Checking his watch, Hank saw the time: 7:27 AM. Considering the Japanese practice of punctuality, he could count on Mr. Takeshi arriving in exactly 3 minutes--
A knock on the door.
--or sooner.
Hank strode across his hotel room and opened it not to see the amiable Mr. Takeshi, but an older woman towing a trolley cleaning supplies. She looked at him and, noticing his wide eyes (and curly hair and bushy moustache), spoke to him in English.
"Room service?" she asked through a thick accent. Hank understood well enough.
"Um... L-later," he answered, unsure of her English comprehension. The woman cocked her head and frowned.
"Ehm, not now," Hank elaborated.
"Meaning, 'no?'" The woman made an X with her arms, "Not good?"
Hank's body stiffened. He didn't want this poor lady thinking that he was dissatisfied with her services. He felt his tongue twist around itself in attempt to gather what little Japanese he knew to say "Sumimasen. I meant that I'm about to leave, so you should come back in 3 minutes."
Predictably, his body only shivered as the words failed to magic themselves into his mouth.
Then, like an angel, Mr. Takeshi appeared beside the woman. Hank thanked God, apologized to the woman, and explained the situation to Mr. Takeshi. In a flurry of cryptic syllables, the Japanese man spoke to the cleaning woman, who smiled, bowed, and walked away.