The small woman at the front desk greets me by pointing at my feet and shaking her head in consternation. Right. Shoes. Despite having lived in Japan for more than a year, I still forget. I take off my dusty sneakers and look up at her questioningly. She gestures to the wall of tiny lockers behind me, which I have managed to overlook on my way in. I choose a locker and exchange my shoes for a pair of oversized green indoor slippers that are clearly designed for male feet.

“Irasshaimase,” the woman says when I am done, giving me the formal greeting now that the more trivial matters have been attended to. She then points to the small machine by the front desk. It has a variety of buttons with different prices on it. My night’s stay is 3,000 yen, or a little over US$ 25 — A great bargain for a night’s stay in Tokyo. The machine quickly eats my bills and spits out a receipt.

The Asukusa District is always bustling with activity.

After I have filled out a registration form, the woman hands me two small keys and begins speaking in a steady stream of Japanese. I understand maybe one word out of every five, but I get the gist of it.

My capsule is on the eighth floor. One key opens a locker where I can put my things, another key opens the door to the capsule room.

There is a small number written on the key that corresponds to the number of my capsule, number 8022. There is a bath on the ninth floor somewhere, although I'm not sure where, exactly. I'll figure it out.

The inside of the elevator smells like stale cigarette smoke, as do all the floors in the hotel. I step out onto the eighth floor to find more lockers, and a bathroom with the distinct “Men’s” kanji (character) next to the door. That’s funny, I think to myself, I thought this was the women’s floor.

At that moment, a woman emerges from the bathroom. She appears to be in her fifties. I greet her in Japanese, but she does not look at me; instead, she mumbles something and brushes past me to go into her capsule room.

It is strange behavior for Japan. Curious, I peek into the bathroom to see two stalls, with two urinals on the opposite wall. Apparently, this floor only recently became the domain of women, and the bathrooms have not yet been converted.

When I’d told my co-workers I wanted to stay in a capsule hotel, they'd gaped at me. “But you’re a woman,” they told me. “Capsule hotels are for men.”

“Yes, but I heard about one in Tokyo that lets women stay.”