Sicily and Noboribetsu

Column for those involved with the post office

The neck of the marlin stared at me. Unfamiliar fish that look like a small shark or a sea robin stared at me too. The Palermo market is packed with seafood from the Tyrrhenian Ocean. On a closer look, you might think the fish were smiling at you. I probably felt they were staring at me because I convinced myself that Sicily was a hiding den for mafia members.

The ocean, and the mafia. Yes, I remember something like that from earlier. Remember. 25 years ago. I was working at Noboribetsu in Hokkaido. I was in my later 20s. I was a director at a postal office.

A staff dove into the office screaming, “delivery mistake!” Apparently, they delivered an important party invitation to a succession of a mafia leader to a different office and they are panicking.

Oh no. We are 100% at fault. We have no choice but to apologize, but I wonder what waits us after that. Would they take one of our arms? I am not sure. But there was no time to wonder. I took the biggest gift box for customers in the director’s room and headed to the mafia’s office with a section chief who was about to retire.

It was a house next to the ocean. We opened the door to find a topless skinhead man sitting on top of a stage. Next to him were young members, giving him a massage along his elegant tattoos. It was the boss.

Oh no. I feel so overpowered. But the boss talked calmly. The young members yelled and the boss calmed them down. We just kept apologizing. Staring at the tea in front of us, we just kept bowing.

Boss: “I am not asking you. I am asking the director.” No, I am the director. “Don’t be ridiculous young one.” No, it’s true. There is this system at the post office. I just came from Tokyo. “What, so you’re an elite?” Yes, no, well, my mother raised me herself, I graduated college and before I knew it I was at the post office.

“Why are you staring at the tea cup.” Well, I was wondering if I would get hit if I drink the tea. Or maybe I would get hit for being rude if I don’t drink the tea.”

Then everyone laughed out loud. We drank tea. “What did you bring us.” Yes, this is a gift. “I know, what is it?” Ah, well I grabbed what I could from the post office. “Is it cash?” No, there is a lot of cash at the post office but I don’t think so. I opened it. It was a towel. “Oh, it’s just a towel.” Yes, well, it is a towel.

Maybe they thought I was weird. They asked me lots of questions about labor union counter measures at the post office. “Looks like you have it pretty tough too.” They wouldn’t let us go home. But at the end, they gave us a ride back to the post office in their car. The other staff, worried about us, seemed surprised.

It was scary. All I did was drink tea. It was a few hours but I’m sure I lost weight. Today, it is a story I can laugh about on the shores of Sicily. Dangerous work, scary experiences, they all become stories to tell. Maybe. Just like that, the day goes by.