I don't play games
I don't like games. Board games, computer games, card games, games of any kind, I don't like them.
In my young teens I played Monopoly with the boy next door a few times. He was much better at it than I was, so I thought. Then I discovered he was cheating, so that was the end of that. I never played another board game in my life.
My wife offered to teach me to play poker. Nice offer, but I’m not interested. I can see myself playing poker just as much as I think I will ride a motorcycle or go skydiving, it’s very unlikely.
I have had a computer for about 35 years now, and I installed a game just once. In the early 1990's I had a simple shooting game. With the mouse I could move around a spaceship, and while trying to avoid being hit by warrior craft, a click on the left button would send a laser beam that could take out one of those enemy ships. It was pretty cool then, extremely primitive by today’s standards.
I think I played that game for maybe 2 hours total, and then I deleted it. I never considered playing another computer game again. No matter how sophisticated and challenging they are, I don't care.
To me it is just a waste of time and it serves no purpose. A lot of people say that they play to relax, but for many of them it becomes an obsession. For hours and hours, they are heating up the keyboard and handle controls like their life is depending on winning a silly game.
Spending a ton of money on the latest and greatest machine, with never ending upgrades, seems like a waste as well. More than once I saw an ad by someone trying to sell an almost new gaming computer because he, or she, needed the money to pay the rent. Not such a good investment I should say.
So next time you see me, don't invite me to play a game. I won't, no exceptions.
Showing their true colors
My dad and I owned a single axle soft top trailer. A befriended couple asked if they could use it for the weekend to transport some items for their daughter who was going to move.
Although we generally didn’t like to loan equipment, due to some bad experiences, we couldn’t refuse their request.
A few days later they returned the trailer with severe damage. They told us that he encountered some bad weather and a big gust of wind had flipped it over.
Nobody got hurt and there was no damage to his car, it could have been a lot worse.
“Just get it repaired and send us the bill’” they said. And we had no reason to doubt we would get reimbursed. After all, we were friends.
We took it to a shop and got it fixed. The top needed to be replaced and some other work had to be done in order to align the chassis.
A few weeks later my dad called them to let them know that the repair bill had come in. It was suddenly pretty quiet on the other side of the line when dad mentioned that the amount was $1500.
“Ok, well take care of it,” dad heard him say. They didn’t. In fact, we never saw or heard from them again.
And that’s where the friendship ended. We had known them for many years, and it took an unfortunate mishap for them to show their true colors.
Of course, it was a disappointment as well as costly. However, we concluded that it was their loss. We shrugged it off and moved on.
I walked away
Over the past few years, we drove by the store many times, and it was always closed.
Through the window of the old, and somewhat sad looking building we could see some of the items this resale store had in stock. A visit could be interesting since we like vintage items in general.
Much to our surprise, the store was open one day and of course we had to take the opportunity to check it out.
The first thing I noticed when I entered was the absence of a counter and a register. A guy was sitting outside at one of two entrances, and I assumed that he was the man in charge.
This place was packed with items of all kinds, and none of it has a price on it. That was annoying to say the least. It meant that if I wanted to know how much an item was I had to see the man in the chair and ask him.
In stores like that I always look for old woodworking tools like hand planes, drill braces and such. I didn’t find any here, but I did see some old cameras and hopefully I can find a cool one to add to our small, but growing, collection.
There were a few that would fit the bill, but an old light meter was of more interest to me. I figured I would pay up to $15 for it.
I went to see the man, but he was not there, and I couldn’t find him anywhere. In other words, he just left the store unattended. It could have easily walked out with it, and he would probably never find out that the item was missing.
Finally, I spotted him, he was a little ways up the road talking to someone. When I gestured him he returned, and he was not in a hurry.
He wanted $40 for the meter, obviously far more than I was willing to pay. I also asked him about a small camera, and he was asking $20 for it. Two weeks earlier I paid $5 for an identical one at a yard sale.
I did not try to make a deal and he did not seemed to be interested in making a sale. His whole demeanor was that of a person who couldn’t care less whether he sold something or not.
So, I walked away, and I may never go back there again.
I see the same attitude at some garage sales where the proprietor can hardly be bothered to talk to potential customers. Just a week ago I went to a sale where there was some good stuff, but the owner was very busy with his phone, and he totally ignored me and a few other people who were looking around.
This is my take on it: If you can’t be bothered to put some effort into it, you don’t deserve my business.
I did it, so it's not a big deal
An accident is a big deal and surely is a reason to be angry and upset. That is, if someone else caused it. If you are responsible, it is nothing to worry about and why don’t we just forget about it. A mistake only counts when you are not the one making it.
Many years ago, my boss rushed into the office telling us in a loud tone of voice that an administrative error had caused the company to lose several hundred dollars.
“Mistakes like that should not be made,” he said. “We cannot afford it and it is totally unnecessary.”
He went on ranting and raving for a while and he wanted me to find out what had happened and who was responsible.
“And?” he asked when I came in to report.
He still had this angry tone of voice and I could hardly suppress a smile since I knew what was coming next.
The book seller
He must have been in his mid-fifties when I met him, and I only knew his last name. I doubt if anyone knew his first name.
Let’s call him Mr. N. He owned a small bookstore on the corner of a busy street. It was an old building and you had to go up two steps to the entrance.
He specialized in antique and vintage books with emphasis on local art and history. It was the to-go place for people who were looking for something specific.
The place used to be a house, and as such it still had different areas which used to be the living room, bedrooms, and such. The small kitchen was still there, with just enough space left for the coffee maker.
Moving from one section to the next could be a challenge. The place was always jam packed. There were not enough shelves to hold all the books and tall stacks of them were all over the floor. One wrong move and you would topple one of those piles.
There was an old oak kitchen table in the front and one my first visits it was still clearly visible. Over time the space on the top grew smaller and smaller and eventually the table disappeared into the sea of books. One tiny corner of the top was left clear, so he had space for the coffee mug.
Two chairs were available, one for Mr. N. himself of course, the other for a customer or someone who just stopped by to talk.
Mr. N was talkative, but only to people he liked. If you were not on his list of favorites he could be hard to deal with.
On one of my (business) visits he offered me coffee and I had to clear the seat of the second chair so I could sit down. Then the door opened and a man came in, that was also the store limit. There was no room in the entire place for more than two visitors.