The Tailor of Panama is a dialogue - driven movie, which brings to light some of the charming and not so attractive characteristics of Panama… depending on the perspective one takes in interpreting the conversations offered. This movie was not highly rated when it came out in 2001 as many were anticipating a high-action, James Bond type spy flick. But as someone who is presently living in Panama, there were several lines in the movie that struck a chord with me, that made me reflect on Panama as a culture. Seeing Panama in its days prior to the international “invasion” of multinational corporations and northern retirees made quite an impression as well.
The ones that resonated most:
“Nobody ever loses their reputation in Panama. They hang it in the wardrobe for a few months to get its shape back. When they put it on again, it's as good as new.”
- Forgive and forget. Is this having a short memory for bad situations and undesirable or even immoral character? Could it be that there is the belief that nothing will change, so why bother? Or, is it a true belief that people can change? Personally, I question how personal integrity and responsibility figure into the equation? I have yet to find out.
“Do you know what the poor call those? The Cocaine Towers.”
- Posh living and Money laundering is apparently a big thing here. Just 10 years ago the tallest building in Panama was the BBVA building that couldn’t be more than 20 stories high. Now there are skyscrapers going up everywhere. Although some boast that Panama is becoming the Miami of Latin America (never mind the current states of that city), there are still many locals who believe that that these monstrosities are being funded mainly by drug money. I’m just trying to figure out where the heck they are going to get enough people to fill all of the buildings once they are finished with construction. For goodness sake, there are only 3 million Panamanians. How many international retirees and expats will it take? No wonder the Panamanians are a bit leery of us outsiders.
“Their task was to beat the dignity out of anyone remotely critical of Noriega. It was Dr. Frankenstein, George Bush, who created this monster......when he was head of the CIA. And when Noriega's......drug running and brutality got too much even for the CIA......it was George, now President Bush, who decided to take him out. And just to make sure......they firebombed a big chunk of the old city. Sadly, that's where the anti-Noriega rebels were. The handful that Noriega hadn't banged up already. So, no more opposition, silent or otherwise. Burnt......scattered......fled. Or risen again from the ashes.”
- The US and foreign intervention: Let’s just say that the people of Panama have suffered, and this is not the only time in history that the US government has helped create monsters. Just recently I read that there are still 60 bodies from the time of the dictatorship that have not been identified because the government doesn’t have enough money to pay for the research and investigation it would take to do so. However, Panama can be proud of 20 some years of modern-day democracy.
“You're too soft, afraid they'll dislike you if you make them pay. It's tradition. Gentlemen like to keep their tailors waiting for the money. Gentlemen? Find me one.”
- Pay people for the work they do? Is it tradition to keep those who work for you waiting for their pay? This same behavior was apparent in another movie I recently viewed, called “Chance”, a Panamanian-Colombian movie. And, if you don’t pay a person, what kind of work can you expect? Will they work harder to receive the money they are owed, or will they work less and less effectively until they are paid? Coming from a culture that values hard work and payment for doing so, this behavior perplexes me.
“This girl in school told me mothers who work......feel guilty about their children. Why don't you?”
- Stay-at-Home Moms: I firmly believe that having my mom stay home with us when we were children was very beneficial for us. But, should a woman feel guilty about going to work and perhaps sacrifice her personal needs for mental stimulation, personal growth, and interaction with other adults? Should a woman’s goal in life be to marry and have children and NOT work outside of the house? Just throwing a few questions out there. I don’t have the answer. I’m not a mom, but I was a child and I am an adult.
“Well, I had absolutely no idea how delightful Panama was going to be. Yes. It's a beautiful country. I was thinking about the people.”
- Panama: Yes, it is a beautiful country. Yes, the people can be warm and welcoming. A very pleasant place to visit.
“You see, lying's what you do in prison, Lou. It's instead of love, really. You tell a thing the way it ought to be, because it's much better than how it is. If you follow me.”
