Voluntary 10 [4]
Chit-Chat
Oscar shook his left fist as he ran to the open elevator door. He got inside and looked at his watch and shook it again, then he held it to his ear. He could hear a small amount of rattling as he shook it with a defeated expression on his face.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked a woman that was already standing in the elevator who wore a black blazer with white stripes and sported an updo. The elevator’s bell dinged as the shutters closed. The lamp for the “B1” button was lit up.
“It doesn’t seem to be working,” Oscar said as he shook his wrist once more.
“Maybe you should have the battery changed instead of shaking it around,” she said. Oscar tilted his head then smiled.
“Oh, it’s not a battery watch. It’s an automatic self-winder,” he said as he shook it again, then pulled the crown out and started to turn it.
“You’re so complicated,” she added. The elevator’s bell dinged again and the shutters opened. “Well, this is my stop!” she said cheerfully as she got off on the third floor. Just behind the shutters, a man in a tailored gray suit stood on the way.
“Oh, sorry,” he said as he moved out of the way. “Can I help you?” he asked. He noticed Oscar inside the elevator and waved at him. “Hey! Oscar! That’s your name, right? Could you please hold it open for me?” Oscar nodded.
“Oh, you two know each other?” she asked. “Anyway, I’m just going to visit my dentist.” The man shook his head.
“There’s no dentist on this floor anymore. My company leased all of it,” he said. “You should give them a call to verify their location,” he smiled at her.
“What? They never told me!” she exclaimed, exasperated at the idea.
“Go and check,” the man added. “I don’t think the elevator will hold forever though.”
“I think I’ll check myself, thank you very much!” she said as she stomped out of the elevator and turned to the hallway on the right. The man got in the elevator just as a loud chime started.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Oscar said as he let go of the Door Open button. The shutters closed slowly while a loud chime pierced their ears.
“I was being helpful!” the man protested. “Do you two work together?” he asked as he took out a small gray cloth and polished his glasses.
“You weren’t wearing glasses at the barber the other day,” Oscar said. “And yes, we work together.”
“How odd,” Arthur said.
“Why?” Oscar asked.
“Well, she was wearing a professional blazer. You’re wearing that tacky green polo shirt. How can the same employer allow both styles? It just doesn’t gel together. It probably also makes you look like a bunch of amateurs in a business meeting with a client. Or maybe they just hide you instead of exposing you to the wolves. Go formal or casual, but not both,” he kept mumbling as the elevator reached the floor labeled as B1. “After you,” he said while motioning with his arm in an arch towards the shutters with a smile as they opened.
“That’s quite a lot of feedback very quickly. Not very nice feedback, mind you. And you seem to be forcing that smile,” Oscar said.
“Actually no, I’m not. If I smile, it means that I mean to smile,” Arthur added. “And I meant no harm with my observations. I just point odd thing out when I notice them. Unfortunately, that hasn’t been effective in getting me out of client meetings,” Arthur said and chuckled. “You’re out for lunch right? Want to join me? My treat. I’m looking forward to some company that doesn’t work for me,” he straightened up as he said that. “We can go to that a-la-carte restaurant that opened the other week; the one in that office building by the used car dealership,” Arthur said.
“Sure, why not,” Oscar added. He went back to fiddle with the crown on his watch but realized that he had never actually shared Arthur’s company, so he set his hands to his sides again as he walked next to him. Arthur laughed as he noticed the struggle.
“You like to fiddle with things, don’t you?” Arthur asked. Takes a fiddler to know another. What’s making you so nervous?”
“Haha,” Oscar tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out very naturally. “Nothing really, I’m fine. Perfectly fine, yes.”
“You’re a lousy liar,” Arthur remarked. “But I’ll cut you some slack. We’ve barely even met. So how’s the whole Business Analyst thing going for you? Do you enjoy it?” he asked as they continued to walk to the restaurant.
“It pays the bills. Well, the ones I’m not behind on anyway,” Oscar replied with a sigh.
