saturday mornings - november 4, 2023
laughter, men's eyes & my dogdamn bus ticket
Happy Saturday!
I hope you’re having a lovely start to your weekend.
What I’ve been up to:
I published an essay on graduating & growing up. It's an ode to friendship and a love letter to my friends.
I'm organizing an IRL weekend "Airbnb in the woods" type writing retreat in early 2024! If you're interested in going to the retreat or sponsoring the event (or may know someone who would), you can read the full manifesto and apply here.
My Dad and brother left Buenos Aires to tour the rest of Argentina. I'm still hanging out here for the next bit. It's the furthest I've been from home and still adjusting to being alone, but all around it's going well :)
If Noah Kahan makes these songs I’d like to formally take credit now.
Here are the most interesting ideas I've explored this week.
✍️ quote i’m pondering:
Poet W. H. Auden on laughter and love:
"Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator. But among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.”
📚 book passage i loved:
"A man's eye reveals his quality.
It shows how much of a man there is within us. We declare ourselves by the light that gleams under our eyebrows. Petty spirits merely wink; great spirits emit a flash of lightning. If there is no brilliance under the eyelid, there is no thought in the brain, no love in the heart.
A man who loves exerts his will, and a man who exerts his will radiates light and brilliance."
― Toilers of the Sea by Victor Hugo
💡 idea from me: my dogdamn bus ticket
“No… No visa”.
My eyebrows scrunch, my hands convulse, my neck flashes hot.
Earlier that morning, my Dad and brother caught a flight north to Salta, leaving me in the Airbnb (and in the second biggest city in the continent) alone. Despite my sleep-deprived state, I wanted to clear a few things off my plate. Hoping it would put my mind more at ease.
The biggest was my bus ticket.
It’s not for a few weeks, but I read online that if I don’t have a printed copy, I won’t be let on the bus. Nightmare. Printing is a headache in Canada, where I speak the language, so I wasn’t necessarily frothing to figure it out here.
I close the door to our Airbnb one last time, put the key back in the lockbox, and step out the front door in my wool sweater.
Rain is falling in silver sheets. “Oh… Great”.
I head down the sidewalk, ducking under store canopies, towards what looked like a business center I had passed every day on my way to the gym. But, only 30 seconds into my walk I notice a small convenience store on the other side of the street, with a sign above “Impresions”.
I run over to get a closer look and see a printer through the front window. “Okay, maybe this won’t be so bad”.
The store is empty except for a middle-aged woman behind the counter. I slide open the door a crack, stick my head in and mumur a hopeful “¿Hablas inglés?”
“A little,” she smiles.
I step in and start to explain how I need to print my bus ticket.
“No a problem. Send it here and I will print for you,” pointing to a laminated sign taped to the plexiglass with an email address.
I pull out my phone with the tickets already loaded. I flip on my eSIM data, go to Gmail and hit send. The blue circle spins and spins and spins… and then stops spinning. I’m standing in this small store two feet away from the woman who’s staring at me.
“You gotta be kidding me. It says it’s fucking connected.”
The woman’s husband had come out of the back of the store. He got everything by the look on my face. I point towards the door and open my mouth, but he spoke. “The connection is bad in here,” in a warm tone. “Try outside”.
I know my data is a lost cause, but I may be able to get wifi from my Airbnb on the sidewalk.
I step back out into the rain, hopping between puddles until I get to the entryway that is now so familiar. I huddle under the narrow porch canopy, pull out my phone, go to Settings. The wifi network pops up. I hit connect. It connects. I go to my email. Nothing loads. I try to Google something. Nothing works. I go back to the wifi. It says “No Connection”.
It’s chilly outside but my palms start to sweat.
I forget the network. I find the 5G wifi. I hit connect. It connects. I go to my email. It loads. I go to my Google Drive and find the ticket. I go back to Gmail. “Wait, I don’t have the email?”
I’m close to giving up. Very close. But I take a deep breath.
Then another.
I trudge back to the print shop, walk in, and try to subtly take a photo of the email address (although it’s a small shop and I wasn’t subtle at all).
I head back into the rain, back to the Airbnb. But, halfway across the street, I hear a voice. I turn around and see the husband standing in the rain, waving me back in.
“You can use our wifi to connect,” he says as I walk through the door.
I hand him my phone and he takes his glasses off his forehead and puts them on. Pepper gray hair crowns the top of his head. He’s wearing a worn-down button-up shirt, green with thick folds of canvas, sleeves rolled up his burly forearms to his elbows. My phone looks miniature and metallic in his big, leathery hands.
He finds the network and punches in the password with his pointer finger. It connects.
I type in the email address and send the ticket. The wife gets the email and prints it out and hands it to me. Just a single page.
A sign on the counter says “IMPRESIONES … $60”.
“Visa?” I ask.
“No… No Visa.”
“The bank charges us a big fee to use a credit card,” he explains. “It’s too expensive for only $60. You don’t have cash?”
I slowly shake my head no.
“What’s the minimum amount to use a Visa?” I ask.
“300 pesos.”
“Let’s just do 500,” I reply in relief. It’s almost 10 times the price, but still 60 cents CAD. They had been kind and the economy isn’t doing well and I was grateful to have the bus ticket finally printed.
The man looks me in the eyes above his glasses that are bridged on his nose. Nods. Picks up the credit card machine, punches in the amount, takes my Visa, and taps it. I hear a reassuring beep. Tension releases from my shoulders like a hiss of air from a tire.
He rips off the receipt and hands it back with the card. I shove both in my pocket.
The man asks where I’m from.
“Canada… Toronto actually.”
“Toronto,” he echoes, tasting the words in his mouth.
I tell him I’m very far from home but I love Buenos Aires.
He asks me if I know where to get cash and warns me about the people who offer to exchange money on the street because they may give me fake pesos and recommends I go to an official exchange place instead and tells me where to find them.
We chat for a minute or two more and then I thank both of them. I step out. The rain had stopped and the sun had begun to peek out from behind dark clouds.
As I head down the street, I reach in my pocket for my card to put it back in my wallet.
I see the receipt. Before I crumple it up to toss it in the trash, I skim it. My eyes stop in their tracks.
“300 pesos” it reads.
I refuse to believe there is no hope for our world.
❓ question i’m asking:
Where am I not communicating out of fear, but that’s creating the very problems I’m afraid of?
📸 photo of the week:
My best photo from Week 6 learning photography in public. See my best four photos on Twitter.
Bonus PDF
Okay you got to the bottom so I know you’re cool.
Last month, I was going to set up this elaborate referral program & try to get you to run through it like a rat in a maze like James Clear told me to (sorry James) but I realized I don’t wanna do that cuz I love you too much.
The main bonus was going to be a really valuable PDF I spent 3 years curating titled, "Great Poems Most People Have Never Read"
A lot of poetry is lame but this poetry is the opposite of lame.
Reply “Tommy” to this email and (if you’re feeling up for it) your favorite thing to do on Saturday morning.
I’ll just send it to ya.
Thank you for reading! It means a lot to me :)
1- Leave a Like. If you enjoyed this, please click the little ❤️ below. It’ll help other people find this post.
2- Spread the Love. If you want to support my work, the best way to do so is by sharing it with others who would enjoy it.
3- Get in Touch. If my writing resonated or if you just want to be friends, please reach out. Reply to this email or leave a comment! (i respond to everyone… and i definitely need friends)
Pura vida,
Tommy
That bus ticket printing story was SO GOOD
Almost a little embarrassed to admit how sucked in I was to that bus ticket story - but kudos to the writing, and awesome job with that ending twist