A brief depiction of the intricacies of Bicycle retail and middle-school interraction.Story time.
We will start with the story of my bicycle and the low air in the tires.
So I was riding home from work a few weeks ago and noticed that my tires
felt pretty flat. I pulled over and sure enough the things were just
about void of air. Luckily there was a bike shop two blocks away so I
stopped and looked for whoever might be working. I discovered the only
worker and likely owner of the place was a 70+ year old man who looked
like he couldn't be bothered with anything. After asking him for his
help I realized this:
I didn't know the word for air or tire.
Soooooo, I tried to explain that I had a bicycle and needed his help. He
just kept looking at me in such a way as to say, "dude, what?" I
finally got him to come over to my bike and essentially grope my tires
while trying to explain what I needed. He finally looked at me with a
face that expressed his annoyance at a really dumb foreigner butchering
his native language and said:
Old Japanese Bicycle Shop Owner 1
This next story takes place at middle school.
I was leaving for the day with my bicycle at my side and my bag in my
incredibly precious bicycle basket when I realized that I was being
spoken to. I looked up and saw a group of about 15-20 middle school
girls all waiting outside the gym for their chance to play basketball.
They were waving and saying goodbye in English so of course I responded
in kind. As I continued my way off the premises some of them began to
say things like, "I love Scott!" "We love Scott!" When I turned back
towards them with a laugh and a huge smile 5 of the girls turned redder
than a tomato garden and covered their faces in embarrasment.
They didn't think I could hear them.
Middle Schoolers 0