“There we go! Money can be stressful; I can relate to that,” Arthur said. “Is that notebook an essential analyst tool?” he asked as he noticed a small notebook held within a leather cover hanging from a clip in Oscar’s belt.
“This? Nah; it’s just a way to keep myself entertained,” Oscar said. Arthur nodded at him.
“A man that likes to keep a record of things then. I can respect that. Well, we’re here,” Arthur said as they arrived at the building that housed the restaurant, an old five-story building with several offices, including a health insurance provider. “Let’s continue chatting inside,” he said as he held the glass double-doors open.
“Thanks,” Oscar said as he went through the open doors. Arthur soon followed. They faced a large cardboard ad for the restaurant as soon as they went into the building. “Turn right for Spiced Out,” Oscar said as he read the content of the ad out loud. There was a large red arrow pointing the way and photos of several local dishes with a tuned-up color palette. “I bet those are probably less hairy than the ones Manolo eats,” Oscar said in a low tone as he looked at the fried plantain chips in the ad. Arthur looked at him and laughed.
“So you were thinking the same thing I did? Isn’t it crazy?” Arthur asked after he was done laughing. “Great people, but I wouldn’t do that if I were them.” They followed the arrow from the ad, several signs located within the building as they went deeper inside, and finally the directions from another ad that was a cardboard cut-out of a chef pointing towards the place.
“They went overboard with all the signage, didn’t they,” Oscar commented. Arthur laughed. The restaurant’s door was wide open and they went inside, where they were greeted by a short, skinny hostess in a dark teal polo shirt who stood behind a podium. She barely seemed to be out of high school.
“Party of two?” she asked as she checked on a computer terminal. Both of them nodded at once. “Come with me,” she said as she picked up two menus and two sets of utensils neatly wrapped within burgundy-colored napkins. She led them to a corner booth with a half-moon shaped seat and table. “Your server should be with you shortly,” she said as she set the menus and napkins on the table, offered a smile, and went back to the entrance. Both of them sat at the booth, coming in opposing corners of the half-moon seat. Oscar shook his left fist again.
“You should probably take that to a watchmaker. I don’t think all that shaking’s going to do much about it,” Arthur said as he watched Oscar’s futile attempts to revive his watch.
“I don’t think it’s worth it,” Oscar replied. “I bought it cheap, so it will probably cost more to fix than to just buy another one.”
“That’s disappointing then,” Arthur replied while perusing the menu. He looked at Oscar and noticed that he wasn’t looking at the menu yet. “What’s up? You haven't looked at the menu yet.”
“Oh, nothing. Just waiting to see what you order. I already have a few things in mind,” Oscar replied.
“You want a baseline as to how expensive you can go? Don’t worry about it; you alone shouldn’t bankrupt me. I think,” Arthur laughed after that remark.
“It’s not just that. I don’t want to order the same thing as you do,” Oscar replied. Arthur looked at him through narrowed eyes, tilting his head somewhat while producing half a smile.
“Now that’s unusual. Why can’t you order the same thing?” Arthur asked and then immediately unlocked his phone to look at the screen.
“Just a habit. It drives my wife mad,” Oscar said. “Oh! I have to write this down!” he added as he took out the notebook he was carrying. Arthur noticed that it had a similar pen to Victor’s on a loop attached to the notebook’s cover.
“You also use Darth Vader’s pen?” Arthur asked while Oscar jotted some thoughts down on the notebook. “Yours is metallic though, stainless steel? First time I see it like that. Not like I’ve seen many of them anyway,” he shrugged.
“Darth Vader’s pen?” Oscar asked him in return. He then took a long look at the pen and laughed. “Actually, that’s a very good description for the black one!” he exclaimed. “It’s actually a well-known pen in the world of fountain pen collectors. It was designed in 1966 and continues to be a consistent favorite among fountain pen aficionados,” Oscar said with a cheerful tone in his voice. “The black one’s made out of a special polycar — ” he was interrupted mid-sentence by the server, who didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t done talking.
