Yesterday, for the first (and possibly last) time, a Jehovah’s Witness paid for my lunch. Yet, not once in our conversation had the name of God come up nor of His excellent publications i.e. the Bible and its companion magazine, The Watch Tower. From which I received a different slant on one neat category I carry around in my head concerning People worth knowing and Others.
Prior to that, a chance glance at the local paper brought a different slant on a practice of which I disapprove: x-ray tests on young people’s left wrist to determine their age. My disapproval isn’t any less when I discover the influx of young refugees is providing a budgetary boon of sorts to the radiology service of a hospital in a nearby town. Not that anyone would ever mention budgetary considerations to justify this practice. Nor even suggest a correlation between the high incidence of tests establishing real age at nineteen years or more, when certified correct birth certificates state the person was born in nineteen ninety-nine.
Luck. This one gets through. That one gets shot in the leg and can’t run to safety. A third gets shot in the leg, makes it across the sea in a leaky boat. A faceless civil servant signs a request for a bone test. Fraud! the results proclaim, this one is at least nineteen years old. Reliability of the test: questionable and questioned. But who’s to know and, more to the point, who’s to care?
Sitting in the waiting room at the Préfecture one day, re-reading Shakespeare’s The Tempest while waiting for my number to get called up. Luck. Who snatches the prize. Who doesn’t.