Hundred Dollars

            Lando sauntered up the steps of his undergraduate dorm at the university. Spring break was coming to an end, and he wasn’t looking forward to classes starting again.

            He made his way to his dorm room, and was about to turn the key and step in, when a crumpled paper on the floor just outside the door, caught his eye. He opened the door and went inside. He paused, and looked down again. It seemed sort of green. He bent down to look closer.

            It was a hundred dollar bill.

            Lando blinked and picked it up. He straightened it out, and found it to be in good condition. Whoa, this was his lucky day.

            His mind was racing with thoughts of what all he could splurge on. A palpable sense of excitement arose. He went right back down the steps, and headed straight for the mall.

            His eyes homed in on the sports store on the top level. The dark green, dry-fit Nike t-shirt was definitely his style, and would be great for the summer ahead. Minutes later, it was his.

            Next, he set his sights on a matching Nike baseball cap, which would complement his new t-shirt. A broad smirk grew on his face. Now, what?

            He checked to find that he had about thirty dollars remaining from his serendipitous loot. It was almost dinner time, and Sullivan’s Steakhouse was on the way back.

            Lando feasted on a scrumptious dinner of hand-cut kobe beef. As he wiped his fingers clean and settled the cheque, he began to feel wistful. Who knew a hundred dollars could get over so quickly? It really wasn’t a lot of money, was it?

*****

            Luke entered the undergraduate library at the university, grudgingly prepared to get back to work as spring break drew to a close. He searched for a quiet spot and parked himself.

            He sat on the desk, opened his bag and brought out his text books and notes. His pencil slipped to the floor below. As he went to retrieve it, he noticed a folded paper on the floor next to the legs of the desk he was sitting on. He picked it up.

            It was a hundred dollar bill.

            He looked at it again, and confirmed that it was in fine condition. He couldn’t recall the last time he had some spare money to spend. He smiled, and shrugged. He could come back to study a bit later.

            Luke made his way to the mall. He passed the kids store at the first level, and thought of his five year old niece, Ayesha. He went in and picked up a cute stuffed bear for her. That would surely bring a smile to her face.

            Next, he went to the women’s store and ambled around. Mother’s day was around the corner, and the bonus cash had come just in time. After much deliberation, he bought a purple scarf that he thought his mother would appreciate.

            He checked to find that he had about forty dollars left. It was almost dinner time and he headed back to the university. He rounded up a bunch of his friends who were loitering around in various labs, dorm rooms and libraries. He ordered three large pizzas with his remaining money and treated his friends. Like any self-respecting undergrads, they devoured the free pizza without a second thought about the source.

            Luke wore a satisfied smile as he went back home. Wow, hundred dollars could sure go a long way. It actually was quite a lot of money, wasn’t it?

*****

The Light and the Darkness

            On a lazy Sunday afternoon, in the plush, air-conditioned interiors of his twentieth floor apartment in Malabar Hill, one of the up market localities in Mumbai city, Raj sauntered into the shower. Music blasted from his home theatre system. He sang along as the warms jets of water sprayed all over him. Half an hour later, he emerged from a thoroughly refreshing bath, and went about his day.

            On that same Sunday, on the other side of town, in the slums of Dharavi, Sanjeev scrambled to take his place in a long line of women and children waiting with empty buckets for a tanker to come to give them water. Sanjeev estimated there were at least a hundred people ahead of him in the line.  If he were lucky enough to get some water, it would be his first shower in weeks, and a welcome, albeit temporary, relief from the hot midday sun.

*****

            It was the first weekend of the New Year, and Elizabeth decided to treat herself. That afternoon, she hit Oxford Street in London, on a shopping mission. She purchased the latest handbag from the winter collection of Louis Vuitton, and matching high-heeled shoes from Mary Jane. Still, her appetite wasn’t satiated. After hours of window shopping, she finally settled on a fur coat, and to put the icing on what had been a prolific shopping spree, she picked by a cream-colored, flower-decorated hat, inspired by the Kate Middleton school of fashion. Elizabeth smiled smugly as she headed home. She was ready for the year ahead.

