Bowling

08.10.05
So I went bowling yesterday with some work people. The combination of people, bowling, and my social inhibitions should set the mood already. They served table food hot dogs and hamburgers that made me felt like toxic waste afterwards. They had free booze and wine but that was the last thing I needed, to be tipsy and surrounded by bunch of bowling co-workers. I just might say something nice. Drinking makes me feel less agitated around people and more tolerable towards them. As the famous saying goes, I drink to make other people around me interesting. They were playing music videos on big screens above the bowling pins. It went from late seventies to current day music, so I had a bad Elton John songs coming from his old days when he wore those big red framed glasses of his. They played Weezer’s Buddy Holly and some Simple Plan song, Peter Gabriel’s Shock the Monkey, and other various good and bad songs. I drank water and ice tea and ate non-stop to kill my boredom. I started to bowl with my left hand, which then I became interested in the game. I knew I’ll be frustrated if I tried to bowl and tried to get a good score and only ended up with something average no matter how hard I tried. I’m never going to bowl again unless some obscene, forced, networking event makes me feel obligated to attend another social event as glamorous as this one. So, I had no will to play as well as I could, and I definitely didn't want to leave the place as a frustrated bowler. That’s always the case with me. But, being lefty really made things fun for me. I actually didn’t expect to do well and that created an interesting challenge for me. I even got a strike as a lefty, but the catch was, was that I couldn’t do it again, well not with my right either, but at least my conscience wasn’t connected to my arm as I threw the ball down and out with my left hand. While throwing with my right hand, all I could think of was how it would be better to be undergoing reconstructed knee surgery at this point. Everyone there was really having a good time. There were cheers, high-fives, screams. Everyone played in paired teams two against two. My partner was such a lousy bowler. I can easily crush him with my right hand, eyes closed, feet tied together, and gagged. Together, we were sensational at being the lowest scoring team. My partner was really trying too, which was sad. He was sweating profusely like a pig, trying so hard to get nothing but gutter. Everyone else was doing swell and full of laughs and cheers. I was morose and wondered why I couldn’t connect with these people, ever, and just continued to gain weight by the minute eating toxic waste.

Watermelon

So, I worked out last week, Wednesday night, and finished sometime after 8 and was really thirsty. All I could think about was getting a watermelon to quench my thirst. So I started walking back to my apartment and knew I would pass by a used bookstore in which I had been meaning to go to since Monday. I joined a book club here at work, like your roommate did in HD, and I'm forced to buy and read a book by Hadden or Haddon, "Curious Incident of a Dog....." I know I got the title wrong. The book blows so don’t bother. Anyway, so I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and it was chilly outside and my clothes were still sweaty-wet from working out. I got the book, unfortunately new, and didn’t have a chance to browse too much around the store because I was starting to lose feeling on my right thumb. Then I walked on and up a couple of blocks to a grocery store. I'm already frozen by this point and looked at all the watermelons they had. It cost 4.99. I had my computer bag with me on my back, my extra gym bag with work clothes, shoes hanging from me, and a pretty sizable container of unfinished leftover lunch in my hands in a brown paper bag. There's no way I could carry a watermelon back with me nor even bring it up to the counter to pay for it. They were all big and sized like a 30lb dog, probably 2.2feet in length. So, I decided to buy grapes instead because they were on sale. I didn't really want something as sweet as grapes with so little water content comparably to the all watery watermelon, but I was there already. As I was checking out, which seemed to drag on forever, I had three people ahead of me and was irritated by the slow process. The third person was a little Chinese man holding a huge watermelon. He was all grins. So I finally checked out, still freezing, and walked towards my apartment like a battered block of ice. I got there and threw everything down and took a hot bath. Second round, I was still determined to get a watermelon. Went to a different grocery store hoping I would get a better bargain. Watermelons there were 5.99, bad luck, and not many to choose from. I thumped them like a professional melon picker not knowing what sounds I should be hearing that would say it was a winner. I picked one up and didn’t realize how heavy they really were. The little Chinese man didn’t seem to have any problems, with all grins too, but I had some trouble because it was on the upper self above the cantaloupes. I finally got one into my hands and brought my outstretched arms closer in to me. The thing slipped and I believe I was trying to save it by lifting up one of my legs to kick it or something. Sort of like how soccer players bounce the ball around their thighs and front top feet. Well the thing split on my right thigh and went everywhere on the floor and on my cargo pants. A worker there saw the whole thing. And I said, “Oh No!” really loudly……but the “Oh No” was for the pain of paying 5.99 for a watermelon I was never going to eat and the bloody stain created on my cargo pants. He said it was alright and picked up the pieces and took it back for, I assume, trash or for warmer feelings to feed the homeless. Now I had even less watermelons to choose from, about five. I started thumping again, this time more experienced. I picked up another watermelon and put it, this time, into a shopping cart. My original plan was to carry the watermelon out to the check out counter with my bear hands, but I didn’t want another crazy incident to occur. They might just force me to pay for all the smashed ones. That would be my bad luck, too embarrassing, and I’m cheap. So pushing the cart around which just provoked me to buy other things. So the next thing you know, I’m shopping for other heavy things like two carton quarts of orange juice and got myself some chocolate pudding, all liquid purchases. Never go grocery shopping when you’re thirsty. Carrying it all back to my apartment in my book bag was quite a strain on my shoulders and back. I’ve forgotten how weak I am compared to those muscular girls in the muscle magazines. I had to lean forward most of the time to counter the weight of the watermelon to balance myself, otherwise I would have flopped over on my back and most likely make another messy watermelon show on the sidewalks of Chicago or stupidly look like one of those turtles helplessly forever on their backs, legs flailing, hoping for a miracle to happen. The leaning was really apparent when I wasn’t moving, especially when I had to wait for a light to change in my favor. I made it back to my apartment and carefully unloaded everything, treating the watermelon like a sensitive dinosaur egg. I washed it and cut the thing into two and then the half into fourths and then the fourth into chewable slices. The other half I wrapped up in plastic bags and the fourth, I put it into a tupperware and with both, into the fridge. I finally sat down with my plate full of watermelon and reaped the rewards of its content. Disappointedly, I had better melon, but my wait was too long, so I wasn’t going to complain. Was there a point to all this, no, but I’ve got nothing to do at work but write stories.

