Drawer Money

   "Show me the money," Tom Cruise's mantra in the film Jerry Maguire, resonates for Tokyoites. In Western cities shoppers rely on credit cards and worry that carrying too much money will make us a target for pickpockets. In a town without crime credit cards are suspect and tend to lead to financial trouble, while walking-around money becomes a serious wad. Not that you would carry a messy wad of bills: Tokyoites are known to iron their notes.  I feel naked unless I have at least three ichiman notes (about $300) in my wallet at all times. Every conbini (convenience store ie 711) has change for a $100 bill, no matter how small the purchase. Ditto the automatic ticket machines in the subway that spit out $90 change when I top up my Pasmo (travel card a la New York's Metrocard or London's Oyster).

    At the post office the clerk counted out stacks of bills for a sweet little old lady who inserted them into an envelope that she put into her pocketbook. While she may have been headed to Akihabara, the part of town where locals buy large appliances (we exchanged a similar stack at Laox  for a TV), my nihongo-sensei conjectured that she was replenishing her "drawer money."  Why make multiple trips to the bank: Simply fill a drawer with neat blue and pink bills, and replenish as needed. With the threat of an earthquake that will rattle the town and disable the ATM system, keeping three or four months supply of cash on hand makes sense.

    Once a month the paperboy rings the bell at the Manor to collect Y4,160 (about $45) for the Asahi Shimbun (Daily News) edition of the International Herald Tribune. Newspapers in Japan have the largest circulation in the world (10 million readers for the Yomiuri), with a daily delivered to every household in the country. In New York the rude plop of the Times on the doormat is the cock-a-doodle-doo that starts the day; at the Manor the slim (24 page)  IHT waits politely in the mailbox.  In New York to suspend delivery for a holiday, subscribers dial in and punch a code. At the Manor suspension entails dialing and speaking to customer service, plus reciting numbers in nihongo. Each month the same good-looking young man parks his bike, appears at the door and repeats the same short speech in eigo (English). In exchange for an envelope of cash, which had been prepared since the bill arrived, he offers a packet of garbage bags and a deep bow.