HERE'S MY latest column. The paper's Web site doesn't include the art that ran with the story so I have included it here. It's by Kayo Mori, our graphic artist. And alas, I do look like that.
For 270 million yen, there ought to be space for my Spam
"I'd need wings to live up there," my wife says.
"We'll just look around."
"I like it here, with my feet close to the ground."
"Just a peek?"
And so, seduced by billboards featuring veteran actor Masakazu Tamura sipping champagne in the back of a limo, we stroll two blocks to the largest model room complex I've ever seen. Another huge tower is going up. I am curious; my wife is at least willing.
A few years ago, I visited many of these joints. It was fun. However, there is a learning curve.
The first thing to remember is that they know what you want--to wander aimlessly through the spotless model rooms. And they are simply not going to let that happen. To keep the riffraff off the premises, an obstacle course is always erected.
We step through the door. My wife sighs as six young women in business attire bow in our direction. They firmly herd us to one of many shiny white desks.
Are you getting the picture?
Here, take my hand. I'll walk you through it. Almost finished with that last form? No, ya gotta tell them how much money you make. Write it down.
No, you can't go see the model condos yet. Next is the movie. There he is, Tamura-san. He is going to narrate a film about the neighborhood and the condominium complex. Most are facilities you will never use.
Be patient. See? The movie's over. It's time to move to another dark room to view the illuminated diorama. See it revolves and blinks and, yeah, some guy drones on about how secure the whole place is and you won't die if the Big One hits.
Yes, yes, now we can now go see the model rooms. Oops, spoke too soon. Old men always ask lots of questions when they see the diorama. Questions they already know the answers to. If the light were better, you could see his daughter's cheeks turn red.
Good, he's run out of steam. Let's go.
The first condo is a mere 75 square meters. How much? I don't know. Ask her. Holy cow! That's a chunk of change. Let's skip the mid-range condo and move on to the Big Kahuna.
Ahh, this is more like it. The closet is bigger than my first apartment. Look, they have backlit windows simulating a night view of Tokyo from the 44th floor. Yes, you can look down on the peons. That's part of the appeal. Still, it's only 140 square meters.
You can't find any cabinets in the kitchen to store food? What's that? She says there is plenty of storage space in the other rooms. I guess that's OK. I'll store my Spam and ramen in the bedroom. How should I know? The rich are different. Maybe they call caterers.
No, you ask. I'm shy.
You gotta be kidding--270 million yen?
Let's get out of here. You're hungry? My wife says you can come over for dinner. She says she'll call our caterer. You like Shakey's, don't ya?
