My apologies to the dog food man.

3.9.23.

Pssst.

I’m learning to keep secrets.

Here’s why - what if, right now, in this-here tiny space, there’s someone from my lovely native land scraping my measly words for ideas? (Those Big Tech chaps thought they were the first to scrape. Nah.  I know people who can do it better than AI, and they ain’t need none o’ that expensive technology.)

Please don’t call me a liar for saying this. I ain’t concocting story out of sea foam. If you want proof, look at businesses in GY (Guyana). Take, for example, the car washing business. We’ve got more car wash bays per square mile than Jamaica has churches.

I could be wrong, but I believe it’s one man’s fault. He opened a cheap wash bay. It wasn’t the kind you’d find at gas stations. It was a basic shed, mostly wooden posts holding up a zinc roof, on a concreted piece of land. That enterprising man gathered together some gangly youths, fat sponges, bottles of car soap, Armor All and a machine that sprayed as much cacophony as water.

Before you could say copycat couldn’t kill a rat, wash bays sprang up on every corner you turned.

Yea, even as far as the interior…our wonderful, blessed hinterland…will ye find the washers of dirt from sacred vehicles today.

I can’t say for certain that the hinterland business began with an idea from Balli, but who knows, eh?

Balli was a young man with no prospects in our capital city of GT. He could only envision a future where he got biscuits for Christmas and not much more. He left to work in the interior, in a gold mining community. Not long after, he saw an opportunity.

Tsk. It was more an opportunity to blab! “Them people here can do with some help to wash they jeep and trucks,” Balli said to a well-trusted pal. “I gon buy the equipment and start up a wash bay.”

I think you can guess what happened next…I gon spell it out in case you’re innocent and don’t like to think badness is real. De Judas-pal speed off with Balli idea mo’ fast than racing cars on South Dakota Circuit.

Friend, I can give you oodles of detailed examples of copy cattishness but I know how busy you are. Lemme précis: businesses of every kind have been breeding like cats un-spayed ever since the economy opened up in the ‘90s. Only problem is, plenty people copy plenty people shops and stores.

Can you blame me for thinking that this was the same situation with the dog food stalls?

I spotted Stall #1 suddenly one afternoon. I was driving through sluggish rush hour…pisheuuuu…I mashed the brakes to gawk. I couldn’t figure out what de heck I was seeing a few feet away on de grass verge - a pile of bulging, candy-striped plastic bags on an unpainted wooden stand. On a stool, behind the stand, a teenage gal waited.

Then I saw the rough, hand-written sign: Dog food. $400.

(That’s GY dollars, not much in US money, British pounds, Canadian, AUS, any Big Country’s currency.)

“Yessss! You go, gal,” I wanted to shout out to her. “You work your different thing, yeah!”

Next thing y’know, dog-loving people were stopping, on their way home, to purchase meals for their pets.

(Aiye, y’never know, some o’ them buyers could very well be dashing a li’l ketchup and pepper sauce on the food and lashing it back…slurping it up. On GY dog food menu, one dish is rice cooked with the inner parts of cow. If the chef adds blood, that would be like black pudding, nah? I’ve discovered, via GY social media, how popular black pudding is…m’dear, you can have my share and double-more, I ain’t eating dah!)

“Ha! Watch the populace copy this dog food idea soon,” I muttered.

Eh! So said, so done. Dog food stands popped up dis side, dah side, over here, over there.

“Daz what we do,” I said to a friend. “Copy copy copy.”

“It’s one man,” she said.

“Ooooh, the man has franchises.” I was impressed!

Mr. Dog Food Man! I send you my deepest, most sincere, humblest humble apologies. You de Maaan, Mr. Dog Food Man!!

Anyway, what does all of this have to do with me?

It’s a reminder to step away from the crowd when I’m creating. To stop worrying about copy cats. Copy cats will rain like dogs. Never mind, I can count on myself to come up with something new. Strangers may snicker; fambly might gossip that I’m a time-waster; presumptuous persons will lecture me to do something they feel is worth my time. That’s okay, that’s their energy they’re using up. I am going to sell my sass my way, whether it’s words as fun or words as food. Or coffee.

Awright, me gone. In a li’l more time, I gon tell you in detail what I’m working on.

You take care of you, dance up and eat proper food. Have a great two weeks until the next email. Plenty lurrrrve, neena.