Follow-Ups

Often I tell a story to show a snapshot of an idea, but since these are all real people they have continued their lives. Here's what happened to a few of them:

My friend from Jump is in a happy relationship which has lasted over a year. He bought a house, and they happily live together in it.

The man from the fruit stand in Better People never even called me back to say he didn't want to hire me, but I did get a job with one of the better respected computer-related companies in the world. Go figure.

I did in fact almost fail my background check, but not because of all the moving, but because it was a little tough to prove I ever worked for the feds. Crash sorted me out, he's the man.

The bounty hunting team lost. We were carrying the robot live (long story) and the motherboard shorted literally as we placed it on the competition field. We lost the competition but wound up with lots of interested sponsors. Pippin and I lost track of the team after that, he's still being completely absurd and enjoying it.

I'm no longer homeless. My first housemate I lived with for a year. He has a little dog, but it's well trained and well mannered. Now I live in another crazy community, but thankfully I don't have to run it, so I never feel like I have to stop anything from happening.

Being barefoot at my new job is much better tolerated.

I did call Nexus once when I needed a hand. He hung up.

Scavenging never goes out of style, the Torii and my new home both have furniture from the adventures with the feds.

Joat had a baby.

Magpie and Gilby lived together for a whole year. Impressively, nobody wound up getting punched, though there were a few close calls.

Gadget is still the politician, and is happily doing grad research.

Mime got her life together and is now getting licensed to do real estate. She's still boy-crazy, but I feel her taste has improved significantly.

My new meds cause me to bruise all the time now. Hilarity ensues. Related: I did lose the weight again, but I never managed to get my little plant.

3Stack runs the program I ran with the feds now. He's grown a lot in some ways, but is still a little silly.

My grandmother from Rice is fairing poorly, and has trouble remembering a lot now. She's scared, and we're trying to be comforting. My other grandma is comfortable and as happy as she can be, given the circumstances.

I do less breaking and entering now, and mostly scheme about taking over the world with varied success.

The project from Up is put on hold more or less indefinitely but has been absurdly educational.

Drummer's geographical challenges haven't prevented him from getting an extraordinarily respectable series of software jobs.

My friend from Las Vegas and I realized the situation was a little impractical but we're both still good friends and remain in touch.

Vex runs his own company now, where he makes tools that suck less.

Arbor totally still is bitter about that damn burrito. He ran into PJ recently and brought it up.

Neverending Story

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,
Chapter 21

Gemini was cranky. He called for my attention but then couldn't be bothered to look up from his notebook of formulas when I responded. His words were brief. Everybody was glad I was going to a more stable place, but leaving was still awkward. I felt like a dog who, despite a loving family, was being sent to a new home because the new landlord didn't permit pets.

Nearly two months ago I am standing at the entrance to what, in a few moments, will no longer be my apartment. VJ swings one of my suitcases into his trunk and looks up the stairway to see me standing there, staring into the distance.

"Leaving is hard," he says, trying to sympathize.

I look at him a little puzzled. While I will surely never live here again, I will be back in town in about a week.

"It...feels good to be on the road again really."

"Oh?"

Its odd to explain side from one place where I lived for 9 months I haven't lived anywhere consistently for more than six months since I left for college.

We're in the present again now.

"We're going to miss you Pika," he said, giving me a big hug.

"Don't worry," I said, patting him on the back mid-hug, "I'll be back tomorrow for class."

In a sense, this "leaving" seems a bit artificial.

Months ago I tumbled out of a white jeep and turned back to look at Magpie. He's not really one for hugs anyway, although sometimes I wish he was.

"See?" he laughed, trying to make light of the situation, "and this time we didn't even need to call the feds because of bad traffic!"

PJ is probably the greatest oddity in all of this. I don't think I have ever said goodbye to him. The first time we were standing there when I shrugged and laughed about how, even though we had no plans of it, we knew the world was so small that we would run into one another again. Since then I see him about twice a year, just like clockwork. The last few times I don't think I even bothered to say "see you later" when I left.

I'm sitting at lunch in a little Mexican restaurant where my (now former) boss loves to go to to discuss work. It's about a week ago.

"I thought you were kidding when you said you had briefly gone homeless."

I shook my head, taking another bite of my burrito.

"Well I wouldn't have laughed if I had known you were serious."

"Its over now, don't worry."

This weekend we had about the same conversation at a former coworker's housewarming party. It really bothered Crash. His eyes puffed up red and he went into the corner to blow his nose a lot. It wasn't my intention to upset him.

I walked slowly back to the lab on Wednesday, now keyless to collect a last few things. Today Java offered me probably the first compliment I have ever recieved from him.

I watch my coworkers struggle to find a definitive last day to conclude things in the world of a sliding scale relationships. Since I am not moving this time I will remain peripherally involved. If nothing else I will still take classes next door to what use to be my lab. My relationship to this place is changing, but I am not leaving.

The sun is coming up through the front windows of the Torii. I have been here too long. Late nights make the dividing lines between days confusing and arbitrary seeming.

