if you stick in one place with the same group of people for any good amount of time, you’ll start being called by a nickname. it never fails. i swear it. i’m not saying i’m against nicknames or anything—in fact, i kind of like ‘em—i’m just saying it’s the way things usually happen. anyway, my name’s vendor. it’s a nickname. the thing about this nickname though is that i don’t think anyone has actually called me by it—called me by “vendor”—but if you could peak around a corner when i meet someone for the first time, you’d see it in his eyes. you really would.
you see, the people i’ve been spending a good deal of time with are soldiers, every last one of ‘em. i guess some of ‘em are generals and lieutenants—some that go by all those fancy titles that make people that care about that stuff swoon like second-rate actresses—i suppose i’m around them a good deal too. you see, there is this war that’s been going on for quite some time now and i’ve taken a summer job going around to different units and such fixing their weapons. the way i walk in to a unit and just start fixing their weapons, i bet they think i’m some sort of jack-of-all-fix-its. but i’m not. i actually only know how to do a handful of fixes but i bet they think i’m some kind of pro or something. but i’m not. the fixes i know how to do i can do pretty damn fast and efficient and all, but it’s nothing too special to be honest.
anyway, every soldier i come in contact with has this look when i meet ‘em that lets me know they see me as a vendor, hence the nickname. as far as they’re concerned, i’m their to help ‘em out—grease up there gun and all—but you’d swear most of ‘em see you as this solicitor that’s there to bother the hell out of ‘em if only for ten minutes. like i said, as far as they’re concerned, i’m their for their benefit—making sure their equipment is in good working order. who wouldn’t want that? i mean, it’s free to them and all. anyway, that’s how i see it, i mean, that’s how these soldiers ought to be concerned with me and my trade; but as far as i’m concerned, i’m mostly in it for the money, to be completely honest. i suppose since i am putting myself in harm’s way, on the front lines and all, the money is pretty damn good. you’re on the road the whole time which can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you see it. and really this job can be much more of a blessing if only you have the eyes and the heart for it. i guess that’s the way it is with most things.
so for that past couple weeks, i’ve been traveling around far and away, working this job. sometimes the traveling can be enough to handle on its own—i mean, we really travel a lot. three hours one day, five or six the next. some days all we do is travel and don't work a minute. after a while though, the traveling doesn’t seem so bad. you kind of get used to it in a way. anyway, so i’ve been working this job for a while now and you’d be surprised the things that go on in war. i’m not talking about a bunch of gruesome horror stories or anything, though there’s plenty of that—i’m talking about the little things: the side conversations. the odors. the way each unit i visit is something altogether different but really not different at all. and to be honest, i’ve been learning some things about life and about myself in this job. it’s not like i’m in school or anything like that right now, but i’m still learning a great deal. i suppose someone can learn a great deal if they have the eyes and the heart for it—kind of like seeing a job as a blessing or a curse. it’s all about perspective. it really is. i’m convinced of it. someone i respect a lot used to always tell me “it’s all about experience.” if he were here right now, he’d grab my hands and force me to write about experience. he’d talk about how when you grow into an adult you experience so many things that you end up learning a great deal. it’s true. you can learn a great deal from your experiences, but it’s also possible to learn hardly anything at all. if you aren’t in the mood for learning something, chances are you could damn near die by doing some dumb as hell and not learn a thing from it. i see the reasoning behind the statement, and i agree a great deal with it. all i’m saying is you really oughta have the eyes and heart for something—really be bent to learn from your experiences or from someone else’s experiences or from something you heard once or even dreamt up… if you can be disciplined like that, you’re bound to be on your way to becoming one of those people who can say half as much of what other people say yet be listened to and respected twice as much. you know those kind. they’re usually someone old, but not always. if you can think of some like that in your life, and if you think of it, you should ask them about they’re perspective on life. it won’t be a waste of your time. i guarantee it.
oh, so anyway, i was saying that i’ve been workin’ this job for a while and have already seen a good deal that has roused my mind a bit. and what i was wanting to do was tell you a little bit about what i’ve seen, what i’ve heard. to be honest, most of what i was thinking about writing about will bore most. but there might be some who will find some interest in my stories. they won’t be anything profound in themselves, the stories that is, but maybe to some, they’ll find something worth while. i suppose it depends on your eyes and heart. i’m not saying you need a certain type of eye or heart to be interested in what i’m talking about. what i am saying though is that if you are one of those persons who is bent towards sucking the good out of life, you’re bound to find some marrow in the bones i’m looking to throw your way. i don’t know. take it or leave it. do whatever you want. as if i had to tell you to do that anyway. i can tell you this though: war is not a place for the weary of heart. some of these stories will knock you on your ass while others well float on by, maybe linger in your mind for a while—not because they are anything incredibly unique but because they are stories that are likely to remind you of something you’ve seen before, something that captured you once in some odd way that has stuck with you all these years. maybe something i say will remind you of that one thing. think of it as an invitation to contemplate that memory. go ahead and forget about my story altogether. i won’t get sore about it. i promise. chances are the story you have is better than the one i’ll tell anyway.
we are all servants to our experience in a way. but only in a way. i’d hate to grow old and learn that that one guy that i respect a whole lot was right all along. i doubt it though. may you let your eyes and heart show you things that transcend your own experiences. what a shame it would be if we only learned from our own experiences and didn’t look outwards to what’s going on around us, in the lives of others. that would be a tragedy.
