A Box of Sixteen for Fifteen People — Epoche A2
14 November Back from my two days in Tokyo. Before the trip, Morita-san stopped me by the copier and said one word: "Fifteen." Then she counted the office on her fingers - twelve of us, plus the section chief, plus the two part-timers. "Fifteen people. So you buy the box of sixteen." She meant omiyage. Whoever travels brings sweets back for the whole office, and the shops are built around that arithmetic. At Tokyo Station last night I stood beside the shinkansen gate, where every box said its number on the front in large figures: 8 pieces, 12 pieces, 16 pieces, 24 pieces, the price rising with the count. Every piece inside is wrapped on its own. Nobody weighs anything. You count your colleagues on the platform and choose the number. This morning before the meeting I went desk to desk and put one wrapped cake on each desk. Two people are on holiday, so Morita-san slid theirs into their drawers - the single wrapping is why that works: each piece keeps until they are back, and nobody needs a knife or a plate. The sixteenth piece sat on the empty box by the kettle all afternoon. At four o'clock it was gone.