Eat eat eat
So I once again found a Murakami book to wrestle with, and, following his subliminal message, ate at a McDonald's and proceeded to get no amount of nutrients whatsoever. While, I might add, reading Murakami's book.
I found myself seated between two people in one of the corners, where the seats are barstools and the table one long countertop that you're supposed to share with everybody. I was the only one carrying a tray. The school girl on my right was obviously waiting for somebody and decided to hang out inside the place without evidence of having ordered anything, and the lady on my left was obviously waiting for somebody inside the place without evidence of having ordered anything, while the man next to her was talking loudly on the phone, obviously waiting for somebody without evidence of having ordered anything. Maybe I sat on the urban hobo corner of that particular McDonald's. Or maybe they finished all their food and put away their trays of their own accord, all three of them.
Anyway I read on, and munched on, thinking about what Murakami was saying regarding how everything is connected in a postcapitalist world, where connections are not made as much as arbitered, left unmade due to all the trouble of the endless possibilities of connecting. He's talking about the absurdly whimsical characters in the book, but me, here, I'm connecting to these people by not being particularly nice in the things I notice. And then it hit me: I am in a McDonald's thinking uncharitable thoughts about people I should have the decency to leave alone precisely because that's what any McDonald's anywhere is supposed to do. It cocoons you into thinking that you need to eat food that would not know what a vitamin was if it slapped them in the face, with all these people who you are supposed to share a space with, thinking that you have to leave them alone because talking to them would be weird, so you think unkindly of them instead. The only connection you have with people is that all of you decided to eat nutrionally oblivious food in the same place.
Except for the three people I share that particular corner with, at least. And finally the man's date arrives, and he turns out to be a networking agent, selling a position in the company to the woman who did order, but did not listen, even when she was promised the possibility of a thirty-thousand peso salary a month.
I found myself seated between two people in one of the corners, where the seats are barstools and the table one long countertop that you're supposed to share with everybody. I was the only one carrying a tray. The school girl on my right was obviously waiting for somebody and decided to hang out inside the place without evidence of having ordered anything, and the lady on my left was obviously waiting for somebody inside the place without evidence of having ordered anything, while the man next to her was talking loudly on the phone, obviously waiting for somebody without evidence of having ordered anything. Maybe I sat on the urban hobo corner of that particular McDonald's. Or maybe they finished all their food and put away their trays of their own accord, all three of them.
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| from www.dripbook.com |
Except for the three people I share that particular corner with, at least. And finally the man's date arrives, and he turns out to be a networking agent, selling a position in the company to the woman who did order, but did not listen, even when she was promised the possibility of a thirty-thousand peso salary a month.
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