Cedophile
11-17-2006, 06:50 PM
I've had two encounters with the police since I came to Japan in January. The first can be summed up like this:
loud music at 2am + drunk + scared of being arrested = remarkable willingness to do anything asked of me
Now for my second encounter:
I bought my bike from a guy named John.
I rode out to the QQ (a local 100 yen shop) to grab a CD. I got there around 3am, and proceeded to go inside as some police were looking suspiciously interested in my bike.
Note about Japan: Bikes are generally registered with the government to deter theft. They get stickers with license numbers on them.
Back to the story: I figured, hey, I feel better knowing bike serial numbers are being checked in case someone's bike is stolen.
Then it dawned on me: oh crap, this isn't going to end well. I never changed the name on that bike.
They told me to go ahead and do my shopping. So I bought my CD, came back outside, and two officers were standing next to my bike. One of them called me over and asked me to show him my alien registration card (the most common form of ID that any non-citizen will have). Said and done!
He tells me the bike is registered to a guy named Alex (he had a cool PDA so he could check the serial number). Oooh, this must be the Swiss guy who owned the bike before John. Or some guy farther back in the line of ownership. Who can tell?
I start thinking about what kind of deep shit I might have gotten myself into by having this bike. I then think, hey, I covered all my bases when I bought this bike, less the name change on the registration. I shouldn't have any problem once I explain my situation.
Though upon being questioned, I wouldn't have been able to produce any of the previous owners, because I never met Alex and John is somewhere in Italy.
After a bit of considering, they take me to a police box (read: small police station). They even let me ride my bike there behind them (this must be a sign of trust, like "This guy probably won't run off").
I joke it up with one cop about how unbearably cold it is until the other one comes. They hold me in there for another good 10 minutes while they ask me some questions about the ownership lineage and repeat to themselves "What am I gonna do..." over and over.
Then they let me go. They tell me that I'll probably go through this again, and they advise me to inform (someone?) on the change of owner. They never specified who. I'll figure this info out later. Probably before I ride the bike at 3am again.
loud music at 2am + drunk + scared of being arrested = remarkable willingness to do anything asked of me
Now for my second encounter:
I bought my bike from a guy named John.
I rode out to the QQ (a local 100 yen shop) to grab a CD. I got there around 3am, and proceeded to go inside as some police were looking suspiciously interested in my bike.
Note about Japan: Bikes are generally registered with the government to deter theft. They get stickers with license numbers on them.
Back to the story: I figured, hey, I feel better knowing bike serial numbers are being checked in case someone's bike is stolen.
Then it dawned on me: oh crap, this isn't going to end well. I never changed the name on that bike.
They told me to go ahead and do my shopping. So I bought my CD, came back outside, and two officers were standing next to my bike. One of them called me over and asked me to show him my alien registration card (the most common form of ID that any non-citizen will have). Said and done!
He tells me the bike is registered to a guy named Alex (he had a cool PDA so he could check the serial number). Oooh, this must be the Swiss guy who owned the bike before John. Or some guy farther back in the line of ownership. Who can tell?
I start thinking about what kind of deep shit I might have gotten myself into by having this bike. I then think, hey, I covered all my bases when I bought this bike, less the name change on the registration. I shouldn't have any problem once I explain my situation.
Though upon being questioned, I wouldn't have been able to produce any of the previous owners, because I never met Alex and John is somewhere in Italy.
After a bit of considering, they take me to a police box (read: small police station). They even let me ride my bike there behind them (this must be a sign of trust, like "This guy probably won't run off").
I joke it up with one cop about how unbearably cold it is until the other one comes. They hold me in there for another good 10 minutes while they ask me some questions about the ownership lineage and repeat to themselves "What am I gonna do..." over and over.
Then they let me go. They tell me that I'll probably go through this again, and they advise me to inform (someone?) on the change of owner. They never specified who. I'll figure this info out later. Probably before I ride the bike at 3am again.