Just A Realization

Last night I saw the same Chinese lady doing laundry that I've seen the past three Mondays. I don't know whether it's the way she stares at me stone-faced or how she guards her belongings when I walk by, but there's something about her that just irritates me. Anyway, I decided to wait for my stuff to dry, rather than go home, because I wanted to finish another Ian McEwan story, and while I was sitting there, she worked the machines like a mad woman. She had six dryers going all at once, but it was probably only one load - total - divided between the different machines, and every thirty seconds she would touch one to gauge how hot it was and then take an article out and move it to another machine, but she did it so quickly that she didn't have to push start again, they just kept running seemlessly. Then in thirty seconds she would take another article of clothing out and put it in another machine. It was so bizarre, how she recycled everything back and forth, like there was some kind of pattern in the chaos, and she kept turning around to glare at me, like I was the one behaving strange. I spent a good 28 minutes reflecting on why she was doing this - I mean it served no advantage, none - and yet I couldn't figure it out.

This afternoon I went to UC Berkeley to hire an intern. On the BART ride over I imagined having six hot girls to choose from, and all the things I would have them do. I saw some 23 year-old nectar in a tight skirt bringing me double espressos and re-sizing jpegs and always being apologetic for being like five minutes late, where I would sarcastically say, don't let it happen again.

Of course it turned out to be nothing but international students, so every conversation I would say, so have you heard of Led Zeppelin? Or you know who Iggy Pop is, right? And they would stare at me blankly and say, 'I'm a finance major - I just want internship,' and then I would laugh at the absurdity and futility of it all, and they would smile and say, 'you nice man. I want to work for you.'

The bizarre thing was, certain companies sent whole teams to this event, I mean ten fuckin' representatives, and they were all dressed in suits, and I walked in with jeans and my shirt untucked, and I just couldn't have been more out of place. I like that I'm not one of those douchebags (perhaps I'm just a different kind of douche?) but it still seemed like the record scratched as soon as I entered the auditorium. That awkwardness, coupled with the Sting "Fields of Gold" single playing over and over, made the time go by extremely slow.

And yet, there was this Indian guy next to me, and he wanted to find an intern who was willing to relocate to Miami (internships are non-paid positions, mind you), and the only reason he was there was because he knew American students would never fall for such a hustle. (Move to Miami, work for free, and after four months you might get hired. Yeah, right.) The guy was cool to me, but he also had this shyster side to him, and he kept perving on the same 4-5 cuties who did drop by our area, literally reaching out when they tried to walk off, and then going into quick salesman mode.

Ultimately I probably spoke to ten people the whole time I was there, most of them little girls who were shy and uncertain, and when six PM came I packed and bolted out of there. The organizer of the event flagged me down as I was leaving, and asked how it went, and it took all of my strength to not say how I really felt, that an art gallery was out of place in this scene, that none of the students had done any preparation prior to coming, that it was one big social event for UC Berkeley alumni and the only saving grace was the Indian guy next to me, just because his mannerisms were so epic and his mission so wrong - well that and the fat Greek dude on the other side who took off his sportscoat and revealed a layer of sweat up his back that was nothing short of disturbing (his shirt was light blue so that really accentuated it), especially when he started hugging Asian girls and they didn't see the puddle until it was too late. (One woman had this horrific look on her face when she felt the moisture, and when she turned around - seeking some kind of acknowledgment from me for how gross it was - I fell over laughing.)

As soon as it got out I went to Jupiter's - the one Berkeley spot Christina hasn't tainted - and had a quick Boddington. Suddenly a crowd from the event walked in, so I slammed half my beer and hopped on BART, which was right across the street.

The point of all this is, we're so fucking doomed, I mean seriously, we have no chance as a society, not because of these strange cultural exchanges (they're actually a bright spot), just because people as a hole are just going through the motions, unsure of what it is they're actually doing, and every adventure just seems to lead to new forms of surrealism, and it just seems as if we might as well get a few kicks in before all this madness comes to an end.