While I wait, I stroll through the shop and browse the many matcha products lining the shelves – ice creams, confections, even matcha-infused noodles. But I'm looking for some of the actual stuff: matcha powder. I notice a lady with a basket full of green tins, and a commotion breaks out in the corner. A diminutive Japanese store worker tries to restock a shelf, but she barely places a tin down before it is eagerly snatched up in the throng of tourists. She is swarmed on all sides by grabby arms, and some people even reach directly into her basket to snag canisters of the precious powder. She yells out in Japanese, but her message is lost on the foreign ears surrounding her. Realising these are the few matcha tins left in the shop, I reach into the crowd to wrap my fingers around a white canister. Someone grabs my hand, then grunts and lets go. A second later, a tall woman with an American accent yells out, "It's gone. All the matcha's gone." I guess that it's not past 10:05.