As a matter of fact I have recently begun to struggle with the concepts of the beginnings and endings of anything related to time. The reality is our relationships of all varities do not fit so neatly into the concept of starting and ending on dates unless we choose to abandon them as such.

The human impulse to compartmentalize and consider our lives in discrete chunks is substantial: days, hours, minutes, all these things are artificial constructs we impose on a steady flow of time. The same can be said of phases: high school, college, or a first job. The reality is that this world is built on tiny human connections, and that these connections deteriorate when we stop putting the effort in to mantain them.

"Playlist," I asked, passing him a beer as he sat at the desk in his room, "You're never online."

"Yeah, I hate AIM. You could call."

"What's a good day?"

The idea of these constructs having any meaning at all seems increasingly silly to me as the days pass. After all, will even my life be marked as a little discrete slice? The forces that shaped me, and the impact I leave on the world, faded into existance and will fade out again slowly over a much longer period than my own lifespan. It will not be wrapped up so neatly by the engraving of my tombstone.

I wave goodbye to the Bounty Hunters as they pile into cars to drive breakneck speed to the airport.

"Goodbye!" they call. I hear one voice through an open window, "Hope you get your tranfer to come out with us full time!"

"Don't worry about it," I laugh, "I'll be in touch!"

Nothing Says "Merry Christmas" like a Dead Fish in a Jar

When I lived in Hong Kong our work there related to removing as many workers as possible from a designated market. Seeing as there isn't exactly a worker's shortage in China we had to find a place to move all these people into ourselves.

We heard tell of a group of fishermen who had turned their former livelihoods into a tourist concept. Because of tax laws in Hong Kong and the fact that their tour location was out on the ocean they hardly had to pay taxes. It seemed pretty ideal, and as foreigners we were pretty well situated to evaluate whether this would likely become successful or a larger market which we could put our market sector into.

A large flat floating dock formed a "town square" and fishing boats were parked continuously along the perimeter.

What fascinated me most about this place was the gift shop, and what fascinated me most about the gift shop was a rack of small bird-like objects with a slick plastic coating on the outside which hung from fishing line and a key chain loop. They had small googly eyes and a straw hat glued on to them. The small beaks on them made them look nothing short of alien but obviously somebody had found them endearing to dress them and market them like this.

Picking one up I shook it. It made a bizarre rattling noise but seemed to have a significant amount of internal structure to it. Why would somebody put so much internal structure into a cheap little keychain? It could have been solid with a single plastic mold around the outside and it would have held up just fine.

"What is this?" I asked. The translator who we had access to (since this was during work hours) turned to one of the shop owners.

"They are keychains," the translator reported, "They are made from sun-dried baby puffer fish."

I thought about Americans and what those who feel a need to compulsively buy things out of gift shops expect out of gift shops. These were not shot glasses with "I love ex-fishermen" on them nor T-shirts not coffee mugs printed with the same.

They also could not pass as some traditional art form which makes white tourists feel culturally aware and superior by the fact that it hangs prominently on their living room wall at home where passers by might politely ask about it.

Visitor who has come over for dinner: oh, what is that?
Smug host: that's a hand-made Incan blanket from our trip through South America. Its made out of real Alpaca wool and dyed with natural pigments just like the native persons there have done for thousands of years.

Alternative scenario
Smug host: that's a key chain from Hong Kong. Its made of a dead baby fish and coated in plastic, just like former fishermen of Hong Kong have been doing since the invention of the plastic googly-eyes to glue on the front.

I just didn't see it going over quite as well.

It was then that I realized I simply had to have one. What would be more hilarious than to show it off with the same air of arrogance only to watch the people who cared about petty things like that recoil in horror? And it would only cost me about a dollar fifty American? Sounds like a deal to me!

So I bought it and I brought it back to my apartment and placed it in an empty nutella glass. I put the jar with the dead fish in it on the table and stared at it for a bit. The initial amusement of it had worn off and so I left it there and turned my attention to my computer. There I spotted an IM window open previously with PJ.

Every year there are people who you care about but who you don't know what to give them for Christmas. You want to give them something, but you can't think of anything they need or want within a socially acceptable price range. PJ was one of those people that year for me. My solution to this is every year I choose one of these people and give them a small cardboard box filled with small cheap items which they find amusing, and whose sum total equates about to one present. Christmas had already passed but I was scheduled to see PJ in March so I had told him I was bringing his present then. PJ's box had been previously filled with strips of LEDs, a few small parts I had scavenged which were perfect for making robots with, and other misc junk which I knew he would love.

Then I turned to the fish. Even better than me acting proud of this as my own possession, how much more infinitely hilarious would it be if I passed this off as a valuable gift?

I'm not the most rational and logical person I'll admit, but PJ seems to have an abnormally low general opinion of my common sense. Unfounded or founded, it is an awful lot of fun to mess with him using that fact. Opening the IM window again I decided this was a great time for continuing this tradition.

Pika: I got you a souvenir
Pika: hopefully they won't find it in customs, I think they would be upset with me
PJ: What have you done now?

