Anecdotally Evidenced
I get a good deal of time to myself here. One of the benefits of this is that I get to sit around watching other people, which is pretty much what any good anthropology student should do. (That's right, I said "good anthropology student" in reference to myself -- talent, real-life experience, and grades be damned! Note also that I did not use the more obvious terms "stalker," "sociopath," and "that weirdo who stares at people.")
Anyway, this inevitably leads to strange conversations with interesting/homeless people, and/or the occasional anecdote:
I was waiting in the market for something (anything) to happen. It was overcast, drizzling, early morning, and a Wednesday. Various people (young and old, but mostly old) were shuffling through the market looking for foodstuffs to buy.
The market is located in a fairly narrow street, and the stalls compete with the delivery trucks of the storefronts. Often, smaller cars will throw caution, prudence, and reason to the wind and proceed down this "road," often in the hopes of delivering something to one or another stores. And, if the Gods of Hilarity are with you, a delivery truck will sometimes show up, stirring the Proverbial Turd.
And so the Gods of Hilarity smiled down on me and granted me just this situation: narrow, crowded street, reduced visibility, and elderly shoppers.
A car pulled up and parked uncomfortably close to the bench I was sitting on. I was considering moving until I noticed the delivery truck coming up the street to deliver a Big Stinky Pile of Fish to the local Nordsee.(1) I knew better than to try to get around that thing, which was delicately maneuvering between a car and a fruit stand. He was a precise and careful driver, certainly, but he did not have much space to work with in this case. Even so, he drove around the car, and he began creeping down the street toward me.
But now (now!) he's in a bind. The car parked uncomfortably close to me is now in the way. He must drive around it in order to delivery the Big Stinky Pile, but is there enough room? A pause. . . .
But there is enough room after all, and we'll just have to drive very carefully, he says to himself.(2) And everything goes smoothly for about one-half of one second.
Then he comes to a stop, precariously close to both the stall and the car. In his path is a little old woman, calmly picking up grapes and carrots, and comparing them. Possibly, she has determined that the carrot and the grape are different items, and probably she can distinguish between the purple fruit and the orange root.(3) However, her investigation is apparently stalled, and she does not seem to be going anywhere. The driver is annoyed, but there is nothing to be done.
Then, the woman slowly turns to him. This diminuitive Rentnerin(4), who is impeding Commerce, Consumption, Progress, and the Big Stinky Pile of Fish (which is, after all, getting Stinkier by the minute), looks up into the cab of the delivery truck. Then, in a calm and polite tone, she tells him that, "I'll only be another few minutes. Please wait."(5) And then she flashes a quirky smile at him, and goes back to studying her vegetable and her fruit in the rain, which has picked up in intensity and is lightly pelting everything.
This just makes me wonder how many little women there are out there who are willing to block traffic to interrogate and examine perfectly obvious produce. Where have these people been hiding? What did they do before delivery trucks; did they block carts? And how would history have been different if they had, for instance, all been having a conference near Tianamen Square in 1989? They could have used this kind of help.
(1) How cool is it that there's a fast-food restaurant that only sells fish sandwiches?!?! Cool enough to deserve its own song.
(2) Except, it goes more like Ich soll langsam zwischen dieses Auto und die Obst fahren.
(3) Say it out loud. Go on, we'll all shut our ears.
(4) Übstz.: female pensioner; (lit) retired woman
(5) Except, it goes more like Es dauert nur ein paar Minuten. Bitte schöne!
Anyway, this inevitably leads to strange conversations with interesting/homeless people, and/or the occasional anecdote:
I was waiting in the market for something (anything) to happen. It was overcast, drizzling, early morning, and a Wednesday. Various people (young and old, but mostly old) were shuffling through the market looking for foodstuffs to buy.
The market is located in a fairly narrow street, and the stalls compete with the delivery trucks of the storefronts. Often, smaller cars will throw caution, prudence, and reason to the wind and proceed down this "road," often in the hopes of delivering something to one or another stores. And, if the Gods of Hilarity are with you, a delivery truck will sometimes show up, stirring the Proverbial Turd.
And so the Gods of Hilarity smiled down on me and granted me just this situation: narrow, crowded street, reduced visibility, and elderly shoppers.
A car pulled up and parked uncomfortably close to the bench I was sitting on. I was considering moving until I noticed the delivery truck coming up the street to deliver a Big Stinky Pile of Fish to the local Nordsee.(1) I knew better than to try to get around that thing, which was delicately maneuvering between a car and a fruit stand. He was a precise and careful driver, certainly, but he did not have much space to work with in this case. Even so, he drove around the car, and he began creeping down the street toward me.
But now (now!) he's in a bind. The car parked uncomfortably close to me is now in the way. He must drive around it in order to delivery the Big Stinky Pile, but is there enough room? A pause. . . .
But there is enough room after all, and we'll just have to drive very carefully, he says to himself.(2) And everything goes smoothly for about one-half of one second.
Then he comes to a stop, precariously close to both the stall and the car. In his path is a little old woman, calmly picking up grapes and carrots, and comparing them. Possibly, she has determined that the carrot and the grape are different items, and probably she can distinguish between the purple fruit and the orange root.(3) However, her investigation is apparently stalled, and she does not seem to be going anywhere. The driver is annoyed, but there is nothing to be done.
Then, the woman slowly turns to him. This diminuitive Rentnerin(4), who is impeding Commerce, Consumption, Progress, and the Big Stinky Pile of Fish (which is, after all, getting Stinkier by the minute), looks up into the cab of the delivery truck. Then, in a calm and polite tone, she tells him that, "I'll only be another few minutes. Please wait."(5) And then she flashes a quirky smile at him, and goes back to studying her vegetable and her fruit in the rain, which has picked up in intensity and is lightly pelting everything.
This just makes me wonder how many little women there are out there who are willing to block traffic to interrogate and examine perfectly obvious produce. Where have these people been hiding? What did they do before delivery trucks; did they block carts? And how would history have been different if they had, for instance, all been having a conference near Tianamen Square in 1989? They could have used this kind of help.
(1) How cool is it that there's a fast-food restaurant that only sells fish sandwiches?!?! Cool enough to deserve its own song.
(2) Except, it goes more like Ich soll langsam zwischen dieses Auto und die Obst fahren.
(3) Say it out loud. Go on, we'll all shut our ears.
(4) Übstz.: female pensioner; (lit) retired woman
(5) Except, it goes more like Es dauert nur ein paar Minuten. Bitte schöne!
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