Tokyo train stations always rang to the click of ticket checkers beating out a jaunty rhythm on their little hand held clipping devices. They collected tickets from departing passengers, clipped them and deposited them in a receptacle. The Japanese have a well deserved reputation for honesty. The stories of the owners of brief cases etc, accidentally left kerbside at the airport, being tracked down and reunited with their lost item are legion. In fact an acquaintance had a stuffed panda returned, but that’s a story for another time. Mind you, I had some cologne “nicked” from a bag lost in Bangkok/Tokyo transit by an airline, but that was a crime probably executed at the Thai end. If you smell YSL Kouros on a Thai customs officer, it’s probably mine. If Thailand had ticket clickers, they’d be too busy running after fare evaders for any jaunty clipper clicking. The predominant noise in Thai railway stations would be the scream of the Thai “Hey You!!!” as enraged ticket clickers set off in pursuit of fare evaders. In any event honest Japanese carry correct tickets, therefore, in Tokyo, the ticket clippers didn’t see many “dud” tickets, so the clicking always proceeded along its “happy” course………….well, almost always. The Japanese reputation for efficiency is also well deserved. They “program” for it. At each stop, a train driver’s white gloved hand points at each dial or function which needs to be checked prior to moving off. Similarly, the ticket clippers’ clicking focused each step in a very high volume process. Similar planning has been employed to minimize the opportunities for visitors to become lost. Mind you, of course they still do, but then, as we know, stupidity and the bulk of human kind are synonymous and indivisible. The idea of colour coded route maps for public transport, which, I think, originated with the Underground and has now spread, infectious disease like, to all corners of the globe (even being seen reinterpreted as art by the inspirationally impoverished) appears in Tokyo. The Japanese have taken it to the logical next step and given the trains a matching colour strip. Each route also loops, so if you board a train at Shinagawa, become disoriented, demented or suffer an anxiety attack you need only retain the wit to remember Shinagawa station, as you will eventually return there. Station name boards carry the station name and in smaller characters to its right and left, the next and previous stations (these all, thoughtfully have English “subtitles”). It’s idiot proof really……….. well, almost. Large machines at station entrances dispense tickets, these are imposing contraptions with vast instructional diagrammatics towering over them. The array of buttons knobs, arrows and explanatory notes left no doubt that a ticket could be purchased from anywhere on the globe to anywhere else on the globe and that an array of other goods and services may also be obtained. At least I always assumed that was the case as, unlike the rest of the system these mechanical wonders were definitely monolingual. We knew what they did, but had no idea how to get them to dispense a ticket from the “A” to the “B” of our choosing. So we observed. It became apparent that if coins were deposited in slot “D” (one of many available) and button “F” (also one of scores) pushed a ticket would fall from dispenser “G”. We also noted that armed with that ticket, the holder obtained entry to the station, we therefore followed suit. Like two naughty boys, my colleague and I “entered the system”. We had also deduced that we would face the ticket clippers at our journey’s end, so it was decided that we’d draw lots to see who went through first, with the other holding back a few positions so he could flee if the losing sacrificial lamb were, in fact slaughtered. I have nothing to say about our first experience other than “baaaah”. I shuffled through with the crowd and handed my ticket to the clipper, whose happy clicking provided the rhythm for my march toward my fate. The beat continued, momentarily untroubled, then stumbled into a clatter of disbelief as my invalid ticket was registered. The vast crowd was scanned, but then too late for an offender to be identified. Ashen faced the clipper restored his calm and, at first tentatively, his rhythm. His composure tenuously restored, he then found himself confronted with my colleague’s ticket. A meltdown of epic proportions ensued. It was a great show! There after, when ever we met up in Tokyo, we always travelled by train, purchased our tickets by the same method and departed the system leaving a similar gap between us as we passed the clipper. We visited rhythmic discord on most Tokyo stations over time whilst providing ourselves with many happy hours of entertainment, albeit it a bit malicious. But, then boys will be boys, even when they are travelling businessmen.
My more recent visits to Japan have, sadly, been undertaken with a car and driver. No doubt, as with all things the Tokyo train system has moved on. But I miss the “clippers” and, even more disrupting their clicking. I wonder if we caused PTS in any of them? It always looked to be a possibility.
