Part 3 of 3
My marching orders are clear. I would like today to be a day of solid achievement. Or at least this morning. I do less well in the afternoon. Afternoon tends to be a bad time for me. In fact, I think it’s a bad time for lots of people. After lunch we need rest but we don’t get it. In our society, rest is taken as weakness, if not outright laziness. You’re cheating your employer, maybe even cheating God, if you’re caught napping when there’s work to be done.
I’ve learned this much in my 52 years, a time spent more in failure than success, more in not working than working. I would prefer to work, much prefer it, but the doors seem to be not open to me. I’ve had many job interviews and filed many applications, but have consistently met with rejection. There’s the old saying, “It’s not personal, it’s business,” but of course rejection is personal. They’ve passed a referendum on me and have voted No. I’d call that damn personal.
Obstacles, at least for some of us who are not of the upper-echelon, are many. Getting on the bus, there was this little creep with his feet in the aisle, and when I remonstrated with him to move them, he snarled at me that he would call the police. His little face was actually twisted with hostility. What can you do with such people? Well, at least I didn’t have to stand this time; standing on a bus really cuts into my energy levels. I did at one time consider applying at Metro, but decided against it; I don’t have the patience and I hate driving. Anyway, I don’t even own a car.
I couldn’t help but stare at a young man across the aisle, with striking dark features: Iranian, I think; the Persians are a noticeably handsome people. Like most of the other riders, he was immersed in his phone, allowing me to study his face without detection. Yes, the distractions of all this new technology allow these chinks in the armor, so those on the fringes—meaning, me—can see through. The young man was handsome, now—but five years from now? I could see a man already approaching middle-age: heavier, hair thinner, cheeks pouching, eyes bagging, flab accumulating. The lips, also thinning, would no longer be relaxed in a semi-smile but hardened and thinned by faltering or failed romance, shaky job, car payments, mortgage. How would this young man, immersed in his phone and his expectations, define “success” and “failure”? Would he be examined by potential employers and mates and be accepted, or be rejected? He had his phone, his trim, businesslike clothing, his confidence, and maybe a father who guided him into the working world. I’m betting things will go well for this trim, eager young man, and that he will find solid acceptance right down the line as long as he does not show signs of weakness, such as needing to rest during the day.
On the bus I gathered my thoughts together and finalized my game plan for the day. I decided against going to the tunnel to watch trains, which I had seriously considered, and also against going to the Audubon. The reception I garnered on my last visit there was not the best. I was only trying to get a job, but they treated me like an undesirable. Very cold. Maybe I had bugged them too often. It’s too bad, because I like birds and I think I would be able to help the members and maybe even get new members joined up. I’ve got my eyes open for gimmicks these days, and I think I stand a good chance of devising something that may be useful to an organization like the Audubon. But if they don’t want me, that’s their loss.
I took my usual route from the bus stop to the library, trudging up the steep hill from Third Avenue on the wet pavement past all the bustling office people and the offices, themselves, all warm and bright with energy and purpose. I think I might have liked working in an office, but offices tend to be high-pressure type environments with a lot tension, and the boss is often a nasty person who relishes lording it over others. Frankly, I don’t think I would hold up well in such an environment. But anyway, I have my own docket of affairs that keeps me pretty busy: research into donuts, anger management, wearing of advertising, and other possible projects that might be made into books or articles. I can’t complain, when so many people have absolutely nothing, either in their heads or on paper. I turned the corner toward the library, humming my horn softly, hmmm…hmmm. My cosmic beacon, piercing the rain and the doubt. Here I come, world!
At this point, now, I’m fully into my computer work at the library. They have a large room full of computers here that you can use to look up job openings and make contacts, and also make use of educational videos. It’s a fine civic service and all kinds of people take full advantage of them, and the computers are usually full-up. I had to wait fifteen minutes to get on, and time is limited to an hour, renewable if no one is waiting, so I try to get right down to business. I’ve been using the computers to help with my paperwork and speeding up some of the projects I’m working on, and for researching. Today I’ll be looking into the history and development of the donut; specifically, different nomenclatures and variations across the country (taking for granted that the donut is an American phenomenon and not spread across the Atlantic or Pacific. In that case, my job would become much more difficult).