            On that same weekend, in the town of Kismayo, in the southern part of Somalia, Amina waited patiently. She had been hovering around the garbage dump for several days. At the start of every year, an elderly Somali gentleman would dispose of a bag full of old clothes there. Amina wasn’t alone that day. This repeated ritual had caught the attention of street kids all over Kismayo who, like Amina, loitered in the shadows waiting for their moment. When the old man eventually performed his annual clothes dump, a scavenger hunt erupted amongst the waiting kids. It was fiercely competitive, but Amina was lucky enough to score an old scarf, and a long purple t-shirt that was stained, and slightly torn. It was over-sized for her frail, four foot tall frame, and extended almost till her knees, but she would gladly take it. It was her first new piece of clothing since last year. Hopefully, it would get her through the rest of the year.

*****

            On the weekend of Easter, David and his girlfriend sat down to feast on a seven course buffet in Las Vegas, where they had come down for a holiday. The spread of food that lay before them was mind-boggling. It ranged from Chinese dim sum to Japanese sushi; from build-it-yourself tacos to French omelets; from hand-tossed pasta including pumpkin ravioli, to chocolate fondue; that buffet had everything. There was an extensive salad bar, and a huge sea-food section that included smoked salmon, crab claws, marine lobsters, shrimp, oysters and assorted condiments to go with it. There was also the finest kobe beef, succulent lamb chops, and top-of-the-line caviar. In fact, there was almost too much choice. David re-filled his plate with course after course. They ate for nearly four hours, and he must have taken at least seven trips to the buffet. It was like Christmas for his taste buds.

            On that Easter weekend, Okello trekked for five miles barefoot before he reached the city of Kampala, the capital of Uganda. He had been slaving away in the fields for more than fifteen hours a day. His employers were relentless in their demands and the workload wouldn’t let up. Okello was making this trip to the city after receiving his weekly pay. His body had been fading away slowly, with a thin layer of skin covering distinctly visible bones. He made his way to the local market and got himself a loaf of bread. He sat on the ground to devour his first decent meal in days. He gobbled up slice after slice, before it was finished in less than five minutes. The burning sensation in his stomach was evidence to how badly he had needed that meal.

*****

            Saturday night was the most happening night in New York City. Ryan and his friends were set to party. They started with a quick dinner in midtown, followed by bar hopping in the Village. From then on, the night took a course of its own. They shook a leg at night clubs, smoked some hookah at lounges, and sang their hoarse voices out at karaoke bars. Ryan didn’t know how many drinks he had consumed. It was five am when he took the subway back home. He could scarcely recollect all the events of the night. He did however, have the phone number of the pretty girl in the black skirt who he had danced with. He smiled as he got off the train. The lights from Times Square shone in the distance. In New York City, the lights never went out. It was the city that never slept.

            Saturday night was full of the usual horrors in the rebel district of Bab Amir, in the city of Homs, in war-torn Syria. Attack drones from the brutal ruling regime of Bashar Asad, launched bombs and missiles, with the intent of destroying all targets. They would not stop till they flattened the entire rebellion.  The international support to the rebels was still thin, and thousands died every day. Hafiz and looked around him. He was lying on a bunk in a makeshift medical centre, where the horrors of war were inescapable. On the bunk next to him, the man had lost both his legs. Another man was brought in with his eyes popping out from their sockets. Hafiz’s own wife had been killed last week in one of the blasts. But he was not alone in his loss. Almost every family he knew had suffered. Brothers, cousins, wives, fathers, all victims to the brutality.

Hafiz had a broken kneecap that night, and was probably the least injured person in the room. The deafening roars of the explosions continued to fill the night sky. The most disturbing sight Hafiz saw was when a nine month old baby was brought in, with its face completely disfigured from shrapnel wounds.

He didn’t sleep that night. Most Syrians didn’t sleep at night, since the violence had begun. His thoughts were centered around how long he would manage to stay alive in that battle-ravaged country. Then, darkness descended on the nation of Syria.

*****

Why always me?

            Friday during lunch time was usually busy at the Flying Fish restaurant. Situated bang in the middle of the commercial district, it received an eclectic crowd of office goers from lawyers to bankers to software engineers.

            Maxine, the hostess, adjusted her red shirt and black skirt, the standard uniform at the Flying Fish. She ran a hand through her hair, and checked the time. It was ten minutes to noon when the first customer walked in. A tall, older gentleman who looked too kindly to be a lawyer and too laid back to be a banker. He must have been an engineer. They were Maxine’s favorites, especially the older ones who were polite and tipped well.

