First Mover Advantage

There are many things he does not tell me. What he does all day for example. He claims to be a "researcher". Contributing to the world's knowledge and all that. I have no idea how sitting alone in a room all day you can do anything much. But then, I believe him. But then again, I'm not like him.

I work at McDonald's.

I could also claim to contribute to World ... erm, World Hunger or something. If nothing I at least contribute to those zeros that they put up at those tall signs on each of our outlets. The ones which say 'so many morons served' or something. But then I don't. Because I have no pretensions about life. You are born, you go to prom, you fuck, you have kids and you shrivel and die one day in an obscure bed somewhere in front of a few idiots who think its worth their while to buy white lillies for you. And that is if you are lucky. Else your life is screwed before it even began. Each one lives for himself - and no one 'contributes' to some invisible global coffer of knowledge. Just to that very visible coffer in their local bank.

He also refuses to tell me why he insists on wearing those stupid white sneakers and the same pair of jeans every day and why he still drives that idiotic old Saab of his. I mean he has enough money to buy one of those fucken' German beauties. Yet he sticks with Swedish trash. He tells me he is going to graduate in a year, and that it is probably the low point of his graduate life. His research isn't getting anywhere either. Why that should affect his clothing - I have no fucken idea. I work at a blasted McDonald's all day, but hell - that doesn't mean I turn out all the time in a grey shirt and a smelly pair of jeans. I sure like to spend that dough at those boutiques on Charles Street. And sometimes I wished that he'd just wear the stuff I buy him. Not fucken' bitch about it all day! Like Mr. Parsons at the outlet when I overdo the fries. Both of them go to my fucken' head.

I've decided. I'm going to end it. I've met this other guy - Jim. He's not bad. At least he doesn't write computer programs while I'm lying on the bed - the only thing missing a placard asking him to have sex with me. Sure, Jim's a fat idiot who doesn't know shit about anything. But that is a trade-off a girl who serves fries all day has to live with.

I've even worked out how I'm going to do it. I'm going to make a YouTube video and post it online. And then use his email account to send it out to all our friends. Its for his own good. If I don't do this, he'll end up alone, miserable and will wake up one day in a puddle of his own filth wondering why his life turned out the way it did. I even know what I'm going to say:

"Dear Michael, I want to tell you that I'm breaking up with you. I am a 24 year old waitress who stays with her mom and watches Gosspi Girl all day. And you can't even keep ME happy! You need to get out of your fucken' shell and appreciate other people. Take care of them. Be tender. And all those words you call 'stupid' and 'sentimental'. Well, guess what? They're important. They're fucken important Michael! Its high time you realised that. It's over. O-V-E-R!"

***

(Meanwhile across town in a tiny lab this email is being written)

"Sara,

Unfortunately I cannot continue to go out with you any more. I thought that if for a change I dated a 'normal' girl I would be happy. I thought I could make you understand the wonders of the world. The magic behind everything around us. How things come together. How they break apart. But I'm afraid your case is irretrievable. And unless you improve and make an effort to be more interested and curious about what happens about us, learn to appreciate and marvel at how things just work your life will remain as dull and uninteresting as it is now. Sara, in a curious kind of way, I do love you and I want you to be happy.

That is why I'm copying this email to all of our friends.

I hope you will forgive me.

Michael."

***

76 people in and around Boston now have two new messages in their inbox.

Question Time

Jim stared at the pitch black screen with the floating, tiny white writing. He had heard that Roman Polanski's name was mentioned in the credits somewhere as a "idea man". And he had to see, to make sure.

The lines rolled by. He tried not to remember what Roger McGrady (jib operator) or Timothy Speelding (lighting and compositing artist) did in the movie. Then suddenly, much to his satisfaction, it showed up.

"Larry Tellis - Ideaman."

Larry Tellis was of course the name Polanski used in such situations. Jim, looked at the screen smugly for one last time before he turned it off. He made a note of the recent discovery in the notebook he had by his side. Not bad, he thought for a SFX movie - hidden tributes to Casablanca and The Apartment, and a special appearance by Santana. And now Polanski's name to the credits. More than par for the course.

If he had people around him he would've said "Nice job, boys! A good day's work", but he was alone. And sleepy. And it was night. So he went turned out the light and went to bed. With the calm of a man who knew of a job well-done.

---

The alarm clock went off at the usual 7 am. Jim woke up. Stared at the paper, gulped some tea, showered and headed off to work. Pretty much a standard Junior-Analyst-at-a-major-investment-company morning. As he locked his 6th floor apartment door, Mrs.Abrams from next door said hello. Jim just smiled weakly in return. At least she didn't talk about his car today.

Exactly a week back, Jim had bought a pretty expensive car. It was in fact one of the most expensive cars money could buy - the new Gladeo S6 Platina, not something that should be in the possession of a 25 year old Finance executive. But, if you've just won a cool £1 million on a TV Quiz show, you do have a little bit of leeway to splurge on childhood fantasies. And so he did.

As he made his way to work, Jim recollected those final moments. He had just won £500,000 via what he thought was a really simple question (Which king was married to Eleanor of Aquitaine?) and the last question was about to just show up. No one before him had ever actually won the £1 million, and to everyone's surprise Jim had all of his lifelines unused. Waiting.

