877 801

I’ve wondered absent-mindedly on occasion how many klicks (kilometers) a car or truck might be capable of traveling during its lifetime.  Riding the local buses will do that to a person.  Most of the buses are purchased, likely used, from Japan.  I have figured that the engine is usually the best-built part of the automobile whether it’s a car or truck.  Like the human body the doors, hood, trunk, and even the undercarriage can start to go as it were just like a gold 1971 Chevrolet Lemans I used to know as a kid, but the engine is the heart and once it is finished the rest doesn’t matter; the car is dead, consigned to join the scrap heap.  Having driven in friends’ beaters and seeing the odometer turnover two hundred and fifty-five thousand or upwards of 300K was, I thought, remarkable.  How far could a car travel if the owner reasonably maintained the rest of the vehicle?  Who would want it?  How would it look?  How much would that kind of maintenance cost over the long haul?

Now, here is a number that simply overwhelms the senses.  877 801.  I was given preferential seating for this fare, so I was seated right beside the driver.  Out of curiosity, I casually stared at the vehicle’s control panel on the dashboard.  I was stunned at the magnitude of it.  It was a colossus.  Upon closer observation, I realized that the digits had stopped rolling over.  From little I understand about motor vehicles, I seem to recall that except for going through some intensive steps one cannot roll back the odometer on a car.  Imagine my awe when I read 877 801 on the dusty banged up console that was decorated with stickers of John Cena and Batista of the WWE.  And that was the last registered kilometer this embattled passenger van had counted. 

It is astounding that this bus in its horribly dilapidated condition with racing slicks for tired had crept along, up to, but not past this hallowed milestone.  How long had the odometer ceased to function?  What should the gauge actually read?  Terrifying in some respects.   What would actually happen when the Toyota’s heart finally and irrevocably crapped out?  Perhaps nothing.  Perhaps, and this would be fitting, it would keel over on its side with a lethargic thud; a trail of dust gently puffing out from underneath like a horse getting put out of its misery in that classic Mel Brooks’ movie Blazing Saddles.

headaches

One evening as I lay down approaching sleep: it would be filled with the gentle pounding footsteps of charging dogs alerted by the wind blowing in the trees, the smell of secondhand smoke from a guard on nightly rounds of monotony, pigs wailing at the same thing as the dogs unless they were getting the business end of the slaughter man’s knife, and the hounds barking in the distance practicing for their performance at the Royal Albert Hall in the heart of London, I tuned in to a curious news item on Radio Netherlands International.  Yes, I know: exciting nightlife.  Without question it was the most peculiar and therefore most memorable news report I have ever heard.

It seems a man from on the former Russian republics maybe Latvia or Lithuania turned up a local hospital complaining about persistent headaches.  Nothing extraordinary except what followed.  After an examination the man was taken for x-rays and then immediately to surgery.  It seems that this unfortunate fellow required the emergency removal of a bullet from his skull.  Upon questioning from his doctors the man could only recall how, one New Year’s Eve some three to five years earlier, he had been hit in the head by some unknown object while crossing a street filled with merry and apparently rowdy revelers.  It had not occurred to the man, who quite clearly had consumed an excessive amount of alcohol that he’d been shot during the festivities.  More incredibly, in the days to follow he didn’t recall having a wound or needing to clean it out.  His scalp healed over the bullet during the weeks and months to come and still he hadn’t noticed even the smallest heretofore bump, bulge, or protrusion in his head that wasn’t there before until he began having the debilitating headaches.  He hadn’t the slightest notion or memory of what had happened to him that fateful New Year’s Eve.  

forever living frank

It has been somewhat of a long day. So much has happened, yet so little has happened. I was supposed to pick up my Resident permit from the Immigration office. I found out first thing that the man wouldn’t be there, so I should be prepared to go the next morning for 9 am sharp. I was to go to the school and discuss plans and ask questions. I ended up in a classroom with a group of form 2s of which there were only 16. They gathered around me in their desks and we just talked. I followed this up with a few word puzzles and tongue twisters just to get them using the language. Brake time seemed to creep up rather quickly. The students had been keen to practice their English. I had some work to complete in town, so I traveled in after lunch. I had to go to two different places before I could accomplish anything. My adventure really began on the way home.
I picked up the daladala at the stand. A well dressed fellow took his cramped place beside me in the corner at the back of the vehicle. We started to chat. My mother told me not to talk to strangers, but I just can’t help myself much to my own detriment. His name was Forever Living Frank. We started with the usual small talk when he informed me that he was a teacher too. He worked at a nearby school. He described the typical conditions he encountered daily. Frank asked me if we could visit his home since he lived only a short distance walk past the drop spot. If we wouldn’t be late I said why not. Off we went. He was pleased. He decried how small his home was. He offered me peanuts and juice. After a little more getting to know you he asked me if I had ever heard of Forever Living. He mentioned how popular it was and how I must have heard of it in Canada. It is a line of aloe products containing aloe that were all natural and very good for the body. All I could think was ‘Amway’. He was so excited. He displayed the brochure and explained how good the products were. He was supplementing his teaching income by selling aloe products on the side. There were so many opportunities for advancement in the system after he purchased the initial product line. He had already sold quite a bit. Frank wanted me to tell my friends in country and back in Canada. He really wanted to view the promotional video that accompanied it. I had to put the brakes on and tell him that I was in education only and would be unable to help sell and promote his products. He was undeterred as he pressed me on the value of his goods. I reaffirmed my inability rather me refusal to participate in his program. Message received. I figured this would be an opportune moment to make my exit, so I did. He walked with me a short way to my place rather silently as he wanted to press his program while not angering me. We exchanged numbers as is custom. He even called me a couple of days in a row afterward. I wasn’t interested in becoming a salesman, so I didn’t respond. This was a new one I hadn’t even heard about at home. It wouldn’t work there anyway. Invite the customer in for a friendly visit, then make the pitch. There is never a shortage of ways to get sidetracked by the folks in town.