Log0009
Paying it Forward
I think Mathew was just out to enjoy the ride. There aren’t too many people I feel that about. Mostly everyone seems all caught up in the dialogue running through their head to stop. Take a breath. And smell the fruit.
Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes. I needed potatoes. And grapes too. But if I was going to Mathew’s stall I might as well get some fruit juice.
I hadn’t been inside a grocery store in three months. And sure, while I was already stocked up on grains, spices, oils and other essentials I really didn’t miss the flat lighting, aisles of targeting marketing, and the totally inhuman interaction I would have when using the automated check-out, or worse when speaking to the clerk. So, while I had gone to the farmers market weekly, I was now going exclusively too.
Here you still had the option to get in, get the things you needed, and get out – without so much as a word to anyone. Alternatively, you could also talk to someone passionate about the berries, someone who knew where the meat came from or someone who’d harvested the crop of avocados. If you wanted human interaction, you got it.
My fruit guy, Mathew, exemplified this. He was built like a marathoner though I doubted he’d run once in the last 20 years. His wiry strength and functional fitness were a result of the work. He lugged around crates of apples, oranges, nuts, and cherries. Setting up at a variety of the city’s farmers markets. Then, he would stand out all day in the Southern California sun, chat, and sell fresh produce.
There were many reasons to like Mathew, but I was particularly drawn to his laid-back personality. I think maybe it reminded me of home. Everyone here took themselves so seriously. Then there was this guy – where it didn’t matter if he had a line of people impatiently waiting to buy his fruit – he would happily chat at length about anything until you decided to go and he could serve the next person. Often, I thought the more impatient a person behind me, the more he’d like to string along the conversation.
Regardless, with such great fruit those people kept coming anyway. And perhaps because of this point, his prices certainly weren’t low. Though this didn’t really affect him. For loyal customers the number on the scale was just a recommendation that he invariably did not follow.
You could literally say Mathew was one of those “generous to a fault” kinds of people. Ones who would hand you their jacket in a snowstorm. There had been times when I was short a few bucks at another vendor, and he lent me the difference. The following week I’d have to remind him to take back the money from me, else he’d surely forget. Or simply not worry about it.
His long ponytail of straight ginger hair was uniquely exceptional – and if you noted it with similar style, he would give you a “ginger discount”. A method which had precisely no mathematics and was determined by him lopping off some amount of your total.
Ever optimistic, there were bad days too. Days where he’d dealt with a particularly sour bunch of old entitled customers, complaining about the imperfections on his oddly sized apples. He would still put on a smile and crack a joke when we walked up. With hardly a complaint he’d take it in his stride and continue on.
We’d always chat for a bit, about the weather, the seasons, the fruit. Then I’d get whatever sounded good and he’d pretend to ring it up.
“Aargh $6,” he said as the scales read at least 20. I handed him 10.
“And take a juice too, they’re really good.”
“I know man, I got one last week.” I replied looking guiltily at the 2 liter of juice as I put it in my bag. Some weeks I overpaid for his produce, some weeks I underpaid, but this week he was really lifting the scale. The juice alone was worth the $10 bill I just handed him.
I remembered Mathew’s generosity the most when some random Sunday one of the bakers didn’t show up to get their produce. He fished around in the back of his truck and gave us their half-gallon juice jug that had been filled with honey. The best honey in Southern California. He wouldn’t even accept a dollar for it. Two years later we were still going through that $80 jug. But that’s Mathew. My fruit guy.
Mostly, I think he is just a genuine and gentle example of someone really willing to pay it forward.