I don’t know how many times I heard it repeated when growing up in Canada: Fidarsi e’ bene. Ma non Fidarsi e’ meglio.

It literally means “To trust is good but not to trust is better.”

At any rate, I only began to understand this cautionary wisdom after spending time in our little apartment that we bought in Montepulciano nella bella Toscana.

A while ago, while in Italy, I needed to fill up my rental car with gas. Fare il Pieno.

The rental was a Fiat 500 (cinque cento) dark blue in color and that’s why I fondly baptised her Scura.

To put gas into the car, I stopped at a gas station close to Montepulciano, where I had never been before. Today almost all the gas stations are self-service and so you need to know how to pump your own gas.

Fine, I knew how it worked because it was hardly the first time.  Pulling into a gas station, I stopped next to the gas pump that was on the same side as the gas tank, shut off the motor and made my way to the outdoor pay machine where I inserted the 80 euros cash, the 80 euro in contanti, that I had already set aside.

Being careful to select the right type of gas and pump, I twisted off the gas cap and lifted the nozzle, inserting it into the gas tank, then pulled on the trigger and waited for the gas to flow.

I waited, waited and waited but niente, nothing. Nothing happened. The gas wasn’t pumping, not even a drip. No one was around so I went quickly inside for some help. There, I found the sales clerk – la commessa‒a fifty year-old-somethingwith long and frizzy hair in desperate need of a root touch up‒ her lips ,painted the color of red hot tomatoes, were glued to the telephone. It didn’t take long to understand that her son was on the other line and that his girlfriend had just broken up with him, so he was looking for a sympathetic ear, which he got from his mamma.

The minutes passed and my problem was still unresolved because this private call between mamma e figlio was no where close to wrapping up. I kept staring at her hoping she would ask me what I needed.  My back was turned to Scura. But imagine that, she never once even looked my way.

So the minutes passed. And the longer I waited the less empathy I felt for her son and his love life. My impatience growing and to calm me down, underneath my breathe I started to recite all of the proverbs my mom had taught us about patience.

Patience is a Virtue of the strong… La pazienza è la virtù dei forti;”

“Perdere la pazienza significa perdere la battaglia.” To lose patience is to lose the battle.

“Per chi sa attendere, il tempo apre ogni porta.” All good things come to those who wait…

And so on.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the mamma put down the receiver, but before I could explain what happened she turned to me and said:

But Signora, wake up.

Didn’t you realize that that guy filled up his gas tank with your money. You left the car unattended and he took advantage. Are you that foolish? Did your Mother never teach you that “Fidarsi e’ bene. Ma non fidarse e’ meglio?” The End