But I’m encountering slow going. The fact of the matter is, I’ve been watching the Ceausescu video on YouTube again. The one where he’s initially addressing a large crowd in the capital city, and then it suddenly starts going against him, and he ends up dead by firing squad. I don’t know why I turned it on when I should be directing my energy in other directions, but I feel also that there is a lesson to be learned from this film of the terrible dictator going from an arrogant autocrat on his balcony, right at the very top of the upper-echelon, to a crumpled heap of garbage on the ground. Which he was: total human garbage, the kind of terrible person in command who made life unbearable for his country. I haven’t determined what the lesson is, exactly, but I’m thinking I’ll work on that. I make a note, and decide that I had better put the YouTube away and get back to business, as I have a lot on my plate.
The donut project, for one, has some good potential, I think. I see there is a fair amount of information online. I also want to see what the library has on the shelves, as I really tend to prefer using books, real hard copy, as sources rather than just stealing from the internet, which seems not quite real to me. I make some more notes then pause to look around the room and take stock. As usual, there is quite a cross-section on the computers, with a lot of black people. I’m glad to see this; I like having black people around me, as I think it makes me a better person. I hope they can overcome the rotten deal they got from our country.
From the looks of the ones here, I’d say they are: using brain power to get ahead. I suppose some of the people here are watching YouTube or playing games, but doing this can also lead to real self-improvement, contacts, and even careers. I do not discount any form of mental stimulation, and in fact, who knows what inventions, what new things these people right here, definitely not from the upper-echelon, will bring to humanity.
Just as I’m getting back down to work, a movement catches my eye: a very slight, slow movement, but movement nonetheless. It’s a hand, reaching very slowly toward somebody else’s chair. Hanging on the chair is a coat, and I can see something in the pocket near the reaching hand: it’s a wallet. I am witnessing a crime in slow-motion. I don’t know what to do—yes, I do. I clear my throat. The reaching man sees me watching him; he looks at me for an instant, blankly, like a reptile, then looks away. He brings his hand to his lap and looks back at his computer screen.
Crime averted, thanks to me, in all modesty. I’m glad the would-be thief has apparently decided to get back to his own business. He might have made a scene—What are you looking at? People do that, desperate and anti-social people who hate having their little plots and schemes interfered with. It may be that catching this guy in the act has taught him a lesson and discouraged him from any further such acts. I hope so, but all the same, I’ll have to keep aware and see that he doesn’t come after me when I leave, for foiling (do people still say that?) his crime.
That makes three more or less anti-social acts I’ve witnessed today: the finger-lady at the bus stop, the angry foot-man on the bus, and now this guy. And it isn’t even afternoon, yet. They say things usually happen in threes, and I’m hoping that does it for today. I much prefer it when we all get along. I really am not interested in conflict, not with the sneaking-hand guy, or the angry foot-man, or anybody else. I’ve got too much on my docket, possible projects to get a move on. Time is not stopping for me or anyone else. When my computer time is up, I’ll take a break outside and enjoy my morning banana.
After that I’ll knuckle down to serious work—no more YouTube—and see what the catalog contains on donuts, U.S.A. A cheerful thought occurs to me: Even if there are books on the subject, I figure I’ll have a new and very personal slant, a sociological slant, on donuts in our society, something I’ve had a lot of first-hand eyewitness experience with. Then—Eureka!—something more occurs to me: I can present donuts as little mini-life-savers. How many people have had their lives turned around for the better just by eating a morning donut? I feel like my life has, just this moment! I’ll bet some of those high-echelon super-achiever types like Philip Roth have succeeded on far less. My heart’s really going now, and I doubt very much I’ll feel like taking a break at all today. My marching orders are clear. Hmmm…hmmm…World, here I come!