Back at the Counter

Welcome back, everybody. After a short break, I’m back at the writing desk again, and this time we’re moving into my first winter in Japan.

Unlike the first trip, I’m going back alone. Joy will join me later, but she couldn’t come over for the full three months, so this stretch belongs to me—alone with my thoughts, daily life, and the snow.

Rather than easing into this return the way the earlier blogs did, I’m going to drop us straight back into the middle of it, with me standing at the Japan Airlines check‑in counter at SEA‑TAC International Airport, westward‑bound for the Land of the Rising Sun.

If there’s a pattern in my international travels—at least when Japan is involved—it’s this: I can’t seem to get checked in and drop my baggage without having to speak to a human first. This feels like a technological issue to me. I might be Gen X, but I’m not technologically incompetent. I’ll complain about it like a boomer, but I understand how the systems work, throw in a mom-joke for good measure, then adapt accordingly. Ironically, thanks to nearly a decade in IT, I probably overthink technology to the point where it works against me, and that’s the likely problem here. Knowing what the problem is doesn’t mean there’s a solution to it either.

Regardless, the situation remains the same. Both the mobile app and the self‑check‑in kiosks I tried multiple times informed me that I needed to go to the counter and speak with an agent.

I’m half amused and half irritated by this. It doesn’t change the fact that the airline wants to talk to me about something that can’t be handled automatically. Fortunately, this time I hadn’t arrived so early that I was stuck waiting an extra hour just to start that conversation. Still, it did cut into my prime airplane‑watching window, and that never improves my mood.

Still, I was also genuinely curious about what Japan Airlines wanted to discuss. Unlike my previous trip, this was a simple round‑trip ticket on the same carrier. I couldn’t find a better, cheaper alternative, so that’s what I did. Besides that, I don’t have food allergies, I wasn’t flying standby, and nothing in my reservation jumped out as unusual.

So, I waited, moved up the line, and sent Joy a quick status text.

She replied, “Don’t get thrown off the flight. I have a schedule to maintain and things to do today.”

Sage advice, as always.

With that settled, I reached the counter and handed over my passport. The agent scanned it, glanced at her screen, frowned, then checked the passport again. She looked back at me, smiled politely, and then walked away—passport still in hand.

This can’t be good.

My mind immediately kicked into overdrive. As we get older, we learn to recognize patterns, and one of them is this: when someone disappears to consult a supervisor, something is happening. I watched her speak with an older, taller woman near the baggage drop. They pointed at my passport, then at me, then back to the passport. I smiled and gave them a small, friendly wave. Whatever came next, being disagreeable wouldn’t help.

The darker thoughts followed anyway.

Had my passport been flagged? Was I suddenly not allowed to leave the country? I’d been hearing stories lately about political issues and “documentation errors” that flagged people’s passports. I’d even heard about how some folks’ passports have recently been flagged as stolen for no apparent reason, which caused unnecessary chaos when traveling abroad. Had something like that happened to me?

Shit. I’m going to jail, aren’t I?

I briefly considered what a rapid tactical withdrawal might look like: abandon my luggage, walk calmly out of the airport, disappear quietly into the parking garage, preparing for a forty-year exile. If I were going to do it, though, I’d need to act fast.

Math, but International

Before my imagination went any further, the taller woman stepped behind the counter, smiled warmly, and asked, “Do you have a visa?”

Well, that was a relief. At least I didn’t need to plan a jailbreak.

As of this writing, U.S. tourists can enter Japan for pleasure or business and stay for up to 90 days without a visa.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t think I needed one.”

She smiled. “Your return flight is 91 days from now. Do you have onward travel on a different airline?”

“What?”

“You can’t stay longer than 90 days without a visa.”

“I’m staying exactly 90 days,” I replied.

She was not amused. “No, you are not. From today until your return flight is 91 days.”

Confidently, I explained, “This flight crosses the International Date Line and doesn’t technically land until tomorrow, which puts me at exactly 90 days.”

She frowned. I was not winning this argument.

She pulled out a paper calendar and counted the days in front of me, carefully demonstrating the error of my logic. “If you can’t produce an onward ticket, or a visa that allows you to stay beyond 90 days,” she said, “I can’t let you on this flight.”

I sighed. “One moment, please.”

She smiled again.

I fired off a frantic message to a good friend in Taiwan, asking if she’d be home around Christmas. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the night there, and I knew I wouldn’t hear back for hours. Still, I might get lucky and hear back straight away, then I’d be able to book a flight from Sapporo to Taipei on the spot, thus bypassing this issue altogether.

That’s when it occurred to me that two could play this game.

I asked Google to count forward 90 days from the day my plane lands in Japan.

The result? The exact date of my return flight, as I planned.

The agent frowned again, clearly preparing for another round, when someone approached from behind her. Judging by the uniform, this was the person quietly running the counter from her office. A few words were exchanged. The agent nodded, then looked back at me and smiled.

Cleared, Sort Of

“Okay,” she said. “We will let you on the plane if you sign a waiver stating that you will not hold us liable if Japanese immigration denies you entry and forces your immediate return.”

Relief washed over me.

She printed the waiver, and I signed it on the spot. Another agent returned, apologized, checked me in, handed me my boarding pass, and took my luggage.

With the situation resolved—but the possibility of a similar conversation at Japanese immigration lingering in my mind—I headed toward TSA. This time, PreCheck worked exactly as advertised. Ten minutes and one train ride later, I reached my gate.

I took a seat by the window and watched the steady choreography of people servicing the aircraft that would carry me back.

Everything Is Fine

The pause gave me space to reflect. Not long ago, my life looked very different. I was navigating my father’s passing, a time of great upheaval that changed my life trajectory in ways I couldn’t have imagined. How fortunate am I to live a life I never planned—but deeply value?

An announcement over the loudspeaker pulled me back to the present. Boarding would begin shortly.

I glanced at my watch. Just enough time for a restroom break. I stood, headed down the concourse, and smiled.

All was well with the universe.

Looking back, I should have known that thought was premature.