Saying Goodbyes

02.09.05

Chinese new year is today. The year of the rooster. I'm still at Company X where in about three weeks it will all come to an end and I will start another life somewhere else. It's been about a year and a half since I started, had two birthday pass, two new years, Chinese, Jewish, and the World's new year. Life is so unpredictable and so is my fate no matter how hard I will it. How incredibly dark it looks ahead from where I sit, no break in the clouds, just darkness. Dark simply because there's no light, no hint of what will be coming ahead for me. I might be sitting around for six months doing absolutely nothing but hoping that something good may happen. Waiting is torture. It's like a girl waiting to know if she's pregnant or not, looking constantly at the test indicator for it to tell the results to her. It's not about the actual outcome that's killing her, then. Whether or not she's pregnant is just the next stage to take care of. It's about the waiting period, the constant looking at the timer, the countdown, the heart digging deep into the lower chest feeling, the empty, staunch stomach feeling. You can move forward after the results come out. You can act on it, resolve it, build on it, or do something about it, but before that piece is secured, everything is bleak and pure pain and your hands are tied till the time passes. So my time to wait is longer than the test indicator's and each day is worse than the next. I tried not to get emotionally attached to anyone at Company X. I've made acqaintiances, of whom I've maintain as co-workers, only, and never allowing them to cross over into the world I live in, but only into the world I'm pretending to live in. This way the goodbyes will be easier for me and my last steps out of the building won't be so heavy.

Testing Days Are Over

02.06.05

I received a phone call from an unexpected person the other day. About six months ago, I worked with her and probably went out a total of four times after work with her, but always with a bunch of people and never alone. Even so, I felt that her focus was mainly on me, partially because she always sat next to me or right in front of me where she could always keep an eye on me. When I started to fade out into my own thoughts, away from the conversation, which I often find myself doing due to boredom with boring people about boring subjects, she would pull me back in to make sure she was still the center of my attention. She would simply use my name somewhere in her long energetic spiels, and I would instantly snap back into the conversation wondering what I missed. Our eyes would quickly lock; generally acknowledging whatever was said about me was indeed true. Though I have no idea what was said about me, I was sure it was alright and I took it in agreeably. Besides, I was sure that someone would object if the statement didn't hold water, in which all my other consulting buddies would gladly do in a heartbeat. They were not shy of words nor relenting when it came to verbal attacks on me. To describe her though, she was a high strung, energetic, fast talker who was fond of using the word 'like'. Without looking at her and just listening, you would think she was a preppy cheerleader chirping away endlessly about nonsense. She was thin as a rail and towering around six feet, about one hundred twenty pounds, and to top it all off, of Indian decent. You don't find those often, if ever. You could break her like a twig, but her height would frighten you from even thinking of such a thing. Spending ten minutes with her made you feel extremely exhausted. It might even make you feel like you've been living a life at a retarded pace. Then you start thinking about what things you might have missed out in life or what you could have accomplished if you lived at her pace. You can't help wonder what goes on in her mind when she's completely alone without any interaction with people to transmit that energy to.

