Little things in life – What would you like young man?
The Pursuer speaks:
What would you like young man?
It was like a slap in the face. What did she say?
How can I help you young man?
I was dazed.
Young man, is there something we can do for you?
I was a long way from there.
Where did these words come from?
And why did they come all of a sudden now?
It’s not that far off. You must be making a mistake. Not now. No. You are definitely mistaken.
I can.. I am not being referred to.
But no one is standing behind me, also not in front of me.
And I’m at the baker’s. Where else would I be addressed in such a friendly manner? The cans on the supermarket shelf don’t speak with me. Or yes. They also speak but differently and they definitely don’t say: What would you like young man? It can’t be. No one has said that to me in almost 3 decades.
Back then, yes, I was 5 or 6 or 7 years old. It was something then! But afterwards, afterwards this counted for others, now as well. They must be in error. It can’t be otherwise. Never, ever me. Not me. Not now and not tomorrow. And also not next year.
Young man, have you decided? There it was again.
How can I protect myself from this? Change stores? But if one starts, everyone does it. As if they had agreed on it, as if they had spied on me. Networked? Women bakers? Women bakers in a network?? Not them. But how do they do it?
Even if I spend the entire day loudly declining “Die Bäckerblume” (free newspaper for bakery customers), it doesn’t help. Not against this. They simply know it. How? They are women bakers. It’s part of their being, their existence, their assignment in this world. They were intended for this. They know this and they proclaim it. And then it’s your turn. Then it’s over and out.
And to hell with gender bullshit. There’s only “young man”. One day it will hit you and that’ll be it.
You will never be free again. You will never feel young again. If someone has said “young man” to one of you. Only nothing more comes. So starting in your mid-thirties, you will be “young man” for 4 or five years. Maybe into your forties. Change the stores, the district, the city (definitely not to a village. It happens earlier there than in the city). All love’s labors lost. The really clever ones don’t go to the bakery anymore after age 30. They send others: Can you get me a bread? Oh and a piece of crumble cake. Buy their bread from a shelf in the supermarket. There are also automated baking machines. That’s why they were invented. – But don’t tell anyone.
But honestly, please, do you really think that helps? There are the cashiers at Aldi. Suddenly it comes out of them. (They worked at bakeries before, or their mothers. It’s inheritable crosswise, aunts count too. Through generations.) Don’t you believe that someone has long since calculated how much it would cost to buy up all bakeries and then close them? And to pay off the women bakers, just to leave public life? Out of sight and out of mind?
Yes, ah, 2 rolls please.
40 cents, do you need the receipt?
No, why? I can’t eat it.
I’m so tired.
That’s all folks