Life Happens

"Mr. Paley," said the waiter. "Later than usual. Long day?"

"Yeah," Bill replied. He was exhausted and didn't care to answer with more than one word. Earlier, he had left work at 10 p.m. He didn't need to. Bill was always the last one to leave, and he wasn't even quite sure why he bothered to stay. It was not in his best interest to do so. He felt no emotional attachment to his job, and who would? His days were spent sitting in front of a computer, meeting deadlines for investor reports. He spent more of his time staring into space than drafting documents, but he was assured that the work would always be finished. For a while now, he'd noticed an unusual gray spot on the office's white wall. He purported that on the spot, there was once a poster there, and when the time came for the old tenant to move, the tape had worn itself into the wall and the man brought a piece of the wallpaper with him when he tore the poster down. It was his mark, his legacy in the office. Bill was disappointed when he noticed one day that his boss had found the gray spot and had it painted over.

It wasn't that Bill wasn't passionate about his job; as his boss's top confidant, he had a significant amount of influence over the firm, the people working in it, and the direction it was heading. People who entered the business wanted to be in his position, and he knew it. He was aware of his power, and if he had to stay late to finish his work, he would do it. Life was a routine, and he was in control. Get up, get dressed, get out the door, and get in the car before he runs into traffic. His life ran at a constant speed of 65 miles an hour. He wasn't sure if he liked it, but the routine was there, and he could look forward to it.

The waiter started, "I'll have them prepare your--"

"I think I'll have something else," Bill interrupted.

This surprised the waiter and caused him to wonder what could have made Bill deviate from the routine he so religiously followed. It was not like him to try something out of the ordinary. Deciding to step into uncharted territory, Mr. Paley?, thought the waiter. I too would be terribly bored of a ham sandwich every night. Might I suggest the garden burger? Or the salmon? And for dessert, perhaps a slice of strawberry cheesecake. Getting bold. It's catching.

"Can I make some suggestions?" asked the waiter.

"No, I think I'll be fine," said Bill. Although he wasn't. He wasn't one to make choices, not here, not in the office. It was always the same. Always up the FDR Drive, across the Queensboro Bridge, and down the LIE. Always the ham sandwich and the pickle. Always. He welcomed the familiarity. Choices were intimidating. Choices, choices. What was he to pick? The steak looked good; the picture was nice. Rare, medium, done? Three words written on the menu "For the convenience of the customer." What was risky? He wasn't sure he wanted to go there, but he had never tried rare. Rare? He couldn't recollect what it was exactly. Rare...rare...

"Excuse me, but what is rare?" asked Bill.

"Going for the burger, Mr. Paley?" asked the waiter.

"No, the steak."

"Well, rare is...a bit uncooked. With a cold, soft red center."

"Oh." No. He wouldn't want to take the risk. Medium, medium seemed alright. Medium, with a side of mashed potatoes perhaps. He would never do away with the pickle, or the coffee. "Okay, I think I'll have the steak with mashed potatoes, and instead of the salad, just give me a pickle. And one cup of coffee." "Okay, is that it?" Was that it? "Yes," said Bill. "That's it."

The waiter thanked Bill and went into the kitchen with the order. Bill still wasn't quite sure whether he had made the right choice. Maybe he should have gotten his usual sandwich instead. To be honest, he didn't particularly like the diner's food--it was decent at best. What he did enjoy was the view from the window. The first night he decided to stop in and eat, he asked for a seat facing the Manhattan skyline, and every night, the waiters knew to seat him in the same spot. He enjoyed the view; the grandeur of Gotham, the twinkling lights dotting the New York night sky. It was cosmopolitan but strangely majestic, like castles in the sky. No one would ever notice it running to work on the crowded streets of midtown. It was a shame they didn't. More people needed to see this, this New York. New York from afar, as a whole, instead of the fragmented streets filled with flustered people and honking horns. For a few hours everyday, Bill was fortunate to receive this magnanimous view of the great city. It wouldn't last, but for the moment he had it, he held on to it. He didn't want to let go of it, but at the end of the night, he would have to jump back into reality. It was inescapable.

Reality was the office. It consumed most of the 24 hours in his day, and even after work, in the diner, his mind ran through the routine of tomorrow. The people that surrounded him seemed to care more about the firm than he did. They were young and fresh. They were new, and they were real cogs in a machine. But they were ambitious and passionate, and Bill wondered how in their low positions, they could possibly find any pleasure or attachment to their work. He was amused. They had no idea what it was like to be stuck. No idea. They knew nothing about how the firm really worked, how people rose up the ladder, the hours they had to work to reach the top, the degradation of time and the soul. If time flies by when you're having fun, are you immortal when you're bored?, Bill asked himself. There was no doubt he felt out of place with the interns in his office. He preferred to be with the boring people. If he had lunch with the boring people, perhaps life outside the circle would seem more exciting. Perhaps if he was around people who didn't care about anything, he would be able to care about something.

"My wife wants to repaint our bathroom," said one of his colleagues during lunch. Bill had no response. No one did. It was another sad attempt to begin a conversation and break the awkward silence that always enveloped the entire table. Bill didn't care. His other concerns always superseded the topics at hand, if there was ever a topic. The report deadlines, the latest news on his firm's financial shares, the next conference with his boss...it all mashed into just...work. Work didn't suck; it was just there, as inevitable as death and taxes. There was nothing to lose, but nothing to gain either. Nothing.

If time flies by when you're having fun, are you immortal when you're bored? What could be unleashed in breaking from normalcy? Forces would collide, the mind would fall apart, and the Earth would fly out of orbit. He'd no longer be in control. Would he like the future? He didn't know. It was unpredictable. Someday, he would need to accept the fact that he couldn't know everything that was in the cards. But for whatever he could control, he decided he would.

The waiter came by Bill's table and told him his food would be ready in ten minutes. It was then that Bill changed his mind and decided he would order the usual.