Cheap sushi delivered by robotic sled.
I make my selection and the chipper behemoth of an ordering kiosk spits out my ticket stub. The attendant materializes upon seating and provides hot tea with wordlessly polite Japanese efficiency. True to form—and fulfilling my own stereotype—I quickly manage to spill my drink into the lap of the adjacent salaryman. In an attempt to apologize I only manage to bungle out a mid-tier 'thank you’ several times over. He springs to life and quickly pats the liquid away, ignoring my litany of fuck ups with the weapons-grade commitment to social harmony endemic to Japan.
NRT -> HKG -> DFW -> DEN