I choose to leave the situation there for the time being and not discuss it further.

In March I brought PJ his Christmas present. He eyed the box carefully, obviously remembering the customs comment.

"Come on," I coaxed, "open it."

He opened it and found the Nutella jar directly on top of his other presents. "Huh," he asked intrigued, shaking the jar slightly, "What is this?"

"Its a dead fish in a jar!"

PJ nearly dropped the jar but instead placed it to one side.

"Come on!" I said, "Nothing says 'Merry Christmas' like a dead fish in a jar!"

"You know," PJ laughed, "I guess its true."

Stolen Burrito

Two years ago, when, I was but a wee lackey at my current place of employment (not that I'm a lot more now, it just sounds cool), the summer was ending and it was time for end-of-summer final reports. All of the interns were required to do a final presentation on their summer work for department staff.

Arbor is a good guy, a good team lead, mentored me a little in digital photography, and gave me my first actually useful photoshop lessons. At that time he was a master's student. He isn't a particularly serious guy, but sometimes I think he really wasn't prepared for the circus of shenanigans that was our program. He doesn't drink, and mostly keeps to himself in his off-hours. He's relatively quiet, and normally fairly calm. I can't imagine him getting really mad enough at anybody to raise his voice significantly, let alone punch them. He's also a notoriously picky eater.

He came in early to the presentations with them and put a white plastic bag down on the desk with a thud. One of his team members pulled the handles apart and looked inside. Arbor looked at her and grinned, "they're for when we're done, I figured you guys deserved it."

"They finally get yours right?"

"Yeah," Arbor replied grinning ear to ear, "Going to be great, with this deadline I haven't had a square meal in days."

The presentations started shortly after.

If there is something I have found it is that as seriously as some government employees enjoy taking themselves outside the workplace there are other people who delight in acting as absurdly as possible behind closed doors within the system. I think enjoy the fact that it quietly ruins the "men in black" mystique and (not so) quiet sense of self-importance that attracts so many government employees despite the low wages. They could also just be clinically insane or just trolls. I'd like to hope I'm one of the latter two.

My (at the time boss') boss Crash was, classically, a little late. He walked in while most of the program was intently listening to the current presentation and sat down briefly at one of the tables, pausing for about a five count. He then stood up again, removed his sunglasses and poked around at the contents of the table by the wall. His eyes glanced over the plate of fresh fruit provided for us to eat during presentations briefly and then turned to a plastic bag next to it.

"And as you can see," the presenting intern was saying, "by varying the shutter speed of the image we can get various portions of this darkly lit room in good quality while others are either too dark or blown out. If you combine these images with this software you can gain a single composite image with all portions appropriately lit in excellent quality..."

"Ish thaf," Crash started before thinking better of it and swallowed the portion of the burrito he was eating. He then pointed to the projector screen which currently showed a sample image the intern had taken in a dark closet to prove the software. "Is that a dead body?"

"No," the intern sighed, "its a mannequin." There was a short awkward silence before he shrugged and said, "Don't ask me, I just work here."

I found that statement wildly hilarious but felt significantly bad laughing at somebody during their final presentation. Instead, I pretended to have a slight cough and turned my head away from the presenting student in a pathetic attempt at subtlety. This was how I caught sight of Arbor.

Arbor looked like a five year old who had just been told Christmas was canceled, like somebody had just killed his puppy, like Milton from Office Space asking for his stapler back. He was just staring at the food Crash was eating.

If I thought Arbor looked depressed upon his first discovery of Crash's mistaken conclusion that the burritos on that table were up for grabs like everything else, that was fairly minimal compared to the expressions Arbor made during his presentation. Crash grilled Arbor fairly ruthlessly (as was Crash's job) about all of the work he had done. I suppose that constitutes a new low: having your summer's work publicly ripped apart by your boss' boss as he eats your dinner in front of you.

Arbor was quietly upset about that burrito for some time. It isn't that he would sit around and whine about it. Instead you would catch him looking sad, and when prompted he would sigh "Crash ate my burrito." That was probably the funniest part of this whole incident. I guess it isn't in Arbor to confront somebody on something like that, so he sulked about it for weeks on end instead. I've never seen somebody to let down over a five dollar food item.

Somebody might have told Crash, but I didn't, I figured it wouldn't get Arbor back his burrito anyway. Additionally, at the point where he is upset about it a whole week later, whatever it was that upset him so much probably didn't have a whole lot to do with the burrito anyway.

So today, almost two years later, I'm having lunch with PJ and we're catching up about this and that

Pika: Did you hear about Arbor? He's a big shot now. They were flying him to Italy three weeks ago to speak at a conference.
PJ: Seems like things have worked out well for him
Pika: Did you catch him in Atlanta? He IMed me and asked for your phone number.
PJ: Yeah, we caught up
Pika: and?
PJ: We were standing on that big outdoor escalator at Georgia Dome when all of a sudden out of nowhere he said "I still can't believe Crash ate my burrito."

Poor Arbor :p