A nursing care provider’s awkward experience at a convenience store checkout has come to represent for him an ideal community model for helping people with disabilities.

It happened when Kenichi Oyama was waiting in line to pay for his breakfast at the cashier counter of a convenience store near his home in Chiba Prefecture in mid-September last year.

Oyama, who had sandwiches and a coffee in his hands, watched as the line ground to a halt when two women in front of the customer ahead of him struggled to pay for their items. 

One of the shoppers was picking coins one by one out of a small purse while the other woman spoke to her.

“This is a 100-yen (87 cents) coin,” she said. “Can you see that?”

The conversation quickly made Oyama, who runs a company that provides nursing care services, realize that the woman handling the change had a disability and the person next to her was her caregiver.

Had her caregiver paid instead, the transaction would have finished much faster. But that would have made the woman feel less independent. The caregiver, however, appeared nervous due to the many people lining up behind them.

Oyama wondered whether opening another counter would make the waiting customers feel less annoyed.

Suddenly, a man, seemingly in his 50s, came forward. The large, tough-looking man addressed the cashier with an abrupt, “Hey, hey!”

Oyama thought the man would complain about the wait, which would only make the situation worse. His heart was pounding.

But the man instead provided some unexpected advice.

He said: “Hey, hey! Will you put out another tray?”

Since Oyama was expecting the man to start scolding them about the hold-up, he initially could not figure out what the man was trying to say.

“Coins are difficult to pick out,” the customer continued. “Taking all of them out and putting them on a tray for sorting will make things easier.”

Just as he said, the woman appeared to be struggling to find the coins she needed in her purse. After she followed the man’s advice, she quickly put together the correct amount of change.

Oyama was astonished by how good the advice turned out to be. He was also surprised by the man’s gruff appearance and the impression he left. He seemed to be the type of person rarely found in the welfare industry.

At the same time, Oyama felt regret and shame because he was unable to take swift action when he saw the problem, even though he offers professional care services.

The man’s advice was perfectly in line with the notion that people with disabilities should be supported in a way that helps them acquire the ability to live more independently.

Using eyeglasses to supplement weak sight or using a step stool to obtain objects out of reach are both examples of this sort of approach.

It aims to solve problems by changing the environment, rather than only relying on the person’s capabilities or taking over for them.

Both formal care, such as nursing services, and informal care, such as assistance from families, friends and neighbors, are essential in making better local communities, he said.

The convenience store employee working at the cash register would count among those unofficial caregivers, according to Oyama, as the clerk patiently watched as the woman selected the coins.

Looking back on that day, Oyama said both formal and informal forms of assistance were available at the convenience store.

Oyama was so busy that day that he had forgotten about it even when eating his sandwiches. But he remembered the experience on another visit to the same convenience store and decided to share the story on Twitter.

“Huh, I was surprised that there was a guy and place that can care for others properly like that,” he tweeted. “The staffer never appeared annoyed. My hometown is awesome.”

His story went viral, drawing more than 20,000 “likes.” One person responded by saying, “There is still good in this world,” and another wrote that “more people should behave that way.”

One Twitter user suggested that cashless payments would easily fix situations like this. But Oyama said that is not the point.

For Oyama, the episode represents what living in a model local community is like--something increasingly important as people’s ties to their communities weaken while the novel coronavirus pandemic stretches on.