So last week she called me up randomly and was in even higher spirits than I've ever experienced with her in the past. It was about passing a test that she's been fretting about for weeks or maybe even months. I congratulated her and wondered why the heck she would call me of all people to declare her great victory. Prior to this unexpected call, I also bumped into her unexpectedly. She showed up for a consultant’s party after work. I was very surprised to see her there since she wasn't part of the project anymore nor was she related to the consulting firm that was picking up the bill. I, as usual, sat next to her and she was rabid with energy, laughing, clinging on my arms, shrilling with delight to about every small thing that was said around the table. I must admit, I was generally glad to see her again. It reminded me of the good times when the entire Canadian clan was still around. They all made it seem that working at company X was secondary compared to our after hour get together, which became the primary focus of our days in Atlanta.

So, that week on my flight back to Hartford, I was thinking about the whole process of studying, exams, college, high school, etc... So when the call came with her test results the following week after our meeting, she seemed so pleased with her passing, but did she realize what she had to go through to get to that point? Did she enjoy it, the win as well as the process of getting there? It turns out she passed barely with only two points over the threshold limit, getting a mere seventy-two by squeezing by on a seventy point passing zone.

During my educational period, I didn't think much about the process. It was something that I did, something that everyone did. My brother went through it, my father, my mother, and my friends. I did the same. I went to classes, studied, worried about exams, took exams, and got good marks, graduated with honors because that was the whole point, right? School wasn't ever hard for me nor was it pleasant, but at that time I couldn't think of anything more to do but stay in school as a professional student. Out there, in the real world, it was a menace filled with grownups that acted unnatural, talked unnatural, moved and even smelled unnatural. Even in school, where I thought I was isolated, I got a taste of them everywhere I went. The administrative offices, the health services, the bursar's office, those secretaries where the worst of the lot. Other than these annoying bad spots on campus which everyone had to go to and deal with, I couldn't fathom leaving such a free bohemian lifestyle where the rules were mainly set by me. As for the exams and homework, I did them because they were asked of me to do, but now as a veteran of the educational system, I can't understand why I went through those small tortures of exams, studying, and worrying about the finals. I hated them then, and now I abhor them even more. As for the structure, it's pretty much the same. You are still surrounded by idiots everywhere you go. People who have provincial beliefs, who can't see further than the length of their arms. You still have the diverse people to work with and different administrative people to deal with. The only difference is the structured eight to five o'clock job as opposed to the twenty-four hour job you have as a student. You could probably isolate yourself more as a student, but at the end, you are still measured by the same way, by some stupid result, a useless performance review by someone absolutely unaware of your position or some useless test that you won't ever apply to anything in the future, and you still have to deal with people that you probably don't like, or in my case, people I hate. So my unexpected caller went through studying, testing, and the old standard process to ineffectively evaluate someone's ability to cope with others because her company required her to do so to prove that she's able to function out there as a consultant.

So if my employer asked me to take an exam, what would I say? I would probably consent and do it, but why? Why wouldn't I tell them to fuck off and that my testing days are over and done with, take me or leave me alone. I'm not going back to doing things that I didn't appreciate in the past, so why do them now. Everything I did or learned in college, I have not applied one thing from them at work. I had to really recondition myself coming out of college to cope with people outside the academic world. It was one of the hardest things I had to work on. Even today I still have tremendous, detrimental relapses here and there that creep up unexpectedly, and I have to hold myself back. Sometimes my natural old college self flares up unexpectedly, and I say inappropriate things that would make me feel really good at that moment, but at the same time, makes me feel ashamed for allowing myself to show my emotions. The schools need to have courses to help transition people from one world into the next, not history tests or health courses.

While in college, I once challenged some dozen or so deans over useless courses that were required by the state of Georgia at the expense of other courses that I was actually interested in, but I didn't get very far with my words. I was drowned by all the other useless people there who reassured the deans that the academic process was doing the right things in all the right ways. I left disgusted, but slightly content by having a free lunch and another reassurance that I truly hate people.

We do things because it's standard practice or just do things because normal people say it is a normal process, but no one questions standard processes. No one challenges standard procedures. If someone says there's a qualifying exam to take to see if you could work for them, you'll go on and take it. How sad. Why did I act like such a zombie back then and how disappointedly and disgracefully I would probably still act today if someone asked me to take a test just to prove absolutely nothing worth proving. I guess it's all about giving up something small for returns of something greater. We do it every day, why not the next day and the next?