- White lies: You don’t hurt anyone, do you? If you lie, you are saving me from the truth, which may hurt me. By not hurting me, you must be showing me how much you care. But, please, oh, please, would you just tell me what time you really expect to show up at my place to fix the air conditioner (insert any other item that could break)? And, please, please, tell me how much time you really think it will take to repair. And, please, don’t be so polite to not let me know that you never really knew what you were doing in the first place. I truly prefer honesty; no matter how much it may hurt me.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Late - What?
Several days a week I teach English to a lawyer at his office. The process to get into the building isn't complicated, but it does take some time, so I make sure I leave plenty of time before class to do the necessary steps - park, get my parking ticket from one person, sign in and give my ID to another, take the visitor pass from another, get my ticket stamped by yet another, etc, etc.
Today, I arrived about 10 minutes later than usual. Mind you, I wasn't late but had arrived later than is customary. So, as chit-chat with the man who takes my ID and gives me the visitor badge, I mentioned that I was "running late". His response was so simple, but in one instant and with a few modest phrases, he summed up an aspect of the culture I have been struggling with since our arrival. "Late - What? You have all day. It's only morning." He said it with such enthusiasm that I had to laugh. I knew this was part of the culture, but to hear it voiced in such a wonderfully positive way, made me realize that demanding chronometry in my life here in Panama, or trying to impose it on the lives of others who I come in contact with or need to work with will only lead me into further frustration.
Funny how happenstance can make such a large impact on one's sense of understanding of the world around him, right?
Today, I arrived about 10 minutes later than usual. Mind you, I wasn't late but had arrived later than is customary. So, as chit-chat with the man who takes my ID and gives me the visitor badge, I mentioned that I was "running late". His response was so simple, but in one instant and with a few modest phrases, he summed up an aspect of the culture I have been struggling with since our arrival. "Late - What? You have all day. It's only morning." He said it with such enthusiasm that I had to laugh. I knew this was part of the culture, but to hear it voiced in such a wonderfully positive way, made me realize that demanding chronometry in my life here in Panama, or trying to impose it on the lives of others who I come in contact with or need to work with will only lead me into further frustration.
Funny how happenstance can make such a large impact on one's sense of understanding of the world around him, right?
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Beauty of Hitting Rock Bottom
When I was a kid, my parents used to call me “Mugwump”, which inevitably morphed into “Mugmump” and got shortened to “Muggie” and “Mugs”. In fact, I didn’t know what my real name was until I was almost 4 years old. Anyway… My dad used to tell me that the name was a Native American word meaning “rebel”, and it fit my personality from Day 1. I’ve always been fiercely independent, testing the limits. But the difference between me and a true rebel is that I only resist out of stubbornness, not defy wholeheartedly. I’ve learned since then that the original meaning of “mugwump” is an Algonquin word meaning “war leader, chief, or important person”. And, believe me, I’ve been on the warpath lately. (By the way, mugwump later came to mean “fence-sitter” in the 1884 Presidential elections, and that definition, too, has had significance in my life in recent weeks.)
We have had problems with the apartment the entire time we have lived here. For 9 months now we have had a steady stream of workers coming in and out, almost on a daily basis from mid-September to May and a mere 1-2 times a week during the past 2 months. One handyman after another giving their opinions, giving assessments and quotes, fixing things that just break again, or they just never show up at all after I rearrange my day to make sure I’d be there to let them in. The waiting is killing me. I’ve been relegated to the simple role of sentinel – I guard the door and wait.
The problems have been endless: toilets that leak at the base, toilets that don’t flush, toilets that don’t stop running, pipes that aren’t connected to sinks, faucets that don’t work, crossed electrical wires that make ceiling fans in one room turn on while turning off the light in another and vice versa, the only electrical outlets in the room not working, A/C problems, a water heater that turns off when it feels like it – 4 or so times a day, and a leak from who-knows-where that streams down the wall, causing paint to peel off and ponds to form at its base …and last but not least, marble floors and shower walls that have exploded creating valleys and mountains and making for hazardous walking and precarious bathing conditions.
