Monday 20 July 2015

Envoy rollerboy

I’ve never been terribly fond of unexpected visitors at my door. Possibly King of the castle syndrome, I'm not sure.With Parkinson's, that sentiment has only intensified. I also seem to have a diminished ability to fake it, i.e., the doorbells equivalent of a phone call’s “no, you didn’t wake me up” demeanour. It’s just that often the timing is not right - meaning that with the effort required to get downstairs, I might as well have been asked to go down and raise the drawbridge.
I shuffled to the door. The impatient second ring came quickly. With that info I pegged our dirty rascal as mid to late high school. I opened the door and there he was - “Roller Boy”. A landscaping busker, an entrepreneurial huckster, ultimately, 100% pure bluster.

 A young man of linguistic economy, his approach was pure, unadulterated, and wholly unrehearsed. "Want your lawn Rolled?" was both his opener and closer. I thought it my duty to suggest that in my neighbourhood of lilliputian lots, perhaps he might make more money as a chimney sweep. I refrained. His facial expression turned quizzical. He looked at me, cocked his head (like my Collie/Husky Cross does when she can’t find her squeaky toy), then tossed me a grenade. 

Are you using?" Before I could utter anything more than unintelligibles, he pulled the pin and lobbed the second, “Are you on heroin?” I was stunned. Stunned that this kid was allowed to leave the factory without a filter installed - and stunned that I could be mistaken for a heroin user. Did I really look that bad?
I quickly marshalled all available brain cells with dopamine reserves and explored my options. I could 1) Thump him upside of his subthalamic nucleus. 2) Accuse him of being a member of the Flat Earth Society, and disappear inside.  3) Consider It a teachable moment. I threw back my head and let out a hearty laugh. And with that, Parkinson's 101 in the reeducation of “Roller Boy” began.

While some may be surprised with my reaction (or lack of) Why did I not take offence? It took me a while to figure it out but I think underneath it all, I was simply pleased that I didn’t give a shit. Not in the disrespectful “I don’t care what you think” way, the “this is not something I need be concerned with” way. But is it all that simple?

Part 2 Coming Up...