Flimflam Man

Subtitle:  There's more than one way to spell "prayed upon"
                                                --or--
                        A healthy skepticism is a good thing
                                                --or--
                                   Shanghaied in Tokyo

Have you ever felt really stupid?  I'm not talking stupid like where did I put my car keys, or "Damn, I forgot the name of the president of Uzbekistan again".  I'm talking unbelievably, undeniably stupid.  As in how did I ever survive life's daily challenges and ordeals, and get to be this old, being so stupid.

One recent evening, Stacey and I were strolling along a promenade through Ueno Park in Tokyo.  All was right.  The world seemed a blessed, peaceful, trusting place.  From a grove of lovely cherry trees off to our right, a seemingly benevolent monk appeared, and made his way straight for us.

Monks are beyond reproach.  They embody the very essence of peace, trustworthiness, and goodness.  They wrap themselves in the sublimity of nothingness.  Encountering many of them in Korea and Thailand, after I had ditched everything to move overseas, they became an emblem of my newfound minimalism.  Who needs to be tied down by life's encumbrances.  I greeted him warmly.

I think he sensed I'm a heckuva nice guy.  He was very gracious.  He presented me a shiny little metallic doodad with printing in English extolling the virtues of hard work and peace.  I was inclined to argue the merit of work with him, but I cut him some slack as I was feeling extremely amicable that given day.  I turned to show the amulet to Stacey who, legs tiring after a long day of touristing, was lagging a few steps behind me.

"Look what this nice monk gave me," I purred, holding forth my gleaming prize.  What a kind gesture.  A warm feeling washed over me.

As Stacey caught up to me, I handed her our wondrous gift, and, thanking the monk, took a step or two as I turned to go.  The monk scurried to rejoin me at my side.

He whipped out a small notebook in which he recorded charitable contributions made by those to whom he had bestowed his gilded token.  I noticed some pretty hefty donations.  The world is full of generous souls.

The walkways where Ueno Station ties into Ueno Park are in need of some charitable work.  The area is home to a rather large homeless population.  I'm thinking this kindly monk has good use for a little of my money.  He's probably feeding the less fortunate amongst us.

I fumbled through my touristy money pouch, and dug out a few yen in coins which I offered him.

"No coins," was his rather brusque retort.  Should have been a tip-off right there, you're thinking.  Forgive me.  I was still jet lagged from the grueling two hour flight from Seoul to Tokyo.

In Japan, the smallest denomination of paper notes is 1,000 yen; or about ten bucks American at current, favorable exchange rates.  If you're flush with dollars, now is a good time to visit Japan (this story aside).

As I have noted, I had witnessed much need in this monk's domain so I coughed up a crisp 1,000 yen note and wished him well.

He turned to Stacey as he pulled another golden trinket from up his sleeve.  He offered it to her and she willingly accepted; forking over another 1,000 yen; making pure nonsense of the notion that two heads are better than one.

We parted ways, and the monk moved off rather briskly, disappearing back into the grove.  After taking ten or twenty steps down the promenade, both of us began scratching our heads at about the same time.  "What exactly went down here?" was flashing in our minds.  "You don't suppose...?".

Back in our hotel room, still holding out hope that we had done our part to feed Tokyo's downtrodden, Stacey took to the internet.  Keywords: monks, Ueno Park.  Verdict: SCAM (complete with mug shots of the talented, offending con artists).

Such intense hurt and searing pain.  When I was young, I had blackened out the word "gullible" in my American Heritage dictionary, reckoning there was no need for it in my vernacular.  Now, if you look up that very word in next year's newly printed edition, you'll surely see a picture of my dopey, grinning face alongside the definition.

Funny thing though.  Stacey dropped her cell phone onto a concrete sidewalk the next day.  I've seen plenty of shattered phones in Seoul caused by such carelessness.  Stacey picked it up.  No cracked touch screen, no problems, working fine.  That's good karma.  I attribute it to good intentions.