Today started off relatively normal. I went downstairs to get my ride to work, this time accompanied by my roommate and his girlfriend who were headed over to the embassy to get visas for their trip to Vietnam. Normal busy day on Sothearos Blvd., cars and bikes speeding by, and people milling about. This included a random Cambodian man sitting by the entrance to our apartment in a tshirt, khakis, and bare feet.
My ride hadn't arrived yet, which was unusual considering how prompt he is, and Pete and Emily sped off on a moto. I decided, in case he couldn't make it for some reason, to run upstairs and grab my moto helmet. That would give him a couple more minutes as well as give me a cheaper option of getting to work. I headed towards my apartment, then stopped...
That random man was wearing my tshirt.
No coincidence here. That's my MACROCK 2003 shirt, which was a big music festival thrown by my college in Virginia. Yep, definitely my shirt. As I stared with a look of what had to be shock on my face, I realized that I actually hadn't seen the shirt since I dropped it off at the laundry place around the corner a couple weeks ago. This is the same laundry place that often gives me clothes that belong to someone else. It became clear pretty quickly what happened, and I ultimately didn't need the Cambodian guy to point towards the laundry place when I pointed at the tshirt and then pointed to myself. These shopworkers, due to the fact that they suck at their job, get left with clothes that they can't remember what to do with. So they probably just give/sell them to neighborhood people. I had also been missing a pair of jogging shorts, as well as another tshirt. I'll keep my eye out when I go walking around...
This isn't a huge deal, and I can guarantee that in a month or so the idea of walking past a guy wearing my tshirt, a guy with a pleasant uncomprehending grin who would ocassionally turn to spit, will be hilarious. It was one of those moments that you really feel like you're in a comedy movie. That being said, this is another thing as well; a constant reminder that while living in a developing country is certainly easier than I thought it'd be when it comes to the big stuff, there's all sorts of smaller things that eat at you and piss you off until you forget all your economic theories and wonder angrily why they can't get their damn act together. I loved that tshirt, it was a gift from one of my best friends, and the man didn't give it back to me. I'm going to take a picture of me wearing a tshirt to the laundry place today, but the details of this problem are far too intricate for my broken Khmer and their broken English to hop the language barrier. Even if they understood what I was saying, they probably wouldn't do anything about it but flash me a quasi-apologetic grin.
You come over here so prepared for the big differences that you find yourself completely blindsided by the small ones. "What do you mean you won't refund my lost clothes? What do you mean you can't break $10 for a $2 bottle of water? Why, exactly, are we driving this moto against traffic?" But it's important to remember they matter too. The big stuff is what you have to surmount when visiting another culture, but the little stuff is the challenge for when you want to actually live there. I'm honestly not sure I'm at that point yet.
JARRETT'S MACROCK SHIRT
2003-2008
"Gone but not forgotten"
4 comments:
R.I.P. Macrock Shirt. I didn't know you, but I know your legacy. If we have seen farther it's only because we have stood on the shoulders of giants. And those giants had to wear shirts, so technically we were standing on you...
Awesome story, but here is a solution. Buy it from him for the equivalent of $1. Sure your shirt will smell like Cambodian street urchin, but what the hell.
Man, that is rough. I have a spare from that year, but it is "volunteer pink".
Oh well, the story is better than the shirt. Hell, the story might be better than Macrock was that year.
It's always the insignificant that has great significance. (Truisms are fun!) Too bad about the shirt. I agree with Stan: Buy it back.
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