And, let’s not overlook the months that it took to get the contractually agreed upon security doors, alarm system, and curtains installed – all of which were supposed to be completed prior to our arrival. No, no, the owner didn’t do the negotiating, the hunt for the most reasonable prices, get a minimum of 3 quotes, or determine which workers would complete the work (a big problem here – work left undone). No, he didn’t have to wait for an alarm system to be installed, only to have to have it reinstalled because it was put in improperly. He didn’t have his belongings broken in the process. He didn’t have to schedule, reschedule, and re-reschedule an appointment with the people who installed the security doors because the handle was too loose to use. Not too secure, huh? Oh, and by the way, I’m still waiting for the owner to find someone to remove the former doors and window pane that still sit in our entry way. He won't let us do it because they have to be placed i his storage room. Yes, it’s been wearisome.
So we have had our parade of 8 plumbers, 7 marble workers, 5 electricians, 4 security door installers, 3 alarm system installers, and … I feel like I should be singing “The 12 Days of Christmas”, the handyman version. Many of these gentlemen (if I can use that term lightly) I have seen more than once, some as many as 7 times. God love them, I just really wish to never see any of them again.
And, in the midst of all this chaos has been Jose Amet. My husband has affectionately, though sarcastically, started calling him my best friend, since I see him more than anyone else here (at times, even more than my husband). Jose Amet is the intermediary between the owner, the handymen, and me. He’s a wonderful man with a good sense of humor with no power to make decisions, but he does a fabulous job of making sure the river of workers never runneth dry. (If the apartment owner ever reads this blog, I’d like him to know that Jose Amet works his tail off.)
Net, I feel like I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to get anything done. Letters, and calls, and more letters, and text messages, and more calls, and more letters. I tried to explain to my husband how useless, helpless, and unappreciated I have felt during this whole process. If my job is to run the household, then I have been a complete and utter failure. No one seems to care if they are making me wait, if they are wasting my time. I have come to realize that being a woman makes my opinions and my voice soft, useless. The cooing and consoling. The promises that work will be done. Oh, the many promises. It has consumed my time, and it has consumed me.
So, here I am, sitting on a fence between frustration and despair. (The 1884 definition of my nickname) American women never truly understand how good they have it until the balance of power is wiped away from them. I’m a married woman. My husband’s voice is the only one that really matters here. I finally had to break down and ask for help. Please call. Please send an email. Wouldn’t you know it – what took me 8 months to accomplish, he was able to achieve in 15 minutes. A more rapid response, I’ve never seen. And, to prove my point, the email he sent was written by yours truly.
When we decided to move here, I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to reinvent myself, create a new identity. I thought it would be fun. Little did I know that my change in roles would mean feeling less important, feeling a loss in status, and produce such a lack of confidence.
Having to spend so much time in the apartment, waiting for people to show, meant that I was (and still am) missing out on networking opportunities, kindling friendships, and familiarizing myself with other aspects of life in Panama. Mental stimulation was limited to debating with a plumber who believed WD-40 could solve all our toilet problems. (Please, do you have some duct tape to go with that???) I started to feel alone, very, very alone. My independence had been compromised. I felt as if I no longer had control of the situation or my own life. The apartment ruled my every thought. I had become disconnected from everything that made me happy. And, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to create my own happiness.
My husband, not understanding the undercurrents of the situation, as I had not explained my feelings to him, also did not understand why the only topic I ever talked about was the apartment. The apartment had become my prison, not my refuge. All of this produced a deep sense of displacement and anxiety. I hit rock bottom.
But the beauty of hitting rock bottom is that the only place you can go is up.
I spoke to my husband about my feelings, something I had not done because I didn’t want to burden him. He already has so much to deal with, a high-stress job that requires frequent international travel. But, sharing my frustrations allowed me to clear my mind and air out my soul.
The very next day, my motivation returned. I have decided to withhold payment of our rent until we have tangible results. I have contacted a lawyer. And, I have started reestablishing my relationships.
Indeed, I am reinventing myself here in Panama. You see, there is always an opportunity for growth.
Mugwump is back!
