Being and Saying

Being and Saying

At one point, we find ourselves shopping in the sort of glitzy shop (polished stones, Thai handicrafts) that caters to busloads of Japanese tourists. Anyone entering the store is assigned a “shadow” — a sales rep who hovers ten feet behind you. Pause at an item, and your shadow will rush forward, open it, and describe it in hushed tones, as though it were a religious relic.

My shadow is a pleasant older Thai woman in a starched business suit and ruffled blouse. She catches on quickly that I’m not going to buy any designer leather goods today, so she makes the most of a bad situation by converting my visit into an opportunity to practice her English conversation skills.

She points to Joe. “And who is this?”

“That’s my father-in-law,” I say.

“And where is your wife?” she asks.

“No wife,” I say.

She points to Clyde. “And who is this?”

I run my finger along the seams of a stitched leather purse. “My husband.”

Her eyes get big and round. “Your husband?”

I point to Joe and Clyde. “Father-in-law. Husband.” I nod. “Is this unusual in Thailand?”

She smiles. “Not unusual to be … just unusual to say!”

We chat several more minutes. By the time I leave, we’re the best of friends.

At one point, we find ourselves shopping in the sort of glitzy shop (polished stones, Thai handicrafts) that caters to busloads of Japanese tourists. Anyone entering the store is assigned a “shadow” — a sales rep who hovers ten feet behind you. Pause at an item, and your shadow will rush forward, open it, and describe it in hushed tones, as though it were a religious relic.

My shadow is a pleasant older Thai woman in a starched business suit and ruffled blouse. She catches on quickly that I’m not going to buy any designer leather goods today, so she makes the most of a bad situation by converting my visit into an opportunity to practice her English conversation skills.

She points to Joe. “And who is this?”

“That’s my father-in-law,” I say.

“And where is your wife?” she asks.

“No wife,” I say.

She points to Clyde. “And who is this?”

I run my finger along the seams of a stitched leather purse. “My husband.”

Her eyes get big and round. “Your husband?”

I point to Joe and Clyde. “Father-in-law. Husband.” I nod. “Is this unusual in Thailand?”

She smiles. “Not unusual to be … just unusual to say!”

We chat several more minutes. By the time I leave, we’re the best of friends.

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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Who Wrote This?

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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