Do I look like a therapist? pt.1
// April 29th, 2009 // New Zealand, People, oddities
We used to have a very nice house in New Zealand. It was in a very nice area, near a very nice road which had shops and cafés and it was all very nice and civilized. Which was nice. Near those cafés was a corner shop, just a few minutes walk from our house. Once I learnt they sold Dr Pepper, which wasn’t that common in NZ I was there on almost a daily basis.
I’m a naturally friendly person, so I guess I’m reasonably good at talking to people. Over time (and Dr Pepper purchases), the Indian owner of this shop and me formed a sort of quasi-friendship. Only quasi because he never knew my name, I never knew his, but in certain areas of our lives we knew each other intimately. I knew that he had two children, and uncle, a wife, and as it would become our de-facto conversation topic that – he hated his job.
‘”I’m here always working, morning to night, every day, seven days a week, always working” he would say in a dreary shoot me now sort of tone.
“Oh dear, yeah that is tough” I’d respond thumbing the change in my pocket. “I have no-one to cover me, my uncle he has a shop but that makes nice money, this shop doesn’t.”
“Sorry to hear that I’d say” meekly rooting around for some positivity I could inject into the conversation – “but you’re your own boss, that’s got to count for something right? I mean you’re building something and if it successful 100% of that success if yours.” Okay, so while I’m not exactly a life coach of some note, I was proud of this uplifting response.
“100% hahaha try telling my wife that. And it’s not successful my friend.” Damn, shut down again.
“Have you thought about employing someone else to run the shop?” I’m clutching at straws here, of course he has.
“I could but it costs too much I wouldn’t make any money. Sometimes my wife she runs the shop or my uncle will cover me for a little while but if not it’s just me my friend, working day after day.“
I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do now. Can I help? Should I buy more or less Dr Pepper?
Then we’d talk about what I did, which I don’t think he ever understood, but then no-one does so I just left it as IT stuff and tried to make it sound about as much fun as a being an unwilling participant in a prison gangbang, so he didn’t get jealous. This was how it used to go when I came in the shop, first some light hearted banter about the weather, maybe the youth of today, how close the weekend was but then when I’d least expect it he’d skillfully dodge the conversation back to his being stuck in his shop, day after day.
“I think you want what I have, and I want what you have” he used to say sometimes. I’d smile and nod and say “yeah maybe, such is life, the grass is always greener” but I would be thinking – err yeah about as much as I want a grand piano to drop from the sky and smash on my head the next time I come out of the house to innocently buy Dr Pepper and Cadburys buttons. Although hang on, maybe I’m being hasty, you do have very commendable head hair growth…
After a while I started to avoid the shop, if we were walking by I’d send Annett in. I think people know not to go to Germans for sympathy, I always thought it was just one of those unwritten rules like don’t lick lightbulbs. German truths do not come sugar coated.
Eventually I found another shop about 3 or 4 minutes walk further on with a Chinese dude who judging by his body language also hated his life, but didn’t feel the need to verbalize it. I was sure to never make eye contact anymore than absolutely necessary just in case. He probably thought I was a mute. I was actually just a Dr Pepper fiend happy in my little optimist bubble where every day I’m the guest of honour at an earth sized carnival, that people keep trying to rain on.
I started this about a strange German man I met today when I buy a SIM card, but it reminded me of this man, so I’ll do the German man as part 2.
