other tables and appears in front of him, placing a complimentary tumbler of iced water down before stepping back with order pad and pen poised for action.

“Ah, Shibata san” The Observer cries, “How are you today?  Busy as usual, I see.”

Yuji nods and mumbles “Can’t complain” then a little curtly, “You ready to order?”

“Indeed, I am” says The Observer, “I’ll have one of your finest chicken cutlet daily lunch sets, please my friend. Perhaps with a little pickle on the side?”

“Pickles come with it” Yuji sighs, “You don’t need to ask every time.”

“Just checking, my friend” The Observer chuckles, “Just checking”.

Shaking his head, Yuji turns on his heel and sets off towards the kitchen, receiving a raised eyebrow from Reiko heading in the other direction.

“Keep it cool, brother” she laughs, “Customer is always right, right?”

Yuji emits a little growl at this and presses on towards the kitchen to collect and distribute more orders. Back at his table, The Observer takes a sip from the tumbler of water before turning his attention to the next table, where two salarymen are about to tuck into the mini-buffet of small dishes that Yuji has spread before them. The Observer has a point to make here, too. Leaning over slightly to grab their attention, he starts to venture his opinion,

“That’s a nice selection of tasty morsels you have there, gentlemen” he says, “A very nice lunch, for sure.”

The two men exchange a glance before each offers him a subtle, seated bow from the waist.  A polite acknowledgment of his interest in their meal. They then focus their attention back on their food, time being of the essence in the busy lives of salarymen. But The Observer isn’t finished.

“I can’t help noticing, however, that the plate of very delicious looking shrimp in chili sauce you are about to share may actually soon offer you something of a dilemma”

“How so?” says the larger of the two men, slightly intrigued, his chopsticks now suspended above the shrimp platter.

“Well, it’s simple really” continues The Observer, “While there are two of you currently in this equation, there are actually just five shrimp waiting to be consumed. It doesn’t add up. One of you is going to miss out, unless of course you cut one in half. And that is pretty unlikely right?”

The men both nod at this, whether in understanding or agreement, it is hard to judge.

“And that plate of fried chicken pieces” The Observer says, pointing to the very same in the center of their table “Will place you in a similar position. As you can see, there are seven pieces on offer. What are you going to do with them? Toss a coin for who gets the last one?”

The smaller of the two gentlemen speaks up then.

“I’m sorry, and I don’t mean to be rude, but what the hell has it got to do with you anyway?”

“Well that’s a very good question” says The Observer “And you are right. The answer is absolutely nothing. I am simply making an observation. Please continue with your meal.” 

And with the hint of a smile, he turns to examine his own lunch which has just been delivered by Yuji, who has also borne witness to the exchange with the two office workers. Yuji is not happy.

“Please don’t bother the other customers with your strange comments” he tells The Observer, “It’s really bad for business.”

“I understand completely” says The Observer calmly, “Thank you for pointing that out.”

Yuji flaps a dismissive hand in way of reply, and rolling his eyes in exasperation, stalks off past a giggling Reiko to find something to throw around the kitchen.

…

With a most agreeable lunch in his belly, and a friendly wave to Yuji and company, perhaps understandably not reciprocated, The Observer takes his leave and wanders out onto the street once more. Striding across the narrow roadway that separates the local shops from the university, he enters the campus and makes his way across the broad expanse of lawn that would normally serve as a gathering place for hundreds of the students who attend the college on a daily basis. Not so much more recently, however, as the COVID pandemic has seriously limited the number of students and faculty allowed to congregate anywhere at the school, either for face-to-face classes or on a social level. Despite the glorious sunshine, the large patch of grass is now sadly bereft of its human covering, and aside from small groups and individuals dotted around its fringes, a great deal of the joy and pulsating life it was once infused with now seems just a distant memory. Still, this does not overly concern The Observer. He has somewhere to be.

Entering one of the larger buildings through a revolving door, he skips energetically up two flights of stairs, before rounding a corner and bounding up to the door of a classroom. Pushing open the door with a flourish, he is met by a mixed wall of noise. Shrill and hushed tones, wails and whispers, voices raised and lowered, from which one cries out,

“Good afternoon Professor”

This he responds to with a double-handed wave, before raising his own above the din, to call for calm, for quiet. Slowly the melee of gestures and conversation ebbs until a near silence prevails.

“Right!” The Observer booms, stepping up to the whiteboard and uncapping a black marker pen he has grabbed off the lectern, “Here is the question for today’s discussion.” And stepping up to the board, writes:

Is it OK to ride a bicycle on the wrong side of the road in the direction of oncoming traffic?  Discuss.