Drive my car

A critical service if you have anything to drink with dinner

“Glad to hear you’re going to use daikou to get home. That service will change your life out here,” said a friend who is a long-term resident of these valleys. She and her husband had invited us to a barbeque at their place and plenty of drinks would be served.

Quandary. Both Toru and I like drinks. But we also like to keep our driving licenses, and while Japan is accepting of alcohol culturally it takes a dim view of drunk driving, no matter how short the distance.

Stumbling around, singing at midnight to strangers’ houses, and sleeping it off on a train platform till morning is fine. But bring a car into the equation and things get dark real quick.

The legal limit here is 0.10ml/liter of breath. That’s basically the vermouth in a dry martini…minus the whole damn martini.

I know. You are thinking, just take a cab. Hey, try finding one out here. Buses don’t run past late afternoon and trains don’t exist. You can see where daikou comes in.

The word translates to “do on behalf.” Daikou is a “drive you back home when you are too drunk to drive” service. A sober driver will show up at an agreed time to take your keys and then drive you back to your home in your own car.

You sit in the back finding out what your passenger seats feel like.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he barks.

So 10PM rolls around at the barbeque and Toru and I are getting toasty. Our driver calls to say he’s close.

“I’m on the road. Get out there now. Don’t be late, don’t keep me waiting,” he barks.

“Jeez, this guy,” says Toru after hanging up. Both of us are a bit concerned that our first-ever daikou driver is maybe a weirdo. A weirdo who we are asking to drive my car.

The man showed up right on time. He was a bit scraggly and I’d say in his fifties. He didn’t smile, but silently took the keys and motioned for us to get in.

Toru broke the ice by talking a bit about the area as we made our way back.

Our daikou warmed up a bit. “Yeah, I actually went to the elementary school near your house.” He gave us a quick run-down on who owns what, what stores shut when, which crops grow where, and the like. He was nice and not a weirdo.

As we pulled over our bridge, he pointed to a house sitting next to Koubou well. “My classmate lives there,” he said. “By the way, my name is Kajiwara.”

“Get his card, get his card,” I said to Toru as we were settling up.

I remember Toru saying, “Hey, we like going to restaurants and such and hope to call you again, Kajiwara-san.” The driver nodded and gave a terse “business” smile as if to say we aren’t friends, gentlemen, but ring if you need.

We will be seeing Kajiwara-san again soon I’m sure.