We have had problems with the apartment the entire time we have lived here. For 9 months now we have had a steady stream of workers coming in and out, almost on a daily basis from mid-September to May and a mere 1-2 times a week during the past 2 months. One handyman after another giving their opinions, giving assessments and quotes, fixing things that just break again, or they just never show up at all after I rearrange my day to make sure I’d be there to let them in. The waiting is killing me. I’ve been relegated to the simple role of sentinel – I guard the door and wait.
The problems have been endless: toilets that leak at the base, toilets that don’t flush, toilets that don’t stop running, pipes that aren’t connected to sinks, faucets that don’t work, crossed electrical wires that make ceiling fans in one room turn on while turning off the light in another and vice versa, the only electrical outlets in the room not working, A/C problems, a water heater that turns off when it feels like it – 4 or so times a day, and a leak from who-knows-where that streams down the wall, causing paint to peel off and ponds to form at its base …and last but not least, marble floors and shower walls that have exploded creating valleys and mountains and making for hazardous walking and precarious bathing conditions.
And, let’s not overlook the months that it took to get the contractually agreed upon security doors, alarm system, and curtains installed – all of which were supposed to be completed prior to our arrival. No, no, the owner didn’t do the negotiating, the hunt for the most reasonable prices, get a minimum of 3 quotes, or determine which workers would complete the work (a big problem here – work left undone). No, he didn’t have to wait for an alarm system to be installed, only to have to have it reinstalled because it was put in improperly. He didn’t have his belongings broken in the process. He didn’t have to schedule, reschedule, and re-reschedule an appointment with the people who installed the security doors because the handle was too loose to use. Not too secure, huh? Oh, and by the way, I’m still waiting for the owner to find someone to remove the former doors and window pane that still sit in our entry way. He won't let us do it because they have to be placed i his storage room. Yes, it’s been wearisome.
So we have had our parade of 8 plumbers, 7 marble workers, 5 electricians, 4 security door installers, 3 alarm system installers, and … I feel like I should be singing “The 12 Days of Christmas”, the handyman version. Many of these gentlemen (if I can use that term lightly) I have seen more than once, some as many as 7 times. God love them, I just really wish to never see any of them again.
And, in the midst of all this chaos has been Jose Amet. My husband has affectionately, though sarcastically, started calling him my best friend, since I see him more than anyone else here (at times, even more than my husband). Jose Amet is the intermediary between the owner, the handymen, and me. He’s a wonderful man with a good sense of humor with no power to make decisions, but he does a fabulous job of making sure the river of workers never runneth dry. (If the apartment owner ever reads this blog, I’d like him to know that Jose Amet works his tail off.)
Net, I feel like I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to get anything done. Letters, and calls, and more letters, and text messages, and more calls, and more letters. I tried to explain to my husband how useless, helpless, and unappreciated I have felt during this whole process. If my job is to run the household, then I have been a complete and utter failure. No one seems to care if they are making me wait, if they are wasting my time. I have come to realize that being a woman makes my opinions and my voice soft, useless. The cooing and consoling. The promises that work will be done. Oh, the many promises. It has consumed my time, and it has consumed me.
So, here I am, sitting on a fence between frustration and despair. (The 1884 definition of my nickname) American women never truly understand how good they have it until the balance of power is wiped away from them. I’m a married woman. My husband’s voice is the only one that really matters here. I finally had to break down and ask for help. Please call. Please send an email. Wouldn’t you know it – what took me 8 months to accomplish, he was able to achieve in 15 minutes. A more rapid response, I’ve never seen. And, to prove my point, the email he sent was written by yours truly.
When we decided to move here, I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to reinvent myself, create a new identity. I thought it would be fun. Little did I know that my change in roles would mean feeling less important, feeling a loss in status, and produce such a lack of confidence.
