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| I've decided this will be my creative outlet, in case you already haven't figured it out.
So I've been deliberating for quite some time now about how to approach my boss about getting some time off for my trip. Now I know it's a bit
unreasonable, asking for so much time off (albeit unpaid, of course)
after only working at a company for a number of months -- but hey, I've
got my priorities. I decided that I'd do this trip, regardless.
Nevertheless, nobody wants to get back from a long trip broke and
unemployed, so I vowed to do what I could to secure my position.
The question is, how to go about all this? Do I bring it up plenty in
advance, or just drop it on them last minute? And more importantly, do
I tell the truth, or not?
I went for the latter, on both accounts. Financial mobility, at all
costs. So I walked into my bosses office, and told the fattest lie I'd
ever told my entire life. I told him I needed two months off -- a
leave of absence -- for a family emergency. That, my dad was sick, and
he needed to move to Brazil to be close to his relatives, and that I
would be needed to secure the financial transactions, help with
transportation and translation, the paperwork, and the endless red tape that is a
post-autocratic Brazil. I fabricated my lie, my story, with such
flawlessness and consistency that it scared me. Down to the very last
detail, flight dates and all, I drew up my tale of extreme urgency and
self-sacrifice -- of the necessity of my presence, of the desperation
of my father and his family... of a dying man's last wishes.
And the boss ate it up. He applauded me for my loyalty to my family,
despite the personal risk to career, perhaps relating to his own
family's struggles. And to my surprise and delight, I was granted a
two month dismissal -- a guaranteed position upon my return. Upon my
return not from an urgent family obligation, but a personal excursion
-- a fun-filled adventure to fulfill my selfish pursuits.
And the worst part: I didn't feel guilty at all. I told the biggest
lie of my life, out of purely personal interests, with a straight face,
and an air of justification. And that scares me. It's dangerous...
when you can earn someones trust through hard work, dedication, and
personal sincerity, and then manipulate that trust to your advantage at
the drop of a hat. It's dangerous, when selfish ends supersede moral
principals, and without a touch of guilt no less. It's dangerous when
you've fooled the world into thinking that you're someone you're not.
Just kidding. | | |
| Dad picked me up and sat me in. Mom's turn. Oh yeah! It was always so much more fun when mom carried me. My dad kept his hair short, which was never any fun, while mom had long, straight hair with no will of its own to do anything but lie there, limp and flat -- to do anything but what I willed it to do, that is. We were walking, somewhere -- that's all I know. All I needed to know. Me bouncing up and down in back, taken for a ride. I could have cared less where we were going, as long as I had my mom's hair. "Stop that, put your hands down," she told me. But why would you say such a thing, mom? I'm having such fun. Can't you see? Adults are so strange. I never understood them. "Andy, stop it, I'm serious." I don't see what the big deal is. This hair was quite obviously put in front of me for my enjoyment. It's so soft and flexible. I can form it into shapes, or tie it in knots, and even stick it in my mom's ear. My mom didn't like it much when I'd bunch it up and stick it in her ear, which probably made it all the more desirable, yet ultimately resulting in some form of discipline or another -- bringing playtime to an end.
~~
I never knew who she talked to, but I didn't care. All I wanted was that phone cord. That rubbery springiness felt good between my teeth. It was so much better than food -- it fought back. I remember clamping down and feeling that squeaky rubbery friction... just enough bounce in each bite to bring me back for another. In and around the coils, my tongue slid. I chewed. With or without the coils, wrapped around my finger, or in a knot -- anyhow sufficed. I could hear the faint, high-pitched, wiry transposition of my aunt's voice through the receiver. It almost sounded like her when I put my ear right next to it, but the farther I got, the more wiry it sounded. I'll forever associate that wiry sound with the feeling of bouncy rubber between by teeth. A sound that grows all the more obsolete with the adoption of cell phones. But cell phones don't have cords anyway. "It's your Aunt Eileen," said mom. Aunt Eileen? Where? Is she coming to visit? I haven't seen her in forever. Wait, which one is she again? Why does my mom spend so much time talking to herself with that thing next to her head anyway? Wouldn't you much rather talk to me, mom? Hello? I'm right here. Here, taste some of this cord.
~~
"Is that a BART train?" I asked. "No, not yet, that's one of the street cars, at the station above." We were waiting forever! What was taking so long? And how did my mom know it was a street car anyway? All I could hear was the rumbling, and I knew something was coming. How come the street cars come so much more often than the BART trains? Why can't it be the other way around? And why did the street cars stop above? Why couldn't all the trains stop in the same place? People always made things so much more complicated than they needed to be.
I didn't like the street cars. They were always waiting behind other cars, stopping and going, and the seats were hard. And there were always lots of crazy people on them that did strange things, and would talk to themselves, and smelled funny. BART was nice. It had big, big seats, and cushy seats too. And a rug. And when it went in the tunnel it went real fast. I could see the lights passing outside. We must have been going 100 miles per hour! Whatever a miles per hour was.
~~
So many questions. Whatever happened to all those questions? Did we already find all the answers?
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| How complicated you have become. But for lack of better venue options, here I go...
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| Took me long enough to figure out how to post a new entry -- so much has changed here. Anyway, yes, I'd like to keep my account. Thanks for asking. Peace out.
andy
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