"Touche, you little monster."
I come to the library to do my thing in tech service polishing DVD’s and CDs. I have a routine: put my bag on a chair, crank up the polishing machne and check the supplies. I look at the to do pile and -wait a minute ! I cleaned those DVD’s last week, what is this? I seem to be doing the same ones over and over like some Sisyphian task with no end. Sigh. I pass the time doing the daily crossword puzzle and trading bon mots with the Techman, Gene.
“What are you going to do with the rest of your life? “ he asks out of the blue. His philosophical question knocks me off my feet. What provokes him to ask this I wonder as I mentally scramble to to my feet.
This is a the kind of “meaning of life” question I try to dodge on a daily basis. It can wake me from a sound sleep drenched in flop sweat . The kind of question that paralyzes me with dread, panic, horror. Quick think of something clever and meaningful before he realizes you au are a complete slacker, loser, dweeb- my mind screams.
“Um, I don’t know. What about you smart guy?” hah, good retort I think smugly.
“I’ll get smart.” he replies. Is that a rim shot I hear?
“It’s never too late to dream of being rich and famous.” he later wonders out loud. Man, what is it with Mr. Milquetoast and his existentialism today? Is he having a mid life crisis he needs to unloads on to others? Ok get a grip here if we’re going to spar.
“ I don’t know about famous but I can handle being rich. After all, fame is fleeting but money always talks.” score one for the fat chick. The work here may be mundane but the repartee never is.