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…”

Where were you last night?

A common technique for writers to get their creative juices flowing is to use writing prompts. A writing prompt is simply a word or phrase (or picture or quote) that is meant to trigger off your imagination. The writer should listen to (or look at) the prompt and start writing the first thing that comes to their head. It’s about not thinking too much, and letting yourself go. The writer should just go with the flow and plow full steam ahead. Not more than five to ten minutes should be spent on this.

As an example, here is a writing prompt that was given to me:

“Where were you last night?”

Here’s what I wrote in the allotted five minutes:

---

Susan:	Where were you last night?
Mark:	Wh-what do you mean?
Susan:	Which part of ‘where were you last night’ are you finding difficult to understand?
Mark:	[coughs]
Susan:	Ha?
Mark:	What?
Susan:	Answer the question.
Mark:	I was…I was…I was at home I guess.
Susan:	You guess?
Mark:	Yeah.
Susan:	Do you guess that you were at home? Or were you at home?
Mark:	[gulps] I was…I was at home…
Susan:	What time did you reach home?
Mark:	Umm…I can’t remember…
Susan:	You can’t remember?
Mark:	Around midnight I guess.
Susan:	Again with the guessing…why can’t you give me straight answers?
Mark:	I don’t know…I’m tired I guess…
Susan:	Have you been drinking?
Mark:	Have I been what?
Susan:	Tell me honestly…have you been drinking?
Mark:	I drink water…sometimes…
Susan:	[yells] What’s with you today?
Mark:	[stares at his shoes]
Susan:	Do you have something to say?
Mark:	I guess what I’m trying to say is that…I’m pregnant…
Susan:	What??
Mark:	I mean we’re pregnant…I mean…I mean you’re pregnant
Susan:	What the hell are you talking about? [raises the empty glass of water in the sink, and sniffs it] Are you sure this is not vodka?

The Wheel in the Sky

First, we are born. A lot of random stuff happens to us. Finally, we die.

Life doesn’t come with a user manual, does it? We don’t know how we got here, how long we will be here, or what we are supposed to do while we’re here. Nobody has life completely figured out. Nobody has all the answers.

Life is random and chaotic, and full of uncertainty. We have no idea what the future can bring. We have no idea what situation we may find ourselves in tomorrow.

Sometimes, you might find life proceeding exactly the way you want it to. Your personal relationships are going great. Your career is fantastic. Everything seems nearly perfect. You’re on a permanent high. Then, after some time passes, one thing starts to go wrong. And then another thing, and another thing. Before you know it, the bubble has burst and your ideal life starts to fall apart. You get plunged right back into chaos and uncertainty.

Conversely, sometimes in life, you enter a dark phase and things are just going all wrong for you. Your relationships are in tatters, your career is a disaster. You don’t know what to do and you can’t see any way out. You feel lost and helpless. Then, after some time passes, a small ray of hope appears. You grab on to it. Then, one thing starts to go your way. And then another thing, and another thing. A path emerges in front of you. Before you know it, the dark shadow has passed by. You feel relaxed, peaceful and happy.

And so it goes on and on. The wheel in the sky keeps on turning. The wheel of fortune that is.

King Solomon once had an exquisite golden ring made and he wanted to inscribe some words on it. He called the wisest sages of the land and asked them to come up with words such that they will always be true, no matter who has the ring, where they are or what time in history. If a happy person looks at it, he should forget his joy and if a sad person looks at it, he should forget his sorrow.

The words inscribed on the ring were: “This too shall pass.”

The realization that everything is temporary can be liberating. If nothing lasts, why worry about what will happen tomorrow or dwell about what happened yesterday? None of it will matter.

In our daily lives, we will feel joy, excitement, sorrow, pain, anger. We will find ourselves in all kinds of different situations. We will go through many varied journeys. However, in the background of our consciousness, if we can hold on to the realization of the fleeting nature of all things, it will give us a sense of peace.

So all you have to do, is to keep breathing. Be present in this moment. Enjoy the journey, whatever journey you find yourself on. And remember that this too shall pass.