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About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

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e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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2002-02-02

Sometimes when dealing with humans something has got to give. This is because humans do not understand concepts such as time unless it is themselves that’s affected negatively. This happened to Boo and me today, while we emerged from the other Niklas building.

A Peter Jackson-clone with about a beer or two (perhaps even three) approached and wanted a lift towards Telleborg centrum. I started out to explain that we didn’t have any time. Of course, he had as I’ve clarified above no notion of “little time.” I kind of sagged, and realised something that Tommy did last time the Mafioso’s of the Tenant Union (or whatever they’re called in English). It is better to agree and be rid of them than to lose even more time trying to get them to understand.

So, I drove him there and dumped the guy. Boo later said that I was to trusting, but truth to be told I trust a very few and select cadre of people. The rest is calculated risks, thing to be considered and added up together with circumstances. Boo probably understands people better than I do, but insane people running around with a machete would chose a lonely victim instead of two blokes built of a slightly larger frame. No matter what Boo was expecting.

The last year or so I’ve had this romantic imagery of hitchhiking through Asia and where it would be impossible to catch a lift, I would walk. I recon, that by doing this I would learn the languages and the nuisances of everyday speech without much difficulty.

I would go up to a farmer who lives far away from civilised villages and say things like: “Howdy! How do you do?” and he would say “Fine thank you, but I’ve got an itch here by my bottom, could you scratch it for me?” and I would say “No, but I got this semi-out-of-order-can’t-reach-the-network cell phone so I could call to a radio station and say hi to your relatives in Hong Kong when it can connect.” And then he would say, “Oh could you, that would be lovely! Here, have my magic lucky potato!” and to that I say “Only if you accept this self-made ice bear-hat that I made from the head of an authentic ice bear last spring.” Then we’ll part with our gifts and I would call the moment I got the phone working and drain the batteries.

I told you it was highly romanticised and with no contact to the real world — conveyed by the cell phone’s lack of connection to the phone-network or so the post-modern deconstructionist would like to claim. I on the other hand think that they, and in times such as this even I, just say a lot of bullshit.