Hello Typ0

One of the many reasons I love to travel is that you always meet interesting people and see amazing things when you leave your immediate comfort zone and get out into the world. Occasionally, you wish you could continue to live like an adventuring tourist a little longer or bring some of those instant friends home with you. Then there are ones that stay with you – no matter how much you try to get rid of them.

Take Hello Kitty for example. Not to be judgmental but there is an awful lot of Hello Kitty in Japan. Despite this seeming nation-wide obsession I wasn’t able to find a single Hello Kitty factory (although we did spot a Battling Seizure Robot). I have never really understood the worldwide facination with the large faced white cat and yet in the midst of hunting for pantie vending machines in downtown Tokyo, I was drawn - as if by evil cartoon cat magic – to the Hello Kitty store.

I should have known something was wrong the moment I ignored the Baskin and Robbins (aka 31 flavors of joy) to pose in front of the giant feline. Before we knew what was happening, we had been sucked inside the cat’s lair and were perusing the shelves with only the smallest trace of irony. When Hubby picked up the tiny Hello Kitty fork and made it dance we laughed… and then added it to our basket.

By the time we left, I had a pillow, fork, and huge sheet of stickers (which were not later stuck to my phone or computer) for a cartoon character I didn’t even like. And heaven knows that my 12-year-old self likes a lot of cartoon characters.

But wait – it only gets weirder from here.

Our next stop was an Irish bar just down the road. Hubby and I made something of a study of Japanese bars during our holiday and felt it would be remiss if we didn’t head upstairs and enjoy a couple of pints. Midway through our first pint, a pair of Canadian businessmen sat down next to us and very kindly didn’t smoke any cigars.

Around pint number three, when a pleasant buzz had settled over us, the gentleman next to me noticed that I was Canadian and that we had a Hello Kitty bag which we were desperately trying to hide as if it were filled with illicit drugs. “Do you know the name of Hello Kitty’s boyfriend?” he inquired between sips of his draft beer.

My first thought was, “Hello Kitty has a boyfriend?” Followed by, “Why does this 50-something man know that Kitty has a sweetheart?” Luckily for him, the good manners my mother instilled in me overrode my cider induced buzz and I merely said, “No. No, I don’t.”

“His name is Daniel,” he informed me in an oddly solemn voice.

We continued to talk to our new Canadian friends while we finished off our pints and managed to steer the conversation away from giant-headed white cats. Or so we thought. When we finally got up to leave, Canada Man asked me again, “What is the name of Hello Kitty’s boyfriend?”

By now, I was amused enough to play along, “I will never forget that his name is Daniel.” I then promised to blog about our encounter. Luckily, I never promised not to mock him in said blog.