            She flashed him her best smile, with sparkling white teeth. The man said he needed a table for two. Table 5 was generally considered the best spot in the house. It was a cozy booth, centrally located with a view of the bustling streets, as well of the kitchen and most of the restaurant décor. Maxine liked this man, and seating him there would also preclude subsequent customers from asking for Table 5, which they frequently did.

            She led the soft-spoken gentleman to Table 5, and placed two menus on the table. She was just about to bring in the cutlery, when she saw that he had made no attempt to sit down. He looked around the restaurant and then back at his table with an expression of disappointment.

            He addressed her, “Do you have to seat me at the worst table in the restaurant?”

            Maxine nearly dropped the napkins, “I-I’m sorry?” She stammered.

            “I mean really.” He went on. “This is so close to the bathrooms, and I can get strong smells from the kitchen. And there are so many other empty tables around.”

            She apologized and offered to move him to another table.

“Yes,” He nodded, and implored to himself. “How come I always get the bad tables? Why me? Why is it always me?”

*****

After a productive lunch meeting with his boss at the Flying Fish, Adam quickly winded up his tasks for the week. He wanted to get an early start on the weekend.

That weekend was his son’s fifteenth birthday, and Adam was keen to get something for him. Benjamin had been studying hard, and his grades had been near perfect. Adam wanted to reward him for his efforts.

The one thing that he knew Benjamin loved was video games. Every chance he got, he would run off to the arcade or his friends’ houses. He was obsessive about his ‘high scores’ and important victories.

So, on his way back from work, Adam stopped by at the store and picked up the Nintendo Wii gaming console. He also bought extra controllers, and few other accessories that the salesman was able to convince him would be useful. If he was going to buy something to make his son happy, he may as well go all out.

Adam reached home and saw that Benjamin was at his desk, scribbling away in his notebook. When he saw his son, Adam felt the urge to reveal his gift immediately and not wait till Sunday.

“Hey Ben.”

“Hi Dad”

“Can you come here for a minute?”

Ben put his pencil down and followed his father out.

Adam beamed “Look, what I got for you, for your birthday.” He pointed towards the shiny, new gaming console, in its original box, lying majestically on the dining table.

Benjamin looked at it and frowned. “Wii? You got me a Wii?”

“Y-yes,” Adam said.

“C’mon dad, no one plays on the Wii anymore. Grow up. What I really wanted was an Xbox 360. The Wii is for losers.”

“Oh,” Adam said. “That’s fine, I guess I can exchange it.”

“Yea, dad.” Benjamin scowled. “Why is that I always get stuck with yesterday’s uncool stuff? Why me? Why always me?

 *****

Bus No. 70 rolled to a halt at its appointed stop. It was Sunday evening and Benjamin was coming from a long session of playing World of Warcraft at his friend’s house. It had been awesome, they had completed several missions and jumped a few levels. All in all, it had been a fun birthday.

Ben was the second last person to step into the bus. The only passenger after him was this woman in a blood red shirt and black skirt, who was engrossed in her tablet device. Her eyes bore the weary look of a long, tiring weekend.

Ben looked around and saw the bus was packed, with only one seat in the front row empty and a seat way back in the rear. He figured the lady in red wouldn’t fancy sitting at the back with the weirdos and punk crowd. He turned, gave her a slight smile and nodded towards the empty seat in front. He started to proceed to the back, when he saw that the woman stood her ground, with a slow grimace tainting her expression.

“Oh hell, the first row.” She muttered to herself, but loud enough that Ben could hear. “I hate the first row. A cold draft every time the door opens, all entering passengers look at you.” She continued her muttering. “I’d rather sit at the end where I can check my messages privately.”

Ben’s eyes widened. “Oh, I-I’m sorry, there’s a seat at the back if you want.”

“Thanks,” She gave him a nod and started walking to the back, still muttering under her breath, “Why do I always get stuck on the bad seats? Why always me?”

*****

Water in the Hole

            I walked into my cozy little one-bedroom apartment in downtown Seattle, and surveyed the place. I had lived there for one year, but on that day I paid extra attention to the interiors. Just that morning, after much deliberation, I had extended my lease for another year.

            It had been a good year, and I had no complaints about the place. The location was great, close to restaurants, bars, movie theaters, the famous Pike Place market and the regular hustle and bustle of a downtown metro. The amenities were all that I needed, the staff was friendly, and I had friends living close by. So, why then, would I even consider moving after only a year?

