An old friend of mine from my first couple years in college flew into town Saturday night to attend a Sunday afternoon wedding just outside San Jose. I picked him up at the airport and within 90 seconds I wanted to open the door and kick him into oncoming traffic. How was I ever good friends with this guy? Let me ellaborate.
His name is Vijay. He came to Berkeley from India by way of Van Nuys and now works as a software programmer for a life insurance company. He lives just off Venice Beach down south and spends the majority of his free time--by his own admission--playing multi-player, first-person shooter computer games over the internet and avoiding anything resembling proper personal hygiene.
I had forgotton--thanks to a 2 1/2 year hiatus--how much Vijay talked and how full of shit he was. The first thing he said when he got in my car at the airport was "Man, great to see you. What a trip, brother. What's it been? 2, 3 years? Wow man, so much has changed. I can't believe I'm back in SF." (He actually said 'brother' and 'SF' in the same breath).
I was thinking to myself "Dude! It's the Bay Area. Nothing's fucking changed. Dude, YOU haven't changed. You're wearing the exact same fucking clothes you were wearing the last time I saw you--TWO FUCKING YEARS AGO--and you have the same long greasy hair and ridiculous Zorro-style facial hair!" Instead, I nodded my head and plaintively grunted assent as I made like I was concentrating on maneuvering through airport traffic.
In case you were wondering, this was the first time I wanted to throw him from my moving car. It would not be the last.
At this point, though, I still wasn't really aware of how miserable my night was going to be. I got my first glimpse about an hour into the visit when Vijay implored me to call all of my friends that he knew because he "wanted to see as many people as possible while he was in town so he could shoot the shit and talk about old times." He said those exact words, I swear. So I called Don--one of my best friends.
Drunk: Don. Hey what's up dude? What are you doing tonight?
D: I don't know yet. It's A.J.s last night in town so we'll probably do something.
Drunk: Sweet.
D: Is anything going on tonight? What are you up to?
Drunk: Well that's kind of why I called. I'm getting off the freeway to Berkeley right now. I just got back from the airport. I picked up Vijay. He's in town for a wedding and we're trying to see what people are up to.
D: Vijay? Vijay who?
Drunk: Vijay. From the co-ops.
D: HAHAHAHAHHAHHAHHAHHHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA
Drunk: You guys want to get together a little later for drinks? Shoot the shit. Talk about old times.
D:
After a round of similar calls, Vijay mentioned that he wanted to have dinner with another friend of his named David. This was the second time I wanted to kick him into traffic. David is a short, fat, red-headed computer programmer. He's half Iranian and quite possibly the most annoying person in the 510 area code. He has more hair on his back than on any other part of his body--COMBINED--and has made it clear to everyone he knows that he prefers anal sex to any other sort of sexual contact.
The prospect of dinner with Vijay and David should have had me fleeing the scene like a parole violator in a COPS episode. Instead I said sure and headed with Vijay--WHO STILL HADN'T SHUT THE FUCK UP--to an Indian restaurant. Dinner lasted an unmerciful 90 minutes with Vijay and David volleying computer-programming anecdotes back and forth in an attempt to one-up each other as to who has a tougher job and lives a more stultifyingly boring existence.
They tossed around words like "firewall" and "DLL" and "database management" and "sysadmin" with nerdful giddiness. At one point David actually spit a mouthful of tika masala halfway across the table in a fit of laughter after Vijay told him about somebody at his office patching the wrong something or other during a "standard fix" and then running something or other and bringing the whole system down. As they knowingly laughed the laugh of computer nerds, I seriously contemplated stabbing myself in the leg repeatedly with my curry-stained fork just to prove to myself that I was, in fact, still alive.
After the computer talk stopped, Vijay started holding forth on what it takes to be "successful in the real world." What it takes to "prove to everyone that you can do the 9-5 thing." How he has devised a plan to go to grad school, "be an entrepenuer by the age of 30" because he "can't work like this for much longer." If he's going to work for a company that's not his own, it has to be "by [his] rules." He is looking for a new programming job because he wants to be making twice as much as he is now in 3 years and he wants to "continue to grow professionally because [he's] really stagnating in his current position and not having his skill set being used to its full potential."
That was enough.
