Ki o tsukete

To get from the river to the streets on my way to HPAC, I have to bike up a small hill, wait for traffic, quickly cross, and then quickly check for additional merging traffic as I swoop down another hill wrapping to the left around a small playground.  I avoid temptation and keep my eyes on the road; cute children are the Sirens of Japan.

Today, a crew of workers was right at that tricky intersection, right at the point of merging traffic as I head down the hill.  I got a clearing and crossed as I looked ahead for oncoming cars I might need to avoid.  It was clear.  But as I started down the hill, one of the workers had me pause as he looked out for traffic on my behalf.  I waited for him to make sure it was safe for me, his face full of responsibility and concern, not a trace of a smile.

I think this happens other places, too, but for some reason being in Japan I noticed and appreciated it.  This caring redundancy–that safety not be left to one person's perceptions, that the thoroughness of a job depends on the attention of many.  At almost every establishment's parking lot there is a worker with a wand, ensuring that pedestrians and bikers pass on the sidewalk safely as cars enter and exit.

I appreciate that he so dutifully looked out for me, that he assumed it as his job as a worker.  With no exchange of a smile, he seemed to require no personal appreciation or gratitude from me for his care.  But I am grateful, even if I already knew it was safe.  That gesture of care is worth the 10 second wait; more than worth the time to acknowledge it, just for its own sake.