“Hello! My name is Brenda and I’ll be taking care of you,” said a cheerful woman wearing a tan apron atop the same dark teal-colored polo shirt that the hostess was wearing.
“Oh, right on time!” Arthur exclaimed. “Brenda then? Nice to meet you. My name is Arthur, and this is Oscar,” Arthur said with a smile. Oscar leaned back and observed the way Arthur’s body language flowed as he greeted the server. He made direct eye contact, kept a smile on his face, and maintained a relaxed sitting posture that seemed to come very naturally. It made him realize just how socially awkward he was by comparison.
“Nice to meet you,” Oscar said as he realized that he was being as awkward as he envisioned himself by remaining quiet after Arthur’s introduction. He was still annoyed by the interruption, but he chose to move on.
“What can I get for you to drink?” she asked.
“I’d like a seltzer water, whichever brand you have available,” Arthur said. She nodded at him and wrote it down in the little writing pad she was carrying.
“I don’t suppose you have anything from the soda fountain available, do you?” Oscar asked.
“Actually, we do. We have a water truck parked in the basement to supply us with water for the fountain drinks. It’s actually cleaner than the water from the pipes when it’s available,” she said with a proud smile.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Oscar exclaimed. Fountain soda at last! “Do you do cream soda mixes? Something like an orange-vanilla cream soda?”
“Yes, sir!” she energetically exclaimed, then she jotted down in her notepad. “Any starters? The sweet plantain dipping cheese sauce is to die for!”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Arthur said. Oscar nodded.
“Perfect,” she said as she jotted down in her notepad again. “Do you know what entrees you’ll order or do you need more time?”
“We could use a few more minutes for that,” Arthur said. Oscar flipped to a new page on his notebook and continued to write.
“That’s interesting,” Arthur said. “I notice that you pause at the end of every line. Why?” Arthur asked as he stared at Oscar’s notebook.”
“I just pause for a few seconds to let the ink dray. I have a bad habit of resting my hand over the paper in such a way that I smear the ink. I’ve been trying to learn to hover it above, but to no avail.”
“That sounds complicated,” Arthur said. “You like mechanical watches and fountain pens. You also take notes on a real notebook instead of a phone or laptop. I’m getting a real vintage vibe from you,” Arthur remarked. “Oh! And the cream soda! What year did you time travel from?”
Oscar laughed. “I used to be a gearhead; some of my coworkers call me Inspector Gadget because of all the tech toys I tend to have. But I’ve been simplifying things down and going analog because of wrist pains. Too much time typing, gaming, and manipulating a smartphone have taken their toll.”
“That’s harsh,” Arthur said. “Have you tried speech-to-text?”
The server carefully placed the drinks on the table, popping open the seltzer water and pouring it on a glass full of ice for Arthur and setting some sliced lemon wedges next to Oscar’s cream soda. She was as unintrusive as possible during this process, softly placing the sealed drinking straws next to each drink. Arthur nodded at her with a smile, and so did Oscar, imitating Arthur’s manners.
“I hate speech-to-text,” Oscar said as he resumed the conversation. “I’ve tried multiple solutions and they just can’t understand me properly. I write as a hobby. Some science fiction, some fantasy. No real stuff. The darn things don’t play well with the made-up names of my characters and locations, no matter how much time I spend training it,” Oscar griped.
“So you’re a Business Analyst and an aspiring writer then. You’re an interesting sort,” Arthur said. “And where exactly do you work? I mean, I know it’s in the same building at least,” he remarked.
“Oh, on the eighth floor. SIT-Tech,” Oscar said. Arthur nodded.
“Does your company design chairs and office furniture? That’s what that sounds like,” Arthur quipped with a smile.
“Not as in seat. It’s S, I, T. Systems Integration and Technology. SIT-Tech!” Oscar beamed. Arthur laughed.
“I know,” Arthur replied and grinned. “I’ve studied some of your company’s proposals as a government consultant. Well, not me personally, but I’ve been in meetings discussing them with some of my staff assigned to them. I have to say, some of your salespeople know how to aim for the moon!”
