CNBNews

Commentary by Hank F. Miller Jr.

When I was new to this country, I had regular" episodes of misunderstanding" about the way of life Japanese. Episodes that taught me that Western thinking and Japanese thinking did not, could not, and would not match. Episodes that always left me muttering to myself that I had been in Japan far too long, even though I had just arrived. I haven't had such an episode for many years now, and perhaps that means the same thing: I have been here too long. Yet, the other day I had a lulu of a situation.

As I have done many times for that past several years--ever since my three kids went to the states to attend high school--I walked to my local post office to wire them finances. As a veteran, I came prepared: I had my personal stamp. I had also brought copies of my last many times I had wired them money.

I had my postal saving passbook also. I had my alien registration card, my passport, and business card. All this because I always feared something would go wrong. But I had no difficulties what so ever in numerous tries. Which meant the post office was due.

I knew this the second I greeted the clerk in Japanese and he answered me in English. A bad sign. We were not going to communicate at all.

I told him I wanted to wire money to the States. I had the necessary form already filled out. He accepted this and began to peruse it carefully, licking his chops like a wolf before a lamb.

And then--I knew it!--he sucked his teeth.

My American bank did not have a street address, he said. It was impossible to send the money. Oh really? I displayed copies of my many previous transactions. My area in Oregon is too small for street addresses, I explained. It's almost too small for streets too.

The bank name and routing number were all I really needed, Trust me.

He then shuffled through the copies. Who could have OK'd these!?he asked.

I pointed to his superior sitting 3 meters away and he dropped the topic. Only to soon suck his teeth once again and shake head. Why?

"He wanted to know, "If the money will end up with your children. Have you written living expense' as purpose? It will not be your living expense."

Again I said that was what his superior had instructed me to write.

Now he shuffled back to his boss. The two huddled for a hushed conversation and then the clerk returned, beaming as if he had just saved the banking business from collapse."You must write your 'children's living expense' or it is unacceptable!"

So I did and he went ahead with the transaction, taking both my passbook and alien registration. Only to stop cold.

The names on my passbook and alien registration were different! He almost screeched this. I explained the alien registration contained my middle name but my passbook did not. My postal account dates to the 1980s and I had never entered my middle name. He handed everything back and apologized that he could not make the transaction."Now wait," I said "it's my money/ you have a photo I.D. I have done this dozens of times. Your boss sitting behind you has waited on me personally. I have copies with me .Besides no other foreigner ever comes in here to wire money. You all know who I am and you all know my family too."The man apologized again bowing.

And said it was impossible. New laws had made sending money more difficult.

The government wished to tighten down because of North Korea.

I told him to take a good long look at me. Now I said to the clerk, do I look like a North Korean to you. And my children in the States are Japanese and American citizens. Plus how hell would North Korea use this money? The amount was enough to buy peanuts, not plutonium.

"I am sorry he said. I was deciding whether to stomp out, or to first close my account and then stomp out of there, when he added:"

You have only two possible options. You can either legally change your name to match your passbook." "WHAT!?"I reached for his neck."Or you can create a new passbook. It takes about five minutes."  "Alright. That's what I'll do. But can I strangle you first?"

Of course he didn't answer. Ten minutes later I went home with my money sent and a brand new passbook, along with some small gratification gift that I somehow triumphed over Japanese bureaucracy. Or so I thought.

You won't believe this:

In the next month I was contacted by every Japanese creditor I had, all bellowing for payment. Why?

Because now my passbook name was not the same as their billing data. The post office would not release my funds. I have to contact each creditor and change my name on their endless forms. So I had been here far too long. At least under my shortened name.

"Anyway there is some light at the other end of the tunnel."

December 22nd my wife Keiko and I are going to take a breather and come to Gloucester City, for a well deserved holiday with our family and friends, we'll depart for our home in Japan on January 3, 2008.

Warm Regards from Kitakyushu City, Japan

Hank & Keiko Miller