THE CASE OF THE DISAPPEARING WHEELS
When a suitcase falls apart, and Japan reminds me why I like living here
Recently, I was walking to our local station, suitcase in tow, on my way to spend a week with my in-laws in the Japanese countryside.
My wife was still busy with work, so she would join me a couple of days later.
Everything was going according to plan.
Until my suitcase started making strange noises.
I stopped to investigate.
One of the wheels was coming off.
Hmm.
I carried on walking.
Then another wheel started disintegrating.
And then another.
By the time I reached Tokyo Station to catch the shinkansen, the suitcase had stopped cooperating altogether.
I was now carrying it.
Not quite the elegant start to a relaxing week in the countryside I had envisaged.
The next morning, with some assistance from my mother-in-law and Google, I started looking at my options.
The suitcase itself was perfectly fine.
It seemed a shame to throw away the whole thing simply because its wheels had decided to retire.
ChatGPT suggested that I visit a suitcase repair shop in Shibuya – in the middle of Tokyo.
A perfectly sensible suggestion.
Except that I was no longer in Shibuya.
I was about 200 kilometres away.
Apparently, AI knows quite a lot about me.
It just doesn't always know where I am.
Probably a good thing.
Otherwise, it might start getting a little creepy.
So I decided to check whether I could replace the wheels myself, and so I removed one of the wheel bases to see what was involved.
There were a lot of screws.
And a lot of fiddling.
But eventually I had the wheel base in my hand.
The next problem was finding a replacement.
After checking the make of the suitcase, I discovered that the best solution would be to order replacement wheels directly from the manufacturer. They could apparently be shipped within two business days.
Unfortunately, most of our stay coincided with a five-day holiday period.
So there was no guarantee the wheels would arrive before we had to go home.
Besides, a set of four wheels, including shipping, was not going to cost dramatically less than buying a whole new suitcase.
Then there was the prospect of removing another twelve screws and putting all sixteen back again.
This was supposed to be a relaxing holiday, not a DIY workshop, so I didn’t feel particularly enthusiastic about that either.
So I measured the suitcase and drove to a nearby shopping mall.
And I was in luck.
Some of the suitcases were on sale at 50% off.
I checked the measurements displayed on the labels.
They matched the figures I had written down.
Decision made.
I bought one.
There was just one nagging thought.
The new suitcase seemed rather smaller than my old one.
But I had measured it.
Hadn't I?
I got the answer when I unloaded it from the car at my in-laws' house and put it next to the old suitcase.
It was much smaller.
Much.
What had gone wrong?
A quick Google search provided the answer.
The measurements given for suitcases generally include the wheels and the handle.
I had measured only the body.
So I had managed to buy a suitcase that was technically the right size.
Just not the right size.
Back to the shopping mall.
On the drive there, I was already worrying about whether they would take it back.
I have previous experience of shops in Switzerland refusing to return discounted goods unless there is something actually wrong with them.
And, technically, there was nothing wrong with this suitcase.
The problem was the person who had measured it.
Me.
I walked into the shop and explained in great detail what had happened, trying to present a convincing case.
The assistant didn't even blink.
In exactly the same friendly tone he had used during my initial purchase, he asked whether I wanted a refund or would prefer to exchange it for a larger model.
That was it.
No suspicious look.
No sigh.
No subtle suggestion that perhaps I should have thought about the size before buying it.
Just: refund or exchange?
I exchanged it.
And walked out with the correct suitcase.
It's one of those small things I love about Japan.
The customer really is treated as king.
Even when the customer is clearly the one who got it wrong.
After 30 years in Japan, you'd think I would be used to this.
Apparently not.
Sometimes, it only takes a suitcase with three missing wheels and one spectacularly incorrect measurement to remind me why I like living here.
I also write fiction under the name R.K. Arnold. My debut novel, Love, Secrets, and a Plate of Sushi, is a romantic comedy set across Switzerland, England and Japan.
Comments