Neighborhood Festival Street
While perusing the streets before a neighborhood festival I spotted a pineapple vendor’s tiny booth between two hot food booths. It was 75 and sunny and I was sweating. A slice of skewered pineapple sounded heavenly. I happily forked over 200 yen, expecting speedy pineapple-on-a-stick delivery.
“Do you know the game paper, scissors, rock?” the animated twenty-something asked. I glanced at all those beautiful yellow skewers, ice chips glistening on top.
“Yes.”
He pointed to a printer-paper sign duct-taped to his tent-pole. It was written in Japanese. “You win, I give you two. Tie, one.”
“What if I lose?” Extra conditions should have been disclosed before I paid. Then again, they were there in black and white on his sign. Well, according to him at least. He shrugged and smiled deviously. Fresh pineapple. Sweet, fresh pineapple. “Okay.”
“You say one, two, three, right?” He pumped his fist three times.
“Yes.”
In retrospect, I should have asked for a practice round. He started and I followed — one, two, three — except by “three” he was showing scissors and I was still waiting for “shoot.”
I’m no newbie to rock paper scissors. I’ve played for high stakes: front seat dibs, walk the dog in sub-zero temperatures, clean up the baby poop blowout, to name a few. Rock paper scissors is played “one, two, three, shoot.” Nobody shows on “three.” You show on “shoot.” Surely this is the universal way to play. Who shows on “three?”
I panicked and also showed scissors. He laughed.
“Too, bad. Just one,” he said as he dug an extra-cold skewer from the pile. I thanked him for the game, and continued down the street. As I savored the sweetest pineapple I’ve ever tasted, I vowed to study my Kanji an extra ten minutes a day. Ability to read signs: crucial.
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