The Journey: Month Twenty-Five.

Mr Nelson.

On the 28th of January, I celebrated two years of living in Wellington. These past two years have felt like the first real years of my life. In the same breath, however, they feel so intricately connected to the eighteen which preceded them. I may not be two-thirds of the way through a degree like many of my peers. But I do have a few things to be proud of, This publication being one of them. Writing this newsletter has taught me the importance of observation. There is always something to see in Wellington, it is an interesting place to be. I find the people however who inhabit the city are often far more interesting than the city itself. As I spend time observing these people, I have become aware it is impossible to stay looking in from the outside. We become a part of the cultures and groups that we find so intriguing. The simple truth is that if an observer spends too long observing, they become something worth observing themselves. I think it’s important to acknowledge that at different points and to different extents we all want to see, and we all want to be seen.

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It’s Monday night, it was mostly quiet as Mondays often are. However at maybe seven thirty this guy jogs up to the front of the shop. He slows down and waltz's into the store. He’s tall but not so tall that I would describe him as tall, he’s wearing a yellow jacket as begins to look around. I smile and get ready to engage my customer voice but before I get a chance he blurts: “I'm looking for— well I’m at a BYO but we didn’t organise it very well, so now I’m here to buy a bottle, what do you have?” Look around you muppet, it’s not like the walls of this tiny room are lined with wine, is it? Taking the high road I ask: “Well what kind of cuisine is it?” The young guy is now hunched over staring into the fridge, his big nose just inches from the glass. He seemed to not register what I had asked. His face was darting over the glass of the fridge carefully inspecting the labels. His face acts like one of those vending machine robots that zip up and down and side to side until it arrives at the item it needs to collect. It's at this point I realise he must have had a couple already, he’s not drunk but just a little loose in his own strange way. “I'm looking for a funky dry white, or maybe an orange. We are having Ethiopian so maybe an orange would be best to hold up with the spice. Hmm, I do love the Unkel…” he proceeds to mansplain with limited knowledge a few wines from the fridge. He’s more talking to himself than me but I still respond with the odd ‘yeah’ or ‘mmhm’. Hoping that my not-so-subtle re-enforcement will be all he needs to make a decision and leave. He finally lands on the ‘Pollen’ by Brood Fermentation, to be fair a great pick. It's a Chardonnay and Riesling blend from the Moutere, just out of Nelson. He tells me he’s from Nelson too, in fairness I could have guessed this. No one is more excited about wine from Nelson than people from Nelson. Sunny old Nelson seems to be the womb in which the basic Wellington hipster is born. He grabs the bottle from the fridge and brings it over to the till. Engaging my customer voice again I ask whether he has a wine knife with him, I hold back from asking whether he knows how to use one or not. “Yes, I do, because I’m going to buy one of yours.” As he picked up a wine knife he gave me a smarmy grin, clearly proud of his clever little line. “Paper Bag?” I ask losing my patience a little bit. He nodded his head as he takes another look at the fridge again. As soon as the approved tick appears on the Efpos Machine he turns and swiftly moves out the door and begins to run down the street. Under my breath, I mutter “Fuck off back to Nelson.” He was well gone by the time I said this, but, it felt satisfying if not only for myself.

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A few months later I returned to the Puffin wine shop with a friend. In the shop was the same attendant who had served me before. She smiled and greeted me “Hello Mr Nelson.” It was at this moment that I realised I had made somewhat of an impression, possibly not the best one. If this piece of writing ever reaches that sales attendant, I’m sorry for being a bit of a prick. I have been reflecting on this interaction and her perception of me. It also has made me inspect my perception of others. Do our actions Make us who we are? In the eyes of perception, I believe the answer is yes. I also think our observations and perception of others also shape us into who we are. Our world view in turn affect hows we act and then consequently, how we are perceived. We do not live in a vacuum where we can either just choose to observe or be observed. The communities we find ourselves in shape us, as we help shape them. In the same way our actions and observations cannot be separated from one another. This community I find myself in in wellington is one of the most important aspects of my life, and for that I’m thankful.

Much love, be blessed

Jesse.