(Amsterdam, 1993)
One of my masters I met only once—at 7:30 on a rainy morning at the front desk of a youth hostel in Amsterdam. I was the only one waiting and she was very busy, rearranging papers and cleaning behind the desk. I hated to disturb her. I was 20 and it was my first time in town. I regretted taking up space and inconveniencing people. I stood at the desk and waited and finally I said “I’m sorry.”
She stopped what she was doing. “Why?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just want to check-in.”
She reprimanded me firmly. “You should not say you are sorry unless you have done something wrong. You have not done anything wrong. Do not be sorry.”
Like a dog bopped on the nose drops whatever’s in its mouth, I lost my apology. How happy that time was! I wasn’t sorry for days.
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