Superman in the Tardis

When I taught second grade, one of the options for students who had finished their work was to write a letter to the president. I would send all of the letters in a big envelope at the end of every month.

Watching my students get more and more frustrated with him (and concerned about his wellbeing) was not the result I'd hoped for when I came up with the idea, but it was kind of hilarious.

See, Obama had a standard packet with information and activities about his dog he'd send in response to letters from very young citizens...and of course his office sent one back to our class every single time we sent mail.

So eventually all of the letters looked something like this:

it will always choose you. you cannot die. you'll always come back because it loves you so much. you are its right and left hand, its eternal weapon. it will drown you in its light. light as horror. darkness as horror. what if it thinks you are its best friend.

Not, like, fake compliments or randomly giving scrounged up compliments to everyone you pass in the street, but -- say you see someone with an article of clothing you really really like. Cool accessories or a great haircut or something. Tell them.

I told an old woman yesterday that I liked her blouse. It was this super pretty white-at-the-top-floral-at-the-bottom shirt which was really lovely. So i backtracked where I'd walked past her and I said "excuse me - i love your shirt." And this harried, stressed-looking 80-something year old brightened up immediately, and beamed, and then when she and I headed off in separate directions, she had a pep in her step.

This other time I told a woman that I liked her boots. She gave me a company name thats since become my favourite brand of shoes. I told someone else that her scarf was cute and she was like "do you like it? Here, you can have it," and she dropped her scarf in my hands and then got on her train and left. I once saw a woman who had clearly put effort into her outfit that day but was now looking harried and frazzled as she wrangled four children across the road, and I told her that her outfit was gorgeous and she lit up like a christmas tree. I told a gay man that I loved his whole look once and he turned into a smiling, blushing mess as his super delighted and proud boyfriend was like "yea, he DOES look gorgeous doesnt he?"

I walk into this little everything store (to my foreign eyes the kind of place that back home could sell you a bunch of carrots, a 6-pack of beer, pantyhose, bleach and a screwdriver set) and I see some household basics in the back but not what I need. with the confidence of a person who is only in the city for 3 days because he got bored and packed a bag and booked the cheapest flight available the week before (<= MENTAL ILLNESS), I was like no worries I know some italian, I can just ask.

I grab a bottle of water, walk up to the counter, and I'm like Ciao, hai il paracetamolo? And the guy is like che, and I'm like paracetamolo. Per la mia testa. And he's like che?

This is where I would have said 'aspirina' except I can't take aspirin for medical reasons, or 'antidolorifico' except I don't know that word and I've got no phone data for google translate and also I'm stupid. So in my fucked up leith-glasgow-italian accent I'm like paaa-ra-cetta-mollll-ooo. He's like ohhh bene, bene, and he calls another guy out of the back and asks him to go get something. Other guy then walks out of the store into the street, and before I can be like hey, che la fuck, he comes back and hands me a huge bundle of herbs.

At this point I'm like okay this entire interaction has been a bust, but these guys have been very nice and patient and they're both smiling happily at me because they've been of service, so I'm like ahh perfetto, grazie, pay them a couple of euros and leave.

EVENTUALLY I find a pharmacy that's open, and my head is fucking killing me, and my phone still isn't connecting, and now I have this small shrubbery poking out of my coat pocket, so I don't even bother looking around the shelves. I just walk straight to the counter and I'm like uhh ciao, scusi. And hearing my nightmare of an accent the guy answers in english and I'm like thank christ, do you please have paracetamol. Not aspirin, I can't take aspirin. And he's like yeah yeah hold on, goes into the back, comes out with what I need.

Only when he comes out he gives me this look, and then he starts laughing. And then he pretends he's not laughing and rings me up and I pay, and as I'm leaving I can see him losing it. But I don't care, my head is going to explode, I'm going back to the rathole to close the blinds and fall comatose for four hours.

When I get back to my hotel room I take off my coat and remember the huge bouquet of herbs in my pocket. They smell amazing, and I'm like I'm pretty sure this is parsley in which case I can just get some tomatoes and mozzarella later and make it work. but since I have no idea what that interaction was, I want to make sure. I bring out my phone to get a visual reference of what parsley leaves look like, and because I was using it for google translate earlier I put 'parsley' in the wrong box like a dope and translate it to italian.

prezzemolo

look how ridiculously tender and how achingly desperate it is. so gentle, so kind, and yet so selfish at the same time. i've never seen anything quite so human

just. just look at these

For a small fee

(a pea for me)

I’ll be the best

that I can be!

I dont think its

hyperbole

a pea for me’s