Some time ago, when I was in the supermarket, I noticed there were Christmas sweets conspicuously blocking the centre of the main aisle. I thought it strange, wondering if that was last year’s stock that they forgot to put down. Then, as I was leaving the place, I overheard some people discussing the C-word. Christmas. I considered them insane because it’s clearly too soon for that shit.
Then I went to have my hair cut to my usual hairdresser. She remembers me well enough to know what I want when I ask for my usual, but she keeps on forgetting that I’m the weird moron who doesn’t talk. Her first question, after making sure that I really wanted half my hair shaved off again, was, So have you already got your C-presents? I froze at the irrelevancy of such an inquiry. Then I replied, I’m Buddhist.
On which it was the hairdresser’s turn to freeze, not knowing what the fuck was going on. Well, nothing is going on, which is precisely the idea. I’m not Christian, so I don’t celebrate Christmas. See, Christian–Christmas, it’s sort of obvious that these two concepts are related, no? I don’t celebrate anything for the matter. Except the New Year. As long as celebrating means feeling awkward and wishing everything went back to normal asap. Celebrating is a social construct anyway. That’s a nice way to say it’s humbug.
Yesterday I was at a career fair. I didn’t go looking for a career, I’m currently looking for a will to live, and I don’t want to be looking for too many things at once. I was actually hired to help hopeful job hunters with their CVs. Everyone needs help with their CV because no one knows how to do this mysterious genre properly. Except me, obviously.
At the venue, I got a name tag and a booth of my own. I brought along a book and was hoping to spend the day pleasantly occupied reading my book, wandering around the premises and taking selfies. Unfortunately, people were so keen on having a CV consultation that I only had time for one bathroom break, one coffee break and several smoke breaks, which I masqueraded as pee breaks.
When I had a minute of peace, I couldn’t get my peace either because a camera person jumped on me and informed me that I was going to tell him on the camera what I was doing here and what it was good for. I meekly protested, saying I’d prefer not to discuss metaphysical questions. Also, I’m not even here, and if I am here, then it’s to crush people’s spirits and get paid for it.
The cameraman insisted. Serve him right. Because I still have some residual sense, I knew better than to express my private opinions publicly. So, accompanied with the man’s encouraging nodding, I weaved a tale on the spot on how exciting it is to participate at this unique occasion and get to lend young talented people a hand with getting the career they deserve. A load of shit. But I’ll be a TV star.