Around the time of the new millennium, Wisdom21, my English Conversation business, enjoyed enviable success; THAT, in spite of a sluggish economy and an “eikaiwa” industry that had long been saturated. It those days, the sky was the limit - or so it appeared.
It was about this time that I began making a number of personal investments in stocks, mutual funds and US real estate - the values of which would TANK in later years. Not surprisingly, I also picked up a few TOYS along the way: A state-of-the-art stereo system, expensive gifts for family and friends and a brand new S-class Mercedes Benz.
Life was pretty good and at the end 2003 I was celebrating the “Oshogatsu” (end of year) festivities by frequenting my favorite bars and restaurants in the Minami area. Up next was “Couvent Garden”; a brand new bar in Horie only walking distance from the center of action in nearby Shinsaibashi - the main entertainment district of Osaka.
It was just before 10 p.m., Dec. 23. As my car came to a friendly stop at the traffic light on Naniwasuji Street, I could see Couvent Garden just up ahead.
Suddenly my attention was snagged by a gentle “push” to my car's rear bumper. A glance in the rear view revealed an asian male driver with dark sunglasses who must’ve had ONE TOO MANY shots of SAKE before dozing off behind the wheel. From the light tap, though, I could tell there was no real damage to my car so I decided to just let it go. Wouldn't 'ya know it, the sucker does it again!
“OK. This drunk guy needs to get off the road!”
Figuring I would FLEX a little muscle and render some stern advice, I stepped out of the vehicle and approached the darkened windows just a few yards behind. In my peripheral view, I could barely see a clean cut, young Japanese kid stepping into the drivers side of my ride. He struck me as a college student. An engineering major, perhaps.
"Oh! What a good kid! He doesn’t want me blocking traffic so he’s steering my car off the road".
Indeed, for far too many ex-pats, living in Japan is like living in the land of Oz; so evidently the notion of impropriety was the last thing on my mind; that is, until I watched my precious car - and that of the second driver - take-off down the boulevard at top speed.
As I watched the two cars disappear into the night, I could only stand there in the middle of the intersection; in the middle of Winter; mouth wide open; without my jacket, without my cell phone and now without my lovely Benz, frozen in time (no pun intended)and strangely unable to move my big feet. Yeah, the ego-driven, larger-than-life, know-it-all business man from South L.A., had just got PUNKED! - by some weak, cowardly little Japanese boys, of all people!
Folks at Couvent Garden promptly called the police (I didn’t know the number to “911”) and within minutes police arrived with the urgency of a mass murder.
Squad cars, police vans and uniformed cops on bicycles immediatly swarmed the area and cordoned off the entire intersection. A dozen or so officers urgently began the business of taking photos, chalking off sidewalks and measuring distances from here to there. Some were even radioing back and forth to headquarters. Yet with all the commotion and frantic activity, what struck me as most peculiar was that no one bothered to asked MEEEE what happened.
With all the theatrics, the wildly perplexed look on my face did little to mask my burning desire to tell somebody, ANYbody... “THEY WENT THADDAWAY got dammit!!!"
Nobody cared.
An hour later, I visited the local “Koban” (police box) where I was joined by my former wife and business partner. It was there that I gave a detailed account of what had actually occurred.
The following week, an insurance company official visited my office to review my claim. The grand oak bookshelves, Italian leather sofas as well as numerous public accolades which graced the interior, painted a striking picture of a well-established businessman on top of his game.
The plump, middle-aged, smiling investigator was rather wrinkled and unkept but was otherwise cordial enough. After exchanging a few niceties, he began the task of asking me about the robbery, such as why I didn’t lock my door? Where was I coming from in the first place and who saw me at that location?
In spite of the innuendos, I was totally relaxed; comforted by the notion I was completely innocent; charmed by the idea that they were gonna have to fork over wads of cash for my new ride - one that I had already picked out in my mind.
Next, the agent pulled out a map, handed me a pen and asked me to diagram the exact streets I had driven before the crime took place. This too, was a piece of cake. When he asked me to pinpoint where I was coming from, I certainly did not want to reveal that I was coming from my girlfriends apartment, at least not with my (ex) wife listening to every word.
A mild song and dance seem to pasify him for now.
Finally the investigator asked me what I had planned to do with the insurance money?
“Buy a new car, what else?” I said emphatically, making a point to suggest his question was rather ridiculous. The interview concluded without incident.
The following week the insurance man returned again. Once again, he asked me the same or similar off-color questions. And once again, he pulled out a map and asked me to diagram the route I had taken from point A to the point I got robbed.
This time I discretely told him about the lady who could verify my claims; but that revelation did not stop him from coming for a THIRD interview the following week. I didn't mind.
Word got out about the “car jacking” and one of my colleagues at the Chamber of Commerce wrote a Letter to Editor in the Kansai Time Out magazine lampooning the whole episode.
In the letter, the irony of the occasion was certainly not lost: Black guy from South-Central L.A. travels all the way to the Far East only to get car-jacked by the Japanese. Haha! Very funny.
Months later, a telephone call from the police as well as wide spread media reports revealed that a nation- wide ring of car thieves from China had been busted steeling dozens of expensive, high end cars from unsuspecting drivers across Japan in similar fashion.
Hearing the news did make me feel somewhat better that I was not the only IDIOT in town.
The insurance company eventually made good on their obligation to pay the insurance IN FULL; and I in turn kept my promise to buy the car of my dreams.
Moral to the story? Stay alert. Stay alert. Stay alert! Even in Japan!
Darrell
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| This is the Replacement Car I Bought After the Crime |
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