Having to spend so much time in the apartment, waiting for people to show, meant that I was (and still am) missing out on networking opportunities, kindling friendships, and familiarizing myself with other aspects of life in Panama. Mental stimulation was limited to debating with a plumber who believed WD-40 could solve all our toilet problems. (Please, do you have some duct tape to go with that???) I started to feel alone, very, very alone. My independence had been compromised. I felt as if I no longer had control of the situation or my own life. The apartment ruled my every thought. I had become disconnected from everything that made me happy. And, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to create my own happiness.
My husband, not understanding the undercurrents of the situation, as I had not explained my feelings to him, also did not understand why the only topic I ever talked about was the apartment. The apartment had become my prison, not my refuge. All of this produced a deep sense of displacement and anxiety. I hit rock bottom.
But the beauty of hitting rock bottom is that the only place you can go is up.
I spoke to my husband about my feelings, something I had not done because I didn’t want to burden him. He already has so much to deal with, a high-stress job that requires frequent international travel. But, sharing my frustrations allowed me to clear my mind and air out my soul.
The very next day, my motivation returned. I have decided to withhold payment of our rent until we have tangible results. I have contacted a lawyer. And, I have started reestablishing my relationships.
Indeed, I am reinventing myself here in Panama. You see, there is always an opportunity for growth.
Mugwump is back!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Customer Service – The Conversation
(The original conversation took place in Spanish.)
- I’d like to return this item.
- You want to return this?
- Yes, please.
- You’d like to return this?
- Yes.
- For credit.
- No, could you please put t back on my credit card?
- You can’t.
- What do you mean?
- You can’t return it.
- Yesterday before I purchased it, I asked if it was returnable because I wasn’t sure if it would go with what I thought it would. And, I was told I could.
- When did you buy it?
- Yesterday.
- That’s the problem.
- What's the problem?
- You bought it yesterday. If you wanted to return it, you needed to return it yesterday.
- But, yesterday, the girl told me that I could return it as long as I had the receipt.
- Yes, but that was yesterday.
- Right here (pointing to a sign at the register), it says I have 15 days to return an item.
- Yes, you do but for store credit.
- It doesn’t say that here nor does it anywhere in the store. In addition, the clerk didn’t tell me yesterday when I asked about returns.
- She should have known better. It’s always been that way.
- But this is my first time buying something here. How was I to know?
- That's the way it's always been. If I give you your money back, it will mess up my balance. We can only cut you a check and they will take a while because we have to send the request to the main office.
- I’m asking you to place it on my credit card. I’m not asking for cash or a check.
- That’s the only way. Or, you can have store credit.
My failed attempt to reason with the store manager at Estampa today.
- I’d like to return this item.
- You want to return this?
- Yes, please.
- You’d like to return this?
- Yes.
- For credit.
- No, could you please put t back on my credit card?
- You can’t.
- What do you mean?
- You can’t return it.
- Yesterday before I purchased it, I asked if it was returnable because I wasn’t sure if it would go with what I thought it would. And, I was told I could.
- When did you buy it?
- Yesterday.
- That’s the problem.
- What's the problem?
- You bought it yesterday. If you wanted to return it, you needed to return it yesterday.
- But, yesterday, the girl told me that I could return it as long as I had the receipt.
- Yes, but that was yesterday.
- Right here (pointing to a sign at the register), it says I have 15 days to return an item.
- Yes, you do but for store credit.
- It doesn’t say that here nor does it anywhere in the store. In addition, the clerk didn’t tell me yesterday when I asked about returns.
- She should have known better. It’s always been that way.
- But this is my first time buying something here. How was I to know?
- That's the way it's always been. If I give you your money back, it will mess up my balance. We can only cut you a check and they will take a while because we have to send the request to the main office.
- I’m asking you to place it on my credit card. I’m not asking for cash or a check.
- That’s the only way. Or, you can have store credit.
My failed attempt to reason with the store manager at Estampa today.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Flooding Fiasco
In the area where we live, there is a tendency toward flooding during the rainy season. The sewer/ drainage system has been blocked for quite a while now creating massive ponds that rise up to most car doors when the rain is exceptionally heavy. (Good reason to have an SUV, however small). Apparently, the homeowner associations within the area have been involved in a dispute with the local government as to how to solve the problem. Finally, after numerous calls, followups, meetings, and several rainy seasons, the first step to "unplug" the drainage system was completed this past week. We received an email to confirm this.
