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tale 85 lazy young people Written by Rainer: rainer.lehrer@yahoo.com Learn languages (via Skype): Rainer: + 36 20 549 52 97 or + 36 20 334
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lazy young people “These young people today
are simply effeminate. They don't want to work properly anymore. ”I heard the
old neighbours through the door of my flat in the stairwell of the old
apartment building, still made of real bricks, where I lived in with ten
other parties. I didn't care much about it, since I didn't necessarily
consider myself a member of society anyway, and the way one social class
scolded the other groups didn't affect me in the least. It was a small town
and I had my two-room shelter on the outskirts with many garden houses around.
In winter, of course, the pavement had to be kept free of snow and sometimes
swept in summer. This was done through division of labour. Everyone in the
house was given a week, which resulted in a ten-week rhythm. If you were
lucky, it was your turn when there was actually nothing to do. On one of these occasions,
an elderly, stout woman came straight from shopping and when she saw me, she
praised me for how diligent I was, waited a breath and then asked me to help
her carry the heavy bags. I am not a Jesus figure, but if you ask me
politely, I usually cannot reject something like that. So I helped her carry
the bags, it was only about three hundred meters up the hill. On this short journey,
she told me part of her life how difficult the war and post-war times had
been, that her husband had left her for some time to take his worthy place in
a happier world, up there next to God. Pronouncing these holy words, she made
the cross movement on her chest with her hand. When she got to the garden
gate, she unlocked it and I carried the bags to the front door. It went
through a rather large garden that looked a little neglected. Her son lived
in the city and didn't help her at all, she sighed. “Well,” I thought to
myself, “I also have better things to do.” Of course you don't say something
like that out loud, you just let your thoughts wander. When I parted, she
gave me an apple from her garden and called me her son. Less than a week went by
when she talked to another neighbour in front of the house where I lived. I
greeted her as I passed and wanted to continue on my way to go to the
swimming pool. She stopped me and asked me to help her the next day to
rearrange the small compost heap behind the house a bit, because at her age
she was no longer capable of such hard work. Frowning a bit, I agreed and
went to her house the next morning at the agreed time. After a moment, she
came out with a beaming face and led me to the other part of the garden
behind her house. Now the full extent of the property that would have needed
a whole man in full-time employment to create order there and then to
maintain it really became apparent. She stood next to me and told me stories
and a few of her own thoughts, maybe to entertain me. For example, that she
couldn't understand why these young people did sports when gardening would be
much healthier and, above all, useful. While I was sweating, she asked if I
had an iron. But since I only wore t-shirts, sweaters and jeans, it would
never have occurred to me to buy something like this. After finishing work,
she gave me an old electric iron and tried to persuade me to come back the
next day to do some other gardening work. I gave her the useless present, or
perhaps payment, back into her hand and took quick steps out of the garden.
Since then she has been telling the whole neighbourhood that I don't like work.
And since that time I have been avoiding all of them as far as possible. |
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