He usually arrives in the afternoon. He brings a chair. He brings a scale. He sits down.
Every now and then, he shouts:
„TARTI!“
Then he waits.
And somehow, despite years of observation, we have never actually seen anybody use the scale. We have seen him for years. We know where he sits. We know his schedule. We know his voice.
Yet nobody seems to know who his customers are. Maybe the scale is simply the world’s most convincing excuse to spend an entire summer sitting by the sea.
Because if profit were the goal, there are easier options. He could sell water. He could sell corn. He could sell sunglasses. Instead, he has committed himself entirely to one very specific service that almost nobody appears to use.
Or perhaps the scale itself is simply an excuse. Because if there is one thing many Turkish women have mastered, it is creating a home that runs on its own rhythm. There is cleaning to do, neighbours to host, tea to drink, family phone calls to make, and at least three pieces of neighbourhood gossip that require immediate attention.
A husband sitting around the house all day can seriously disrupt operations. So perhaps, every morning, a conversation takes place somewhere in Turkey.
„Are you going to work today?“
„Of course.“
And off he goes.
Chair in one hand.
Scale in the other.
Of course, we may be completely wrong. There may be a thriving beach-weighing industry operating right under our noses. There may be loyal customers who carefully monitor their holiday weight every afternoon.
Until somebody explains the business model, however, we remain unconvinced. The moment one of them agrees to an interview, we promise to investigate properly.
Until then, every time we hear „Tartı!“ drifting across the beach, we will continue wondering the same thing:
Hey Mr. Scale Man, who are your customers?
We have questions.
