The weather today was maintaining its relentlessly brutal pace. The brilliant sun hung in the cloudless sky like so kind of celestial sadist, spreading its rciless heat across the earth with the enthusiasm of soone who'd never heard of air conditioning.
My target was a large dical supply store located a reasonable distance from our apartnt complex—the kind of place that specialized in making mobility aids look slightly less depressing than they actually were.
I was about halfway to my destination when I heard a familiar buzzing sound emanating from the pocket of my jeans.
I pulled out my mobile device out of pure habit, but was greeted by a completely silent screen—no incoming call notification, no missed ssages, nothing.
Then it hit —the vibration was coming from a different phone entirely.
Before I'd left the apartnt, Tomoko-san had handed her cell phone along with a brief explanation about their electronic mbership card system that would score us so kind of discount at the dical supply store.
The strategic thinking of soone who'd spent years stretching every yen to its absolute maximum potential never ceased to amaze .
I glanced at the phone screen and imdiately understood the source of the interruption: the caller ID read "daughter."
Well, this is awkward. Do I answer a phone that isn't mine?
Tomoko-san's daughter had picked this exact mont to call her mother, and I was caught in the middle with a device that didn't belong to .
I hesitated, weighing my options while the phone continued its insistent buzzing. Even when it stopped for a mont, it imdiately started up again with renewed determination.
Thinking that maybe there was so kind of urgent family matter that required imdiate attention, I finally bit the bullet and pressed the green answer icon.
Before I could even formulate an appropriate greeting, a clear, youthful female voice burst through the speaker.
"Mom, why did it take you so long to answer the phone..."
Oops. Ti for damage control.
I cleared my throat softly to announce my presence and interrupt what was probably going to be a very confusing one-sided conversation.
"Hello, are you Mrs. Matsumoto's daughter?"
"EH?! Who are you?!" The shock in her voice was so genuine that I could practically hear her brain short-circuiting.
Matsumoto's daughter was clearly stunned to hear an unfamiliar male voice coming from what should have been her mother's familiar phone.
This probably looks really suspicious from her perspective.
"I'm Mrs. Matsumoto's tenant, and I'm temporarily holding her phone for... reasons. You should probably call back later—I'll return it to her soon," I explained, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.
Dead silence on the other end of the line. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds...
She's either processing this information or calling the police.
"Um, I'm sorry, but I still don't understand the current situation. What exactly are these 'reasons' you ntioned?"
Matsumoto's daughter was obviously confused and probably more than a little concerned about why a strange man had access to her mother's personal communications device.
I had no choice but to lay out the entire story—Tomoko-san's ankle sprain, the late-night hospital adventure, and my current mission to acquire mobility aids using her phone's mbership benefits.
"What?! Mom is injured? When did this happen? How could sothing like this happen? Why didn't she tell ..." The anxiety in her voice ramped up imdiately, transforming from confusion to genuine panic.
The rapid-fire questions ca through the phone with the intensity of soone who'd just learned that their loved one was in danger.
"Mrs. Matsumoto's injuries aren't serious at all. I took her to the hospital for a proper examination yesterday evening. I'll make sure she calls you back to explain all the details herself," I said in my most reassuring tone.
"Oh... okay... thank you so much for that. Excuse , but what's your na?" she asked, her voice gradually returning to more normal levels.
"My surna is Ginjo."
"Ginjo-san, please ask my mother to contact as soon as possible after you see her. I'm her daughter, Sachiko. Please, I'm really worried about her."
"Of course, Sachiko-san. I'll make sure she calls you imdiately," I promised.
From the genuine concern in Matsumoto Sachiko's voice, I could sense the deep bond of affection that existed between mother and daughter.
Tomoko-san had ntioned before that her daughter made a point of calling regularly whenever her schedule allowed, and this seed to be exactly that kind of routine check-in.
Finally, after what felt like an epic journey through solar radiation, I arrived at the dical supply store. The mont I stepped through the automatic doors, the blessed embrace of air conditioning washed over like salvation itself.
A cheerful sales associate approached with the kind of professional enthusiasm that suggested she genuinely enjoyed helping people find mobility aids.
"Hello, sir! How can I assist you today?" she asked with a bright smile.
"Hi there. I have a friend who sprained her ankle and needs a walking aid," I explained, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about.
"Certainly! What's the patient's height?" she inquired with practiced efficiency.
"About 165 centiters."
"Perfect! Right this way, please."
The saleswoman guided to the innermost section of the store, where an impressive array of mobility devices awaited. I quickly identified a suitable option—adjustable, lightweight, and designed for temporary use.
After completing the transaction at the front desk—complete with Tomoko-san's mbership discount, which saved us a respectable amount—I imdiately began the return journey to our apartnt.
The scorching heat hit again the mont I stepped outside, but at least this ti I was carrying proof of a successful expedition.
"Tomoko-san, I'm back!" I called out as I let myself into her apartnt.
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