The email read like this - and I quote (translate) - "It is my pleasure to announce that the first drain was unplugged Wednesday morning releasing into the sea great quantities of garbage, sewage, and other offensive matter...(the company responsible) will continue dredging and drainage work. We will have to wait until the next rainfall to see the results."
Is it just me, or does it sound awkward to say that it is one's pleasure to announce that sewage and other waste is being released into the sea?... in great quantities, nonetheless... At this, I can only sigh.
The email read like this - and I quote (translate) - "It is my pleasure to announce that the first drain was unplugged Wednesday morning releasing into the sea great quantities of garbage, sewage, and other offensive matter...(the company responsible) will continue dredging and drainage work. We will have to wait until the next rainfall to see the results."
Is it just me, or does it sound awkward to say that it is one's pleasure to announce that sewage and other waste is being released into the sea?... in great quantities, nonetheless... At this, I can only sigh.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Panamanian Women Don't Sweat
Seriously, Panamanian women do not sweat. They don't perspire. Their makeup doesn't run down their faces when they step out into the the 90+ degree heat. Their hair doesn't look like a scouring pad in this 99% humidity the moment they get out of the car. They simply "glow". They wear long pants and long-sleeved shirts. They can even get away with the layered look if they'd like. I don't get it. Is there a particular gene that I'm lacking?
Me, on the other hand, ever since I've been here, I've said that if you want twice the body and three times the curl in your hair, come to Panama. Sweat? I wear shorts and a tank top, put my hair up in a pony tail (2 out of 3 are fashion no-nos, by the way), and still, one step out the door, and I look like a just got out of a pool and had my hair blown dry to resemble Bozo the Clown. By the way, did I mention I normally have naturally straight hair? Now, I've been told that there are hair straightening treatments, which I would never have dreamed I needed when living in the States. Ok, I may look into that. But, other than having a talk with the Big Guy Upstairs and asking Him to lower the temps and humidity a bit, any suggestions on how to get "the glow"?
Well, it's time to walk the dog - make up free (check), pony tail (check), shorts (check), antiperspirant (check). Honestly, who cares? I'll just take a shower when I get back.
Me, on the other hand, ever since I've been here, I've said that if you want twice the body and three times the curl in your hair, come to Panama. Sweat? I wear shorts and a tank top, put my hair up in a pony tail (2 out of 3 are fashion no-nos, by the way), and still, one step out the door, and I look like a just got out of a pool and had my hair blown dry to resemble Bozo the Clown. By the way, did I mention I normally have naturally straight hair? Now, I've been told that there are hair straightening treatments, which I would never have dreamed I needed when living in the States. Ok, I may look into that. But, other than having a talk with the Big Guy Upstairs and asking Him to lower the temps and humidity a bit, any suggestions on how to get "the glow"?
Well, it's time to walk the dog - make up free (check), pony tail (check), shorts (check), antiperspirant (check). Honestly, who cares? I'll just take a shower when I get back.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Rainy Season, Dog Walking and Jhonny Andres, the Peruvian sandwich vendor
I was taking our little wiener dog for a walk this morning. Walking may not be the appropriate word here. It's more like dragging him through the streets with all the force I could muster. (Quite a scene when you consider I'm fighting with a 16 lb. dog in front of 3000 construction workers. Always good for a dose of entertainment.) Since rainy season has started, it's a daily battle getting our little guy out and about. He hates getting wet, and with his undercarriage so low to the ground, it's inevitable this time of year. He returns home covered in mud and gunk, only to have be showered to get all that grime off of him. Vicious, torturous cycle for the little guy, don't you think? And, frankly, I hate to tell him this, but he's got another 7 months to go before we are in the clear, literally. This year with La Nina we are told to expect drenching rains/ thunderstorms at least 5 out of every 7 days through October. They can sugarcoat it and call lit "green season" all they want, but it's still rain. I have to admit though, the grass is greener, the waves higher, and the air cleaner. There are some advantages, I guess.
