Through the small smoke filled room I could see a vast assortment of engine gaskets hanging from the wall. The three men who worked at this auto parts store were sitting on the other side of the counter, talking about "car things” and puffing on cigarettes. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and were not at all concerned with my presence. Through the haze I could see an assortment of interesting auto parts posters on the other wall. I had never made a connection between naked ladies and disc brake rotors, but apparently the girl in the picture really like them.* Beyond the posters was a window through which I could see the dusk of the first snowy day of the year. This was one of those uncomfortable situations life sometimes brings. My deficiencies in Bulgarian were evident. I can think of no more difficult language situation than a group of men speaking an unfamiliar jargon. Bulgarian men are notoriously difficult for me to understand. They tend to speak softly and mumble their words. So there I stood: inhaling half a pack of second hand smoke, poorly dressed to go outside in the cold, unable to participate in the conversation taking place before me, staring out the window as I tried diligently not to look at the captivating auto parts posters, just waiting.
My journey to this scene had begun much earlier in the day. Our car had become almost impossible to start on these cold fall mornings. I had come to this store earlier that morning to buy the parts to rectify the problem.** The salesman had told me that they did not have the parts in stock, but they would get them. “Come back before 5 and you can pick them up.” Trying to time my return properly I arrived at exactly 4:42 to retrieve my items. This would give me just enough time to return home and install the parts before dark. I estimated that the chance of the order actually being there when I arrived was only about 50/50. When I walked in the door my fears were confirmed. My order had not arrived. (In fact, I am not sure the order had ever been placed.) The parts peddler informed me that the warehouse was close by. He told me that he would have the items sent over by a taxi and that it would take half an hour at the most. “Иди да пиеш кафе,” he said to me in the familiar form. “Go drink a coffee.” Knowing that “half an hour” in Bulgaria doesn’t really mean 30 minutes, I fooled around for an hour and then returned. My parts had still not arrived. The employees assured me the order would soon come and I should stay there with them. So there I waited, me, and the men, and the smoke, and Ms. Fan Belt. Another whole hour passed before the taxi with my parts finally arrived.
These idle moments led me to reflect on the very nature of time. Time is viewed fundamentally different in this part of the world than in the US. Perhaps Americans tend to view time as something to be used. Its value is often measured by the fruit it produces. Time that is unproductive is time that is wasted. I think Bulgarians tend to see time as something to be valued. The successful use of time is not measured by productivity, but by how much each moment is treasured. “Go drink a coffee” meant for me to capture the time, to enjoy the moment. The three men in the shop were waiting on the taxi just like I was. They couldn’t go home until it came and I was gone. However, I don’t think that they saw the time as wasted. While this attitude does not necessarily lead to great efficiency, it might lead to greater fulfillment.
The apostle Paul wrote that his readers were to “make the most of every opportunity” (Colossians 4.5). A literal translation would be, “redeem the time.” Perhaps time is redeemed, not by our achievements, but by the value we place on each moment. Is it possible that our desire for productivity keeps us from truly appreciating the treasure of each second?
*Actually the wall displayed a whole series of posters. I had never realized the romantic side of oil filters before. I began to wonder if I had always taken the wrong approach in trying to woo my wife. Maybe females really do like car paraphernalia. Think of all the money I wasted on flowers. I could have brought home battery cables instead. I pondered, “Imagine how Laura will be dazzled by the diesel engine parts I was then buying.” I was encouraged by this new idea. Upon finally arriving home, I was filled with anticipation as I climbed the stairs to our apartment. How impressed she would be. When she greeted me at the door, I enthusiastically related the harried events of the day and then proclaimed, “Hey Laura, check out these glow plugs I just bought” . . . More research needs to be done on this. Apparently, not all automotive accessories are equally as effective. One of the girls on the posters seemed to be exhilarated by pine tree shaped air fresheners. Maybe I will try that next.
**For those of you that care. I had to buy new glow plugs for our diesel Toyota Picnic. I had to install them that night under a street light in the snow. A sad picture I know. FYI: Half of the cars in Europe have diesel engines.
