 |
Roger Rabbits with |
Vindicated! Thank you Noah. You proved me right.
And that’s worth sharing because it hasn’t happened since ’73 when wearing hip-hugging bell bottom trousers, I accurately predicted the sun would come up.
Last week, it seems, Page 2 slighted a whole generation of young people for their inability, or unwillingness, to understand analogue clocks.
A UK teachers’ union had claimed some schools were dropping big and little hands, and faces, in preference for digital displays. Because they’re easier. They tell you the time. You don’t have to work it out. Fair enough. Yes, 3.50 is easier to grasp than 17 minutes to the hour of four.
“Well, teach them” shrieked the analog cop. “Isn’t that what they go to school for?”
Not Noah it seems. Uh-uh!
Noah was under orders to have family pooch at Canine Clubhouse – one of those dog day care outfits – by 10am. That’s 10 o’clock for generation Alphas. Dog daycares used to be called kennels until they were given cutesy names and owners charged four times as much. How did dogs fill their days before daycares?
Ten to?
To keep things on track, Dad phones Noah from work first thing and asks, “What time do you plan to get out of bed to take the dog to dog-care?”
“Ten to,” replies Noah.
Dad goes berserk. “Ten to? It’s a 20-minute trip Noah, and dog-care closes for acceptances right on 10. You won’t get there in time.”
Noah remains calm, because ‘Noahs’ are historically calm. And patient. After all, it took his namesake about 120 years to build a boat. Noah explains to Dad it actually gives him 30 minutes to get there.
“How do you figure that?” asks an exasperated Dad.
“Well, I’m getting up at 10 to 9.30. And it only takes me 10 minutes to get ready. So I will have half an hour to get there.”
Ten to 9.30? What? We will pause while you process 10 to 9:30.
“So the Sun clock story wins,” an exasperated Dad told The Weekend Sun.
Ten to 9.30 just seems to complicate something very simple. But we might have to accept analog clocks are becoming an anachronism. Maybe it’s time for analog timepieces to take a timeless time out.
More bouquets
“Kia ora Hunter” wrote Angela. Normally people only message when they’re peeved. And if one person takes time to write and bitch, it can be extrapolated to indicate you have offended 200 others. But this time I could smell the sweet smell of positivity, so I read on.
“I really appreciated your recent editorial describing your encounter with the man in the doorway.”
A homeless man – bedded down in a shop doorway. He had surrendered to the cold and peed himself – a stream of which had trickled across the pavement. Lovely!
Angela continued: “It was a wonderful way to humanise a situation where many people would have looked away. Hearing the reason for the mess was truly hard-hitting and exposed the pain of sleeping outside. The way your attitude transitioned from judgement to compassion and friendliness towards the person was impactful. And good on you for shouting him a pie and a Chai.
Bless you for your kindness and for sharing this experience with The Weekend Sun readers.
Ngā mihi, Angela”.
Oh, the warm glow of praise! Sometimes, just sometimes, nice things happen. Thank you Angela. It wasn’t difficult engaging with him – his circumstances might have been challenging but he was pleasant, polite and not unlikeable.
Not so for a colleague though. “I’m feeling disillusioned. I’m downtown, minding my own business, when a homeless soul approached me rudely for money. I said, ‘Sorry mate’. ‘Well f**k you then,’ he spat at me. Nice! Anyway the view across the harbour is uplifting at least.”
I don’t sanction that behaviour, but I also don’t think being rude and aggressive only comes with homelessness. And being kind and understanding is easier than being homeless.
Happy ‘bloody’ Christmas
The page’s industrial strength moan about post shops in Tauranga being given a terminal diagnosis prompted a story about Christmas cards, which, in their heyday, doubled mail volumes. A colleague’s mother had a notebook of people she exchanged Christmas cards with. And if she didn’t get a card from Aunty Dolly, then Aunty Dolly was struck off. No card next year. Ouch! May all your days be merry and bright!
When she received a card, it was rated – a red tick for an expensive card and the sender got one of equivalent value back. A ho-hum one got a blue tick and an equally boring one was returned, and a crap one. Oh the spirit of giving and forgiving…
Christmas cards were strung prominently above the fireplace, the number could be construed as a measure of your popularity. ‘Mother’ would ensure her standing by bulking her display with cards from last year.