My Trafikant (proprietor of the Tabak Trafik I always go to) has died. He was in his 80s and had been in bad health for a long time, but it is sad news for me. He was a complicated person — I thought he might be on the autism spectrum and from a time when no one understood that — but he was a fixed point in the neighborhood, and he loved Maylo. (In fact, he loved all dogs.)
The women who worked for him, who, quite possibly are now out of a job as concessions for this kind of shop are so limited, have written in the announcement of his death that he was more than a boss and employer. He was a person (a Mensch) with a heart, principles, and open ears. They should know. They worked with / for him for many years and took care of him when he had no family left.
I fear, given government efforts to reduce the number of Trafiks, that this is the death knell also for my Saturday ritual of picking up the Kurier and an instant lottery ticket, at least at this one place.
To see what kind of place this Trafik and its Trafikant had in my heart you can check out these previous posts shown below. I think my favorite is “Our Trafik”. That captures him well.
ecbinvienna 