A secret mission to Family Mart

Note: The first half of this blog was originally written in early March 2025. Sat in a notebook for 4 months.

Thursday winds down, and into my little apartment I slump. Chores to do, and lunch to make, to keep the Joe of tomorrow going. What's in my fridge? 3 eggs, a half-empty bottle of mayo, and 4 rolls of 35mm.

It's nights such as these that call for a convenience store mission. In the words of my good friend Vinny, who wrote about this quite recently, the convenience store truly is the lifeblood of Japan. On every street, from the bustling heart of downtown where tourists fill their baskets with egg sando and souvenirs, to the suburbs where housewives grab Omurice essentials to feed their hungry elementary school kids. On the steppes of Nagano, the rural villages of Kyushu, the rice paddies of Shikoku, and the palm tree-lines streets of Okinawa. The conbini is omnipresent.

I throw on what's warmest, a mishmash of colors topped off with my Blundstone boots. Though March has come the frigid winds still blow - the 3 on the calendar is just a number in sequence, and the wind still numbs your knuckles come this time of night. From the doors of my apartment building you turn right, walk to the T junction and make a left at the karaoke snack bar toward the lights of the shotengai, Japan's ubiquitous shopping street. At the main road of Abeno-suji, the neon lights of FamilyMart - open 24/7 like all of Japan's conbinis - call like a beacon in the starless night.

Outside I stop for a moment, to savor the fleeting brake lights of speeding traffic whilst I finish a smoke. From the automatic doors, faces from all walks of life come and go.

Inside, it's warm. Warm like a house whose fireplace hasn't been doused for years. In between the aisles, perusing people. It's 12:40am. What are all of you doing here at such an unsociable time? I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the doors amongst the beers and milk coffee, a mop of dark hair and a face red with cold peering back at me. What are you doing here?

When it comes to choice of ground coffee, the convenience store is usually a caffeine-lovers haven. But tonight...a Starbucks blend priced the same as a bowl of good ramen. Instant coffee...or mocha blend. Mocha blend? Despite my frantic checking and scanning of the shelves around, it's true. My only choice. And so I settle on it, thumping it down onto the counter alongside a loaf of bread and some butter.

-Do you need a bag?

-I'm okay.

-Do you have a point card?

-Nope.

-That comes to 1041 yen.

Off goes the cash, and back comes the receipt. 

There's an odd ritual that it seems every convenience cashier in Japan shares, from Lawson to 7-11 to FamilyMart and beyond. If you stay at the register, they'll never leave. I wonder if it's drilled into them during training? If you take your receipt and go, or wait for 10 seconds to pack away your goods, they'll always stand behind the counter watching, and waiting. As if your presence as a customer biologically forbids them from shifting, an unspoken curse from the gods of the conbini. Once I move away from the front, the solo cashier returns to packing the shelves until the next customer arrives.

Stepping out into the street, a western man with an umbrella passes hurriedly. It's still cold. A very successful convenience store mission, wrapped up.

                                                                                   ***

It's July. Sunlight reflects brightly into my apartment, the gap in my curtains offering a glimpse at the apartment buildings that dot the landscape of my neighborhood. Reaching my hands between the fabric drapes I part them to let the blinding light envelop my bedroom. A swig of water does little to alleviate the mild hangover swirling around inside my skull, delivering kicks of pain every now and then. What's in my fridge? Half a tub of Gochujang, a carton of milk...coffee, mayonnaise. Rolls of 35mm film.

An early morning conbini trip it is.

Taking that step across the boundary from my air-conditioned apartment into the hallway feels as though somebody set Joe to broil. Even in the morning, the humidity lays a blanket across the whole city, turning skin slick with sweat, leaving no doubt that summer is well and truly here. People call me insane, but I love summer in Japan, and dwelling on the joys of a warm and sunny day like this is what fills my head whilst I slowly amble to the Family mart.

I check off my mental shopping list, tucked in the recess of my prefrontal cortex. Ah, Pocari sweat - the muse to many a dehydrated distance runner...or Asahi beer over-enthusiast. Perusing the aisles for goodies...a bento box with plenty of katsu is just what's needed! A couple of onigiri for an afternoon snack - why not? Tuna mayo and shrimp, straight into the green plastic shopping basket it goes. Ice cream cups, man's best friend in humidity such as this!

The price stings, but the cashier's friendly demeanor doesn't. He makes small talk, commenting on the weather. I tell him that's very British of him.