“Tell me about it,” Oscar groaned. “Not a fan of salespeople at all. They have a habit to undersell or oversell and never actually take our estimates and recommendations into account. I love the work that I do but it’s frustrating. I don’t think the sales department should have such a strong say over what we do. They usually butcher our estimates to such a degree that there’s no way to please anyone,” Oscar added. Arthur laughed. He appreciated Oscar’s candor.
“Here’s your dip!” the server cheerfully announced as she placed an oval, deep bowl full of molten cheese, accented with some oregano leaves, and chopped sweet plantain slices seemed to poke from the cheesy concoction. She also set a round loaf of pre-sliced, recently baked bread next to it. “Avoid touching the bowl; it’s hot!” she added. “So, are we ready to order?”
“I’ll have a conch-stuffed trifongo in creole sauce with yellow rice and beans,” Arthur said.
“Got it,” she said as she scribbled into the little writing pad. “And your order sir?” she asked while looking at Oscar.
“The same thing, but with fried pork instead of conch,” Oscar said. The server nodded and wrote it down on her pad.
“Gotcha. Is there anything else?” she asked. Both men looked at each other and shook their heads. “Great. I’ll be over with your meals when they’re ready.”
Arthur leaned back into the booth’s seat and took out his smartphone. Oscar noticed that it was actually the first time he had done that since their time together. He glanced at the screen, made a few swipes, and put it back in his pocket. “So tell me about salespeople,” Arthur said as he took one of the pre-cut slices of bread from the loaf and dipped it in the bowl of melted cheese and plantain.
“It’s not like I don’t appreciate their work,” Oscar said as he tried to measure his words. “But I feel that our salespeople don’t really spend enough time trying to understand the solutions that we build or the impact that building them will have,” Oscar griped as he took one of the bread slices. Arthur nodded while chowing down the sweet and salty cheesy treat. He swallowed.
“Here’s the thing with salespeople,” Arthur placed a hand on his chin and nodded to himself before proceeding. “They get as excited about the sale as you probably get about planning or developing whatever you’re creating. It is during that excitement that they may fib a few things,” he added with a wide smile for effect.
“I suppose that you’re from sales too then,” Oscar said as he shook his head. Arthur burst out laughing.
“I’m the owner of my company. I started as a developer, yes, but in the process of creating a company that employs others, I’ve had to turn into a salesman. A very enthusiastic salesman because I need to convince both my staff and my clients that we’ll do the right thing. After all, all of their livelihoods hinge on keeping morale high so the magic happens,” Arthur said.
“I’ve thought about it as you say from time to time so I can understand where you’re coming from. But our salespeople are still horrible,” Oscar groaned.
“Maybe they are,” Arthur said and laughed. “So what’s so interesting that you need to write down right now?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry,” Oscar put the pen and the notebook down. “I didn’t realize I was being rude there.”
“Not at all,” Arthur said. “I’ve been checking my investments from time to time as well, so it’s all good. But seriously, mind sharing what you’re writing in there, or am I stepping out of line by asking?”
Oscar paused for a moment. He took a long, hard look at Arthur. “Well,” Oscar began. “I go to this particular church, you see. And we meet from time to time to discuss the Bible,” Oscar stopped for a moment and gathered his thoughts. Arthur continued to pay attention to Oscar. “Well, we are studying the Hebrew Patriarchs and I got Jacob. I need to offer a study on him at our gathering this Saturday. I just had some ideas pop to mind and wrote them down.”
“So you’re a church-goer,” Arthur remarked. He took a sip from his seltzer water. “Rather predictable, actually. You seem very wholesome,” he added. Oscar looked at Arthur, narrowed his eyes, and leaned back on his seat.
“Predictable? Yes, I guess that’s who I am,” Oscar sighed. “I’m a work in progress though,” he added. “I won’t be predictable for the rest of my life,” Oscar said and then smiled at Arthur, trying his best to act similar to him. Arthur smiled and raised his glass. Oscar joined him and they bumped glasses together.