"DUDE! Vijay. You are so full of shit. Do you hear yourself? You have no idea what you're talking about. Where'd you come up with this shit. I feel like I'm listening to someone audition for the role of Gordon Gecko in a high-school production of Wall Street: The Musical. "REAL WORLD?!" What do you call the last 26 years of your life? FUCKING CANDYLAND?! Dude, you talk about how awesome L.A. is and how happy you are, but all you've done tonight is talk about Venice Beach girls you would never talk to because you're a fucking chicken shit and because you spend all day playing fucking computer games. You love your work but you are quitting and trolling your friends for job opportunities. You love your social life and the free-wheeling nature of L.A. women, but you couldn't name a single great club in the Basin and you haven't been laid since your whore of a girlfriend broke up with you--DURING THE CLINTON ADMINISTRATION! DUDE, you're a nice guy and you mean well, but you need to get fucking real. Give me a call when you wake up, get a clue and cut the fucking bullshit."
I slid out of the booth, threw back the rest of a now-flat bottle of Taj Mahal beer, and left. After I bailed, I made my way to a party at my old house intent on getting those three hours of my life back. At the party, Vijay's words started to worm their way into my brain. I should be writing full time. I shouldn't be wiling away my mid-20s busting my ass doing mindless work for a bunch of fucking attorneys. As I got drunker some of Vijay's words started ringing truer. I refused to let this happen. I started thinking about friends I went to school with and I broached the subject with friends at the party:
Drunk: Anthony, do you feel like you're not going anywhere?
A: Yeah.
Drunk: Really? Why?
A: Well Sara took my car keys before I left the house. Bong rip?
Drunk: No dude, not like that. I mean like with your life. Do you think you're not going anywhere?
A:
Drunk: No, dude. I don't smoke.
A: Nothing? Not even pot?
Drunk: Nope.
A: Ever?
Drunk: Ever.
A: Really?
Drunk: Yeah dude. Answer my question. What are you doing for work now? Are you still looking?
A: Nilsio man, I am dating a HOT Iranian girl who loves me and my cock. I'm playing in a band that I'm writing the lyrics for, and I'm driving a car that I won off my brother in a Euro Cup bet.
Drunk: Nilsio?
A: Yeah dude, it's your new name.
Drunk: I have enough names. So what about work? I mean you've broken up and rejoined your band once already . What about work?
A: I'm working at a butcher shop.
Drunk: A butcher shop?
A: Yeah dude, it's good honest work.
Drunk: Like Brady Bunch Sam the Butcher, butcher shop?
A: Yeah dude, it's awesome. I sliced bacon yesterday. I work like 3 blocks from my house. I go home for lunch everyday, smoke a j, jerk off, listen to some music, eat a bowl of cereal, and walk back to work.
Drunk: Dude, that's sweet.
A: I know man, that's my I'm not trippin about "purpose" or "career path" or shit like that. Bong rip?
Drunk: No dude, I don't smoke.
A: Oh yeah.
Then I thought about my buddy Dave. I would have called him but it was a Saturday night--his day off from the field camp he's attending in Montana as part of his requirements for graduating Berkeley with a degree in Geology. I remember he was planning on going fly-fishing that day. Dave's on the 9-year plan. He got to Cal in '95. I don't think he's done more than two semesters in a row. But, he's lived in Austin, Portugal, Antibes, Sevilla, and Tucson. He's been engaged twice, he parties like he invented it and, in talking to him in the past, it is clear that he has zero regrets.
Finally at 12:30am, completely drunk, I called my buddy CV. In Portugal. He runs a bar in Lagos and spends the entire summer either behind the bar or on the beach. Surprisingly, he answered:
Drunk: CV, what's up man?
CV: I just got in. Got e-tarded at Bahia Bar.
Drunk: How's life?
CV: Dude, I'm a bartender in a Portuguese tourist town.
Drunk: Dumb question
CV: Yeah.
Drunk: Tell me something, I had dinner with Vijay tonight. He got to tal--
CV: Vijay? Vijay from Cloyne?
Drunk: Yeah.
CV: HAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
Drunk: He got to talking--
CV: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA
Drunk: Shut the fuck up. So do you feel like you've got purpose in your life? Do you feel like you're wasting valuable time in your life? Like wasting your youth?
CV: Wasting my youth? I RUN A BAR IN A PORTUGUESE BEACH TOWN. Dude are you serious? Did you call me at 8:30 in the morning to ask me that?
Drunk: Well yeah. I mean, what about graduating? The future?
CV: Drunk, since I left Berkeley a couple years ago my penis has had so many different women visit it, I should start stamping their passports.
Drunk: But what about your future? I mean after Portgual.
CV: You better be drunk.
Drunk: Well...
CV:
Now I remember why these guys are my friends. I'm such a fag.
Posted by nils at 9:14 PM