When the final question actually came up, it all turned out to be a bit anti-climatic. It was Entertainment of all topics and they asked him about a character played by an obscure Broadway actor that would be made famous later by another famous actor.("Poncho Man" and Steven Stallworth). Of course he knew that! It was in fact on the "do not ask again list" at his local pub quiz sessions. And he had won the million quid. Just like that.

It seemed awesome to think about all this as he strode along the M6, the Gladeo just purring along. He remembered feeling invincible. Omnipotent. Anything they threw at him he could answer. Just like that. As he pressed on the pedal and galloped along the motorway at 150 kph, nothing he felt could ever challenge him. Not a question or a query he could not find an answer to.

Suddenly the cellphone rang. It was Martha.

"Hi Jim. I really don't know how to say this, and I'm really sorry I'm saying it over the phone like this. But I really can't think of another way. Ermm.. I really don't think we should see each other anymore. I'm really, really sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

And suddenly all his lifelines were gone, and he was penniless. Again. Just like that.

The License.

I started out with noble intentions. But I don't think this entry ended up fitting the "social milieu" requirement. Maybe it does. But anyway, here goes.
***

Buddho Babu was elated. This joy expressed itself through another squirt of red betel juice, this one making only a minor red mark near the bottom of his white dhoti. The major part of the projectile found itself nestled at the bottom of a blue bucket placed near the foot of the bench on which he was sitting. Bustling with life, and littered with people - no one in the room really cared. This act was a sign of feeling at home in a government office, nothing really to frown upon.

"Aah" Busho Babu groaned as he got up and made his descent down the final flight of stairs that would complete his year long mission. It wasn't easy when he had decided to take it on. After all, there was the long theoretical and experimental study, the rigorous examination, and the actual live practical, demonstrating that he could do it right. Very few passed. He had rightly surmised that the government did not want too many people with the license. The very fact that they actually sanctioned this kind of thing was unknown to most. He certainly did not know anyone who had one. But then, no-one he knew had needed one either.

He could see a light emerging from the bottom of the stairwell. "This must be it". As he entered the bare, dusty room, the babu at the desk motioned him to wait, while the Chief Sanctioning Officer arrived. Buddho Babu would have a short interview with him, sign the final few papers before he recieved it. Also there was the small matter of the oath.

The Officer arrived in about a minute and gesticulated that Buddhu Babu could accompany him to his office. "Congratulations" he said."This would have been so much easier for you and us, if you had gotten this done when you found out at your Coming-of-Age Investiture . Anyway, better late that never, sign here please!". As he signed, The Officer handed him his small, green card, with his photograph, the official stamp and other details. A small box on top indicated his current status. "Allowed limit : 1500ml per week".

"So, shall we begin with the oath?".

Budho Babu mumbled the words, as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

"I solemnly pledge before The Holy Spirit that I will not misuse the powers granted to me by the Government, and will uphold the general principles of Vampiredom. I will drink the blood of only fresh corpses and the terminally ill, in a manner that will not cause mental or physical pain to any individual involved. I shall not exceed the limits prescribed by my license and will not divulge the details of this transaction to any other individual. I shall lead the rest of my life as an authorized Vampire with utmost integrity and will be forever loyal to the Charter of Vampiric Principles."

Moral Victory

Why here, he thinks – Do I not have enough to worry about already? Why come back to a place, I've hated for years. Sure, it's praised and lauded. Sure, it's written about. But what do they know? If you'd have had the time to ponder over it, to drink it in – in all its moods, in all its seasons, then you'd know. Know her for real. That beast of monotony. Pounding away since eternity. Fleeting in her love, unforgiving in her wrath. Yes, he affirms – she's left him no choice. Hate the sea, he must.

Those people will never understand this though. “It's your culture, boy! ” he's heard mister Kerkar argue. Shit, he's heard everyone argue. He fights back, - “But she's of no use. All she does is infringe and influence. She dominates. She makes us all dance to her charms. And, we do.” He'd prefer not feeling this way. He'd prefer blending in. How he wished, she could charm him too. No antagonism, no upheaval. No hate. Life – they say is not that simple.

Why here, he thinks. Again.

Around him, Nature awaits the rendez-vous. It gasps with the wind, prepares with the sand, heralds with the birds. About 9 o'clock, he remembers reading - she should be on time. But till then, he must wait. That was never an issue with him. Waiting. He was always good at it. That is all that he's done all his life. Wait. Kind of fitting, he smirks, that he should do it now. A perfect way to round off.

“One must wait, when one does not get.”

Some aphorism. “Man! I should have noted all those down.” Fuck - too late now.

A glance at the watch confirms his premonition. It's time. He closes his eyes. She makes her final advance.

It seems repulsive at first – when she first touches his toe. They haven't met in over seven years. And now, all of a sudden, this intimacy. Alien, cold and yet familiar in its touch. “You succumb, at last.” - she seems to whisper, clawing away. With relish. Taking her time. She grows on him, covering him in her warmth. He's repulsed. More than ever.

He feels his body shiver, tremble. Not with fear, but excitement. It's going to be over. Soon. But even in this inescapable finality, he has time to smirk - “Even now, you come to me.”

Mister Kerkar was right, he agrees - she's got her uses after all. All you need to do, is wait.