“To unpredictability,” Arthur cheered. That very moment, the server arrived with their food.
“It looks like I missed some fun!” she said as she set the small, brown wooden pilones with the trifongos down for them. They had dark brown carvings in the shape of typical Arawak ceremonial drawings within the wood grain. She also set a small bowl with creole sauce for each of them. “Want me to refill that cream soda for you?” she asked as she looked at Oscar. He nodded. “Be right back. Oh, and enjoy!” she said as she left their table. Oscar found himself admiring the attention to detail on the highly-detailed pilones, which looked like wooden mortars on a stand. He could identify traditional Taíno images, such as the stylized coquí, and a Yuquiyú zemi.
“That’s great handiwork,” Oscar said while following the carvings. Arthur replied by whistling and staring at the server as she walked from their table to the kitchen.
“I agree with you there, buddy,” Arthur said and grinned. He hadn’t paid attention to the mortars. He grabbed some of the creole sauce and dumped it on the trifongo and conch concoction inside the mortar. He then grabbed his fork and grabbed his first bite of food, making sure to mix the sauce, conch, and trifongo into one flavorful bite. He swallowed and used the napkin to wipe his mouth, then took a from his glass of seltzer water. “So how would you fix the whole drought thing? You know, as we were discussing at Zito’s the other day.”
Oscar, who had also started to dig into his own meal, though he hadn’t poured the sauce over his trifongo, swallowed the food he was chewing, stabbed a piece of fried pork with his fork, and took a deep breath. “The government won’t do a thing, that I know,” he said. “So maybe it’s up to those of us who can finance it to improve things.”
“Oh?” Arthur’s eyes lit up as he looked at Oscar. “How would we do something?” he asked and then took another piece of food in his mouth. Oscar went to his notebook and flipped through the pages to one of the first few sheets. He pointed at a two-page spread with a series of street names and municipalities.
“My concern right now is the whole water problem. It’s obvious that it’s not a rain issue; it may not rain as much in the general vicinity of the water reservoirs, but it does rain,” Oscar said, took a breath, and continued. “Unfortunately, we lose a lot of water. Each of these entries is some street where I’ve seen some sort of Aqueduct Authority problem that needs to be fixed. Leaking pipes, broken water lines, even open fire hydrants that have remained as much for over a day. We must start fixing these issues so that the water that does land in the reservoirs is not lost to broken infrastructure.”
Arthur shrugged. “I’ve heard it all before. From the news, from candidates, from the Aqueduct Authority directors, and now from you. It’s not getting fixed, so what now? I really want to know,” Arthur said.
“It’s not the government that will work on it. It won’t be the government’s money,” Oscar said. “A private solution. Crowd-funded,” he said with the first hint of security that Arthur had noticed in his eyes.
“A crowd-funded solution?” Arthur asked. “You have my attention,” he said as he smiled at Oscar but was really smiling at himself. He had a hunch when he met Oscar, and it delighted him to be proven right so he leaned back on his seat, eager to hear more. They both felt a vibration from the booth’s seat as they were about to continue the conversation though. Oscar quickly realized that his smartphone was the culprit. With a reluctant groan, he grabbed it from where he had set it down in the seat, right between them, and noticed the notification staring at him:
“Mrs. Rose from the Elderly Protection Authority has reported a system-wide service interruption.”
Oscar shook his head. “Sorry about this; it happens sometimes. Can you please give me a minute?” he asked. Arthur, wrinkles forming above his eyebrows, nodded at him. Oscar smiled at Arthur as he stepped away from the booth and went to the restroom. Arthur grabbed his smartphone and unlocked it. He rolled his eyes as he noticed his own notifications. He then took a deep breath, took his wallet out, and left a wad of cash on the table. He also took the liberty to open Oscar’s notebook, flip to the last page on it, and write a note:
“Let’s continue this conversation later. Something important’s come up for me too.” He added a stylized “AG” at the end as his signature and also took the liberty to tuck in a business card within the cover’s inner sleeve.
