My suitcase rattled over the sidewalk, bumping against my heels as I dragged it toward 7-Eleven.

A pedestrian stepped aside.

Then another.

I looked down at the giant blue case.

“Hopefully, this is the last time.”

Two weeks of Japan were packed inside it: four smaller bags, clothes, and souvenirs, all crammed into the largest suitcase we could check on an airplane.

Now we were going to Hiroshima.

The suitcase was supposed to go to Narita Airport.

I turned the corner toward 7-Eleven.

I’d tried this once before in Tokyo.

It hadn’t worked then.

~

I squeezed through the convenience store entrance and immediately regretted bringing the bag inside.

It barely fit down the aisle.

A customer approaching the refrigerators paused, looked at me, then detoured around the suitcase.

I found the clerk.

“Konichiwa.”

I handed him a filled-in shipping form and my phone. The translated message explained everything. 

“I want to send this suitcase to Narita Airport. Ta-Q-Bin.”

Then it listed specifics.

The clerk read the screen, then looked at my suitcase.

He disappeared into the back room and returned with a tape measure.

Length.

Width.

Height.

He added it together, frowned, and measured it again.

A second customer entered the aisle and stopped behind my suitcase.

The clerk looked up.

“How much does it weigh?”

“About thirty kilos,” I said.

He shook his head and handed back the form.

“It cannot be done,”

Another customer appeared behind me.

The clerk glanced at the growing traffic jam.

“Now please, sir, kindly make some room.”

So I hauled the giant blue suitcase back onto the sidewalk and continued dragging it across Japan.