I Don't Like Machines: The Abacus-Clicking Poster Girl of a Downtown Liquor Store

This is a story from my days as a company employee.
I still think of her often.

There was a small liquor store right in front of my office.
It was a long-standing, downtown liquor store deeply rooted in the neighborhood.
They sold not only alcohol but also snacks, canned goods, and even stamps.

Back when our office didn't have a water cooler yet, I used to go there often to buy water. It was right in front of my workplace building, and it was cheaper than the convenience store.
That was the only reason. Or so I thought.

Someone would emerge leisurely from the back of the shop. It was the grandmother of the house.
“Welcome.”
I thought it was a way of speaking you don't hear much these days.
Just by changing the ending from “mase” to “mashi,” it felt somehowchic.

As we saw each other more often, I was somehow designated as her conversation partner.
When I walked into the shop, her face, which had been watching the TV placed in the back, would turn toward me.
And while saying her usual “Welcome,” she would come out with a smile.

“When I was a schoolgirl...”

Once the grandmother started her stories of the past, they wouldn't end easily.
I only intended to buy water, but before I knew it, twenty minutes had passed.
I only told those around me that it was “because the shop is right in front,” but deep down, I was worried about the time every single time.

Eventually, the people around my desk at work came to recognize that if I said I was going to buy water and didn't return within five minutes, I must have been caught by the grandmother.

It was a shop where elderly neighbors would also stop by to buy stamps, beer, or small items, and to have a chat with the grandmother.

In downtown Tokyo, that space had a nostalgic atmosphere that seemed like it came out of Sazae-san, and it was so heartwarming that I would have wanted to watch it forever if I didn't have work.

However, I had to return to work.
When a new customer arrived and the conversation was interrupted, I would hurriedly head for the exit, saying, “Well, I'll be heading back now.”
I was bad at cutting off conversations, and I feel like she was always the one to bring them to a close.
It might not have been the grandmother's conversational skill, but rather my own poor timing.

Since the grandmother was born and raised in that area, she spoke with an Edokko accent.

Asahi (morning sun) → asashi
massugu (straight) → mattsugu

Listening to those “sounds” was also fun.

Small snacks like dagashi were lined up near the register. While listening to her, I would end up picking one up. Was that also part of the business? If so, she was quite the strategist.

Even now, the grandmother uses an abacus instead of a calculator.

“I don't like machines,”

she would say, and even though there was a cash register machine and a calculator right nearby, she would invariably take out her abacus.
It seems it was a well-worn one that had been used since the generation before her.
It must feel comfortable in her hands.
The pleasant clicking sound could be heard from beside the register.
Her finger movements were fast and sure. This, too, was somehow chic and cool.
For just that one breath, it felt as if the shop's time had been wound back.

Before long, she began to leave the shop more often for medical appointments.
Her body must have been getting weaker little by little. I heard that going up and down the stairs became difficult, and there were more days when she wasn't at the shop than when she was.
The situation was explained to me by her grandchild, who was a university student at the time.

It was right around that time that a water cooler was installed in our workplace.
The reason to go buy water quietly disappeared.

In the end, caught up in the busyness, I left my job in a rush without even being able to say goodbye.
That still weighs on my heart a little.

Since the shop is right in front of my workplace, I would occasionally check on it from the outside, but...
Whenever I thought about stopping by, the automatic door would be locked with a sign saying “Out of office,” and the timing never worked out.
(This part is very downtown-like)

Welcome.

I want to hear that voice one more time.
I wonder if she's still watching her favorite TV shows and laughing, or clicking away on her abacus.

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✨Thank you as always