Building a trust “251 Main Street in Kernersville. I
don’t work there. I send people to them…” Whoever I was connected to as a
result of an ad on Craigslist assured me that I’d find a suitable laptop with
the help of the owners of AM Tech. Since I needed to replace a laptop for a
friend who works with the area’s homeless, my internet searches led me to North
Carolina, at the center of town in Kernersville.
After turning left at the stoplight onto South Main, I
parked to walk the few blocks to the used computer store. Along the other side
of the street were small but fancy shops that reminded me of ones I’d seen in
Duck on Carolina’s coast. Because I didn’t have much time, I avoided the
temptation to look inside. Thanks to a beautiful botanical garden and a few
fascinating historical homes on my side of the street, I reached the end
without noticing house numbers. Standing in front of 303, I wondered how I’d
missed 251.
Of course, the answer was simple; it wasn’t there because I
should have turned right at the light. In minutes, I returned to my car and
drove to AM Tech.
“How can we help you?” asked a kind fortyish woman with an
Eastern European accent. Dressed in jeans and what might have passed for a
biker tank top, she looked like a modern Cinderella, very short with bright
hazel eyes.
When I asked about laptops, she turned my attention to a
shelf of them to my right. Her tiny hands danced on switches of a few of them
until one turned on. Deftly, she displayed the important details of a number of
the machines, explained the differences, discussed their value. I listened
carefully; I had lots of choices.
We negotiated what I thought was a fair price for two of the
machines. Very carefully, she asked how I wanted to pay.
“I’d like to give you a check,” I said.
She grimaced. “We don’t take checks,” she said,
apologetically.
Since I’d anticipated that, I didn’t argue. “Wait until my
check clears. Then call me, and I’ll come to get the laptops.”
She seemed to like that idea. And I didn’t mind returning; I
wanted to see more of the town. “Where are you from?” I asked as she prepared a
receipt for my purchase.
“Czechoslovakia,” she answered as she looked at me as if I
probably had no idea where that was.
But I did. I told her about my travels there when it was
still in the hands of Russia. “I saw the religious icons alongside the roads.
Did you ever see them?”
“No, but my parents did, I’m sure. You know, when the
Communists came, they tried to destroy our Christian religion.”
I told her that I’d studied that in college. “How did that
affect you?” I asked.
She seemed surprised and pleased that I would ask.
Haltingly, she answered. “My grandparents always wanted to take me to church. But
my parents worked for the Communist government. They thought it was too risky
for them and for me. A little later, I ignored them and I married my husband in
the church. I was too young to be afraid then.”
“Do you and your husband go to church here?” I asked.
“Only on Christmas and Thanksgiving,” she told me. She was
disheartened by her encounter with her first American minister. “He asked me,
first thing, how much money I would give.”
She was furious with the man. “That’s all he was interested
in. I told him I wouldn’t give any.”
For an instant, she seemed sad. Then she walked back to her
side of the counter. “This is for you,” she said, as she handed me my copy of
the receipt. As I folded it to store it in my back pocket, she stacked both
laptops and their cords on the table nearest me.
My cell phone rang, so I turned away. It was my
brother-in-law, about another transaction, the sale of my mother’s wheelchair
van. “If he wants it, I’m going to insist on a cashier’s check,” he told me. He
was teasing me because I was trusting enough to usually take a personal check.
“Maybe we’ll sell it tomorrow,” he said.
Our conversation ended. I turned to Miriam, the M in AM
Tech. I suspected she had to confer with her husband about my check, but he
seemed to be missing. “Probably caring for their two young children,” I mused.
“Don’t forget,” she instructed me, as she handed me the laptops,
“the big adaptor goes with the smaller machine.” I took them from her.
With saying a word about waiting for my check to clear, she
thanked me. I nodded, appreciatively. It seemed that I’d found the right place
after all.
B.Koplen
8/7/13
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