The Shore Diner: The Two That Stay Put
A column by Takara Senou, who runs a small restaurant in Fukagawa 2-chome. On how the regulars reacted the night the review board made its decision — and the running joke about the two containers that will stay sealed.
Yesterday evening, when the news about the review board's decision came on the TV in my shop, the counter got a little strange. "Open just one, leave the other two as they are." One of my regulars said, "That's exactly like the back of my fridge," and everyone laughed. It's not that you're scared to open it — there's just no particular reason to, and it's been sitting there for years. We've got one of those ourselves: a gift tin of something, long past its date.
Ever since the three containers turned up at the end of August, camera crews and reporters have been coming and going around my shop more than once. Honestly, business wasn't bad at first — more people stopped in for a beer between interviews. But nearly a month on, that crowd has thinned out, and it's back to the usual regulars. That suits me fine.
One of the families who comes in regularly brings along their cleaning robot, "Unit 3." While the humans eat, Unit 3 sits still in the corner of the counter with its charging cord in its mouth. Per the anti-anthropomorphism rules, it's boxy, no face to speak of. Still, the family says, "Unit 3 wanted to come too." Whatever the robot legislative council ends up deciding, in my shop Unit 3's been a regular for years already.
"Open just one, keep the other two in storage." One of the neighborhood association officers said it quietly while paying his bill. "It felt like being told you don't have to understand the whole thing." I nodded and put the next pot of simmered dish on the flame. Leaving something not fully understood is, around here, sometimes the kindest way to handle it. And that tin at the back of my fridge — it'll probably stay right where it is for a while longer, too.
