Mr Smith

The Netherlands has a way of making things work out all right. The first bad experience I ever had here was when I was locked out of my room. I waited two hours for a handyman to come; he never did, and if he had I would have been out 100 euros. So I kicked my door in. That night uneasiness crept in for the first time since being here. I was uneasy, because I knew the next day I was going to have to fix my door, I was going to have to do something I didn't want to do. But the next day I did, and it was a thrill. I even met a girl on the way to get the supplies. The Netherlands has a way of making things work out all right.

I've been in the Netherlands for a month now. A month... I can't even believe it. I've been here for a substantial amount of time now, even though it still feels like I just got here. I've done things. I've made friends. I've made discoveries. I've eaten.

Today as I was walking back to my apartment, carrying some seemingly delicious Surinamese/Indonesian food, I saw Mr Smith coming the other way. I pet his dog, and we exchanged hellos. He told me that many of his family and friends had "gone away" this year. "That's getting old." he said. But he could smile and laugh about it, as well as an old man can smile and laugh about having buried two of his brothers. "Weissmann? That's... that's..." -- "Jewish/German." -- "Jewish... yes... yes, I thought so." He looked away, and put his hands in his pockets cryptically.

Jiri Bukovsky is Czech, but working in Eindhoven for the year. Last week when we met on the soccer field, we sat and talked about our first impressions of the Dutch as being cold and unfriendly. It's nice to know that despite great differences between cultures, bitching is universal. Jiri was excited about the possibility of playing frisbee, and we exchanged email addresses. But when I tried to send him an email, it bounced back. The address was wrong.

So I wondered how it was all going to work out. I wondered that as I walked past the soccer field today on the way to get my Surinamese/Indonesian food. I looked for Jiri on the field, but neither he nor his Czech crony were to be seen. Bummer. But then, on the way out of the restaurant, who did I see coming straight towards me but Mr Bukovsky himself. He gave me a business card; apparently he had mixed up dots and underscores between his two email addresses. Now I'll be able to get in touch with him, and frisbee is on the horizon. The Netherlands has a way of making things work out all right.

The first time I met Mr Smith was the day I locked myself out. It was raining, and I was standing outside my apartment building, yelling up to my next door neighbor to let me in. Mr Smith came by and said hello. "Locked out? He he he!" . The man can laugh about anything. He told me he had worked in the school gym, and then as a barber on campus. Students recognize him wherever he goes. Today, after he turned back to face me, he took his hands out of his pockets to pull back on the leash of his tiny dog, which was now lurched forward, suspended on the tips of his paws. "I had a student over last night. A girl from China. You know, I haven't worked as a barber for years, but the kids keep coming to me. What can I do? He he he!"

According to his self-diagnosis, Mr Smith is quite healthy, and will probably the last Smith to die. I can think of no better reason to toast this glass of fine Jameson whiskey. So bottom's up, and it's time for dinner.

+j