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Grnn Grnn Grnn Clunk
Grnn Grnn Grnn Clunk
Damn it.
GRNN GRNN GRNN…CLUNK
No No No. This is not supposed to be happening.
GRNN GRNN GRNN…GRNN GRNN GRNN…GRNN GRNN GRNN…CLUNK
"Argh! You stupid stupid car, why won't you start? I don't need this now
you overpriced-good-for-nothing-Lexus. Why now, in the freezing cold when
I need to get to a party, do you decide to break down?"
Wow, the cold must really be getting to me, because now I am the crazy
woman who's having an in depth conversation with her car.
Well there's no point in just sitting here. I'm not too far from the party
so I might as well trudge my way through the snow. I can use Martha's
phone when I get there to call a tow truck.
I really don't even want to go to this horrible party though. I know it
will be a dreadfully boring affair, a party of the worst sort: a couples
party. A house full of MikeandAmys or JohnandChristines; you know, the
type of people that finish each others' sentences, that think the same
thoughts and always answer things by saying "we this" or "we that;" two
worst halves failing to make up a complete person. And I will be spending
the evening with these foul creatures, a night full of polite laughter,
meaningless haughty conversation, and tiny little quiches. I remember
when I was younger, I swore I would never go to boring little "parties"
like this, yet here I am. It seems I've broken a lot of promises I once
made.
I promised myself that I would lead an exciting life. I'd do something
exciting, something meaningful. But when I got to college, I ended up
doing the respectable thing, the safe thing: I majored in business. I
never really enjoyed it, but everyone kept telling me it would pay off in
the long run. And I believed them. I wanted to be comfortable in life; I
wanted a big TV, a cute car, and a spacious house. Well, now I work in
real estate and I've got all three, although my little Lexus isn't so cute
at the moment, but I don't believe it's really "paid off" in the larger
sense of things.
I mean, I work in real estate for crying out loud.
Of all the lousy jobs, real estate agent is one of the worst. We're
nothing but glorified sales people. We're really no different than the
poor sap that calls you on the phone trying to sell you a phone service or
some other annoying piece of crap. Our annoying piece of crap just
happens to be overpriced residences, and somehow that makes us superior.
We're really not though, we're just as slimy and deceitful as your average
door-to-door man; at least that's true of those working in my firm. With
smiles like blades and voices coated with honey, we lure unsuspecting
clients into our webs, using all the tricks to make sure that we make the
sale, that we beat out our fellow coworkers and close the deal.
That's probably the worst thing about working in real estate: the sheer
competitiveness of it all. You always have to be on your guard here,
because while everyone may be all smiles and sweet talk on the surface,
you'll never know when they'll stab you with the metaphorical knife in
your back. And although I may sound so moral and wonderful, my mouth is
as full as blades and my voice as honey-coated as the rest of those louts.
But lately I've been questioning my life.
My job is not the only aspect of my life that has come under my scrutiny.
Lately, I've been thinking about my relationship with Phil, my boyfriend
of two years and my escort to the dreaded party which I am still slowly
making my way to. Many think of me as lucky to have gotten such a
"catch," but I am now realizing what a boring snob he is. Phil has
all-American good looks, a cushy executive job, and is from a well-to-do
family: what more could a girl ask for? He seemed so perfect when I met
him, but now what I wouldn't give for someone exciting, intelligent, or
even just plain nice, since Phil can't be described as any of the three.
Behind this apparently desirable man is the real Phil: the lazy,
chauvinistic, slovenly, spoiled rich boy who has had everything in life
handed to him (How do you think he became an executive? Surely not by
merit, unless it happens to be a coincidence that his father owns the
company.). Underneath it all, Phil is downright vile, he's haughty, rude,
and I have my suspicions that he's not been exactly faithful.
Why then would I stay with a man I knew to be such a creep? Well, Phil is
the kind of guy women like me are supposed to date; they're safe and
secure, respectable men with enough money to support a woman. Also, as
evidenced by my work behavior, it's not like I've been such a delightful
person myself.
The company of friends I keep is no better. I spend what little free time
I do have with a select group of women. They all have different jobs and
different names, but it seems like they're all one person sometimes. They
talk about trivial things: marriage, designer fashions, and gossip are
the central topics. I have also noticed how rude and arrogant they
-actually I should say we- are. We were at a little café last weekend,
when I first realized what kind of life I was living. We had just
received our meals when Christine wrinkled up her face in disgust.
"Oh my goodness. Will you just look at this!?!" she screeched at the
waiter. "I specifically ordered my chicken sandwich on rye bread, with
just one piece of avocado, one piece of fresh lettuce, extra tomatoes,
light mustard, and no mayo. And what do I see but a heaping amount of
mayo. This is an outrage!"
The waiter, a timid young man in his early twenties, apologized profusely
and rushed away to make her a brand new sandwich, sans mayonnaise.
"The audacity of it all," she said huffily. "You just can't find good
help now-a-days, can you ladies?"
The others laughed and gave their affirmations. I did as well, but my
insides felt hollow. She had a fit over the fact that the kid hadn't
remembered just one of her inane requirements for the preparation of her
chicken sandwich. The café was teaming with customers, and all he'd done
was forgotten to omit the smidge of offending mayo on her sandwich, and
she had gone into a huge rant about it. She even refused to give the poor
fellow a tip, even though he had done everything in his power to appease
her. And what's more frightening is that no one else saw anything wrong
with the whole incident.
What am I doing?
I realized how pointless everything I'd been doing was up until then, and
how horrible I had been. How did things turn this sour, without me even
noticing? When did I become this horrible snob with a loser boyfriend,
snooty friends, and a job from hell? What happened to that kid who wanted
to see life, to have adventures and make a difference? When did she leave
and this witch appear? I am 29 years old and I have absolutely nothing to
show for it. I took the safe road and it led me to a dead end.
I've spent the last week of my life in a confused haze. I've been doing a
lot of inner reflection on my life and the people I fill it with. I never
realized before how much I hated everything about it. I think deep down
I've known for a while, I just haven't been able to admit it to myself.
I've really been dreading this party, but it is too big of an event for me
to bail on. But now that I think about it, it's probably for the best. I
need to face these people and show them the real me, the one that's been
in hiding so long. Martha's house is in full view now, and I'm ready to
enter it. As I get closer, my phone rings. Most likely it's somebody
from work, but I don't bother to check. I toss it away with a flourish
and get ready to ring the bell. "Here goes nothing," I think to myself.
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