            It was brought to my attention that the apartment across the corridor was becoming vacant. It was the same size as mine, and it had a beautiful, panoramic water view of the Puget Sound bay. It was in the same building, so all the benefits of the location were still there. Also, it was such a coincidence that both the leases ended on the exact same month. Was that a sign, perhaps?

            But there was more to it than the water view. My apartment had a better layout, larger living room and balcony, while the other one had an extra walk-in closet. (What on earth would I put in there?) My appliances were better, but that carpet was better. That parking spot was closer to the garage exit than mine, but it required parallel parking.

            The pros and cons went on, but to cut to the chase, I decided to stay back because the owner of the water-view-place increased the rent by hundred dollars. That, combined with my inertia of moving again, made me stay put.

            So, on that Thursday evening, I entered my apartment and looked around. The living room appeared more spacious than normal. The kitchen appliances appeared more shiny than normal. The bathroom seemed to be functioning better than normal.

Yes, I had made the right decision. This was definitely the place for me.

            So, I snapped out of it, changed clothes and headed out for dinner with a friend.  It was about eleven thirty when I reached back home.

            I opened the door and gasped at the sight before me.

            Water, water and more water. It was spraying all over the place. It was as though someone had installed a water fountain in the wrong place.

            The spray originated from somewhere close to the kitchen. The part of the carpet outside the kitchen was completely soaked. And the water kept coming relentlessly, showing no sign of slowing down. It was intent on creating a flood (or swimming pool, depending on your perspective).

My first thought was 'WTF is going on here', but in retrospect it seems quite comical. I stood there, feeling the water sprinkling all over me, my clothes getting drenched.

A few moments passed, and I was still standing there, dumbstruck. Alright man, pull yourself together. Let’s do something about this.

Accepting the fact that I was already wet anyway, I plunged in to hunt for the source of my new in-home water fountain. It turned out to be a pipe leading up to the water heater, which was next to the washer-and-dryer. I clasped my hand over the offending pipe and prevented it from spitting out water.

Ok, you found the leak, what now? You can't stand here all night with your hand on the pipe, can you?

So, I released my hand and looked around the place for anything that could be useful. My eyes locked in on a roll of scotch tape that lay on the kitchen counter. This was thick tape, the kind I had used to seal up moving boxes when I shifted apartments.

I taped up the leak, and double-taped it, and triple-taped it. Satisfied that the water was slowed to a trickle, I put a make-shift bucket (which was basically a garbage can) under it, to gather the dripping water. 

I dried myself, and emailed the landlord about the situation. It was already passed midnight and I had work the next day, so I went to sleep.

I hardly slipped into my bed, when someone knocked on the door. I opened it to find the building concierge standing there.

“I heard there was a water leak here.” He said in a matter-of-fact manner.

“Umm...how did you know?” I asked, “Did the water reach the apartment below? Has my water leak already made the weekly building newsletter?”

He shot me a don't-be-a-moron look, “Your landlord called me.”

The first thing he did was to turn the water supply off (a tap located at some dark corner of the apartment that I didn't know existed).  Next, he brought in a fancy carpet cleaner machine and proceeded to expunge the large amount of water that had flooded the carpet. I sat around in my night clothes, watching him do his thing. It occurred to me that I should offer him something.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked “Water?”

He grinned, “Water?  You’re offering me water?”

“Yea, water,” I said sheepishly, realizing the irony of the situation.

He shook his head. “By the way, I turned your supply off, so you'll get no water in the taps.”

I frowned, tested his hypothesis, and found it to be correct. There was in fact no water in the taps. “What about tomorrow? Will I get water to take a bath?”

“That's up to your landlord to fix this thing first. Only when you replace the water pipes can we turn the water back on.”

I considered asking about my scotch-tape solution, but decided against it. He had already removed my measly tapes and discarded them.

The next day I emailed my office colleagues about a body odor alert and I went in to work sans-shower. Meanwhile, the landlord sent someone to replace the pipes, and clean up the mess. On Friday evening, I reached home and saw that everything was back to normal, so I proceeded to take a nice, long shower.

A strange thought struck me. It was as though the universe was playing a prank, saying that, “Oh, you wanted to move to an apartment with a water view, did you? Here's some water in your current apartment…Enjoy…”