Acceptance

There was little to do that day. There could have been a lot to do, if I were given the due respect of a professional. But I was just an indecisive kid. I was just whiling away my time, and they knew it.
I was in a new city. I had few options. I had friends who were at work, getting their due respect. I couldn’t possibly impose on them to keep me company. I could explore the city on my own, but I was too lazy to. And I hate that getting lost feeling. I need to know exactly where I’m going, how I’m going and all of that. I used to think I was adventurous, but I wasn’t really. I was often forced into adventure, but really, I prefer being in control.
I sat in a coffee shop. That’s what I did that morning, when I went to work and realised there’s no work. It’s happened before, these things. I’ve turned up at school, when there was no school, or at a party when there was no party and things like that. There was a slight possibility that we may not have had work that day, so I even asked my Boss if we did or not. But he didn’t reply to my text message, and neither did he pick up his phone. If only I was good looking.
Anyway, this coffee shop was not one of those quaint coffee shops where you meet the love of your life or anything. You know - he’d be sitting at the next table reading W.B. Yeats or something. No such luck. It was one of those purply chains, with uniform furniture, robotic service, pop music and lovey dovey couples. Who are these people, who hang out in coffee shops and malls at this hour? Don’t they have jobs/school/college whatever? Were they all in for a surprise this morning and realised they don’t have work? Could that really be? Who are these people?
Anyway, I called up my other Boss who did pick up her phone and told her I’d be going home and not be sticking around till two or whenever they decided to reopen work. A part of me wanted her to refund the 67 bucks I spent in getting here. I wish she would suggest it. But no. She seemed disappointed that I wasn’t sticking around in a place where there’s nothing to do, other than sitting around aimlessly in the sole purple coffee shop in that area, digging my nose and spending more money. No Ma’am, I wasn’t coming to work today. I’d mail her my work later on. And after a few moments of contemplation I strolled right into the coffee shop. I wished there’d be wi-fi, so that I could check my mail and all of that. Of course, I do mean Facebook. Anyway, so they did not have wi-fi, and I could just leave, go home, do my work from home, as promised and be constructive in general. But who was I kidding? I sat there, with my computer and typed random things, not to be outdone by this sour looking IT dude who sat in a table near mine and did the same thing. Only he wore a shirt and a tie and his laptop was not plum in colour. He looked professional. He looked as people who work should look. He didn’t look indecisive and stupid. He didn’t think the most important decision that he made in the day was choosing his underwear. He was probably making some pretty important decisions right now. Buy! Sell! Hold that share! Or things like that, which just seem like words to me. I saw him eat a muffin while I was pretending to type. His face softened a bit when he ate. He chomped unprofessionally. I liked that.
After a while I stopped staring, slyly or otherwise, because sooner or later, he’d notice. I looked out to see whether my bus passed this route or not at this time of the day. If it didn’t, I’d have to take another auto, which meant eighty bucks or so down the drain again. For a day of no work. And I’d probably have to go to a cyber cafe or something to mail in my work – which would also take some time to do. I was developing a story for a comic book – and I had no inclination to do it all of a sudden. It sounds interesting, but it’s really crap. It’s one of those comics they give out free or something with pizza. A marketing gimmick to get kids to buy more pizza, get fat and die young. A part of me really wanted to fuck up the assignment, so that we’d lose the account and I wouldn’t have blood on my hands. I think I can be a tad fatalistic at times.
I could see this shaggy dog outside the coffee shop that I could identify from the bus stop nearby. It sleeps a lot, and runs after noisy cars. I remember it particularly because it reminds me of a dog I once used to know, and because he walked over my feet (this one, not the old one). I mean, even dogs trample upon me, so forget my bosses. Life sucks sometimes.
It should have been a lousy day. I should have been feeling stupid and suckered. I should have been craving for an ego boost or something, but funnily, none of that. I was okay, really. My entire mediocre and wasted existence was not pressing against my super sensitive conscience for the time being. I think it was a step of sorts. Acceptance. I accept that life sucks, and I don’t have my dream job, I’m underworked, underpaid, I look like shit, no guy hits on me – not even the roadside romeos, and here I was, bored and alone at a coffee shop that was trying too hard, a sour looking IT man and a pair of bovine lovers being its only inhabitants. The milk in my first cappuccino was curdled, and I had to have it changed, so I’m pretty sure the guy who served me thought I was high maintenance (which I insist I’m not...I’d probably drink it anyway, but I was having a shitty day already, so I decided to speak up). I was polite about it, and I even smiled at him later when he said he didn’t have this morning’s newspaper. I just hoped he didn’t charge me for the curdled coffee. I don’t think I was in the mood to fight. I’d probably pay up to avoid a scene.
I suddenly wish I was vacationing somewhere. One of those long vacations – like those Europeans do it. A decadent, languorous holiday, with loads of time and loads of money. Where I don’t feel like I’m holding back people when I want to take photographs, and its okay to just sit somewhere and breathe for a while. I hate rushed holidays. I tend to forget about them too fast. Every once in a while, I gift myself something to feel that vacationy feeling. I’ll buy me a book, or flowers, or take an auto instead of a bus... I’ll buy me a chocolate chip muffin, a nice sweater. It’s okay dear, I say to myself, go on, enjoy yourself. And I do. I really do.
A friend called me up while I was still sitting at the coffee shop (by now, I had finished my coffee, and I really couldn’t afford anything more and was freeloading off the ambience – or whatever there was of it). So yes, she was thinking of applying for this cool new job, which paid more and was more exciting and was located in a city of dreams. She couldn’t make up her mind. But of course. It is difficult isn’t it?
But a part of me understands. Mediocrity is comfortable. It allows you to dream and desire more. If you are living a dream, it’s too much work really, and me, I’d rather see my life fritter away than go after what I really want. Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? It’s a part of that acceptance thing. You know when you wake up, look at the mirror, and think, shit, I’ll never be a child prodigy or marry Brad Pitt - things you truly believed in a few years ago.
I’d like to make a film some day. That’s my dream. Or a part of it. I’ve wanted to make a film since I was thirteen only my reasons for making it have changed. Okay, maybe not for an Oscar, but a Grand Prix at Cannes perhaps? Golden Globe? Damn it, a National Award at least! Sigh. I suppose not. Not entirely anyway. I just want that rush I got when I made my first corny little feature film in college. That love I felt for it during every step of the way – from writing to editing. All of it. The mad schedules, the silly mistakes, the truant actors, the aching shoulders – I want it all again. And no matter how many times I tell myself to obey, accept and be practical about the life ahead of me, I feel like its just lip service. I fool my practical self into really believing that I’ve fallen in line. But sometimes I’d like to sit me down and tell me – look, this is not it. This is not stability, this is not respect. This is being lazy. This is giving up. Accept that.
Maybe, I will someday. And I hope it’s not too late.