I had to visit my mechanic the other day (it’s becoming an all-too-regular occurrence unfortunately). I have two regular mechanics, one out by my work and one close to where we live. This was the close-to-where-we-live mechanic–a real salt of the earth guy with a thick Dutch accent and his mechanic’s shop in his back yard. He’s always been a little, I don’t know, cool with me. I put it down to detached professionalism, although to be frank, with the kind of money we’ve been handing over to these guys, they should really be learning my name, the names of my kids, and discussing the weather. A free pen would not be out of order.

Anyhoo.

The mechanic had to leave me a message at work, which I guess is the first time that he’s done that, since I usually leave my car with him when I’m at home (see the wisdom there in having two mechanics?) When I went in to pick up my car, after I paid my bill, I was just about to leave, when he kind of launched into conversation awkwardly with:

You verk for ze arts somezing like zat?

(He must have gleaned this information from my work message.)

Yes, it’s a theatre company

Oh, zo not visual arts zen?

No…(I then explained a little bit more of the particulars, with which details I won’t bore you)

Ah, ya, I zee. (here he paused) I’m glad you verk there the arts (shy smile).

The next time I walked into his office –which sadly for us, turned out to be in the not so distant future–when he spotted me, his face lit up.

How very sweet. Our mechanic is an arts lover. Who knew? How wonderfully multi-dimensional people can be.