Ok, so what does walking our mini-dachshund have to do with Jhonny Andres the sandwich vendor? We pass him every day as we walk, or in recent days - attempt to walk - to the park to meet up with all of our other doggie friends. Jhonny is a kind soul. No matter what, he has a smile on his face and an inspiring word to say. Not once in the last 7 months since we started to exchange pleasantries have I seen him down or unsettled. Grant it, I see him for 5 minutes a day, but it's enough to know that he's a gentle person. Today was different - (not for our dog who was still urging me to go home after only walking a block) - but for Jhonny. The twinkle wasn't there, nor the smile. Made me worry. And, where I normally would have rushed by explaining that my baby wanted to head home, I couldn't today. Just down the street, a police officer was handing out tickets to all of the ambulatory vendors. That wasn't bothering him. He would pay it and continue with is day. He was feeling just fine, not ill. But, then, he mentioned that he wouldn't be coming in the afternoons anymore. It seems that construction is slowing down, a rumored halt on one of the buildings, and he just couldn't afford to stick around in the afternoons. The only response I could come up with was, "Then what use is walking the dog if I have no one to stop and talk to?" I got a little smile, though I know it was only temporary.
Admittedly, a part of me was overjoyed by the possibility that construction was slowing. I'm so tired of the noise and the commotion, but that's just my own selfishness. We're talking about a man's livelihood here. I guess I will continue to see Jhonny in the mornings as I drag my mini-hotdog out, but those afternoon walks will leave me wondering where Jhonny is and how he's doing. Has he found a new corner on some other block to sell his sandwiches? How's his family? How will they make ends meet if he only works mornings?
In the end, he will be another to add to the list of vendors who have disappeared - like the cousins from Pereira, Colombia whom I haven't seen in over a month. And, I'm sure, every day as I go out on my walks, I will wonder where they are and how they are doing and how their families are and if, perhaps, they have made it back to their respective homelands. Unfortunately, once they are gone, I will never know.
Ok, so what does walking our mini-dachshund have to do with Jhonny Andres the sandwich vendor? We pass him every day as we walk, or in recent days - attempt to walk - to the park to meet up with all of our other doggie friends. Jhonny is a kind soul. No matter what, he has a smile on his face and an inspiring word to say. Not once in the last 7 months since we started to exchange pleasantries have I seen him down or unsettled. Grant it, I see him for 5 minutes a day, but it's enough to know that he's a gentle person. Today was different - (not for our dog who was still urging me to go home after only walking a block) - but for Jhonny. The twinkle wasn't there, nor the smile. Made me worry. And, where I normally would have rushed by explaining that my baby wanted to head home, I couldn't today. Just down the street, a police officer was handing out tickets to all of the ambulatory vendors. That wasn't bothering him. He would pay it and continue with is day. He was feeling just fine, not ill. But, then, he mentioned that he wouldn't be coming in the afternoons anymore. It seems that construction is slowing down, a rumored halt on one of the buildings, and he just couldn't afford to stick around in the afternoons. The only response I could come up with was, "Then what use is walking the dog if I have no one to stop and talk to?" I got a little smile, though I know it was only temporary.
Admittedly, a part of me was overjoyed by the possibility that construction was slowing. I'm so tired of the noise and the commotion, but that's just my own selfishness. We're talking about a man's livelihood here. I guess I will continue to see Jhonny in the mornings as I drag my mini-hotdog out, but those afternoon walks will leave me wondering where Jhonny is and how he's doing. Has he found a new corner on some other block to sell his sandwiches? How's his family? How will they make ends meet if he only works mornings?
In the end, he will be another to add to the list of vendors who have disappeared - like the cousins from Pereira, Colombia whom I haven't seen in over a month. And, I'm sure, every day as I go out on my walks, I will wonder where they are and how they are doing and how their families are and if, perhaps, they have made it back to their respective homelands. Unfortunately, once they are gone, I will never know.
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