"The People Who Lunch"

(It’s Monday, 1.15pm)
I glanced at my watch. Where are the guys anyway? (By guys I mean my bestest friend & my co-author; K, and our contributors, who are our mutual friends.)
K called and asked to meet at our regular spot. Well, as always, I came first. That’s probably because I live the closest to our favorite hang out place, Plaza Senayan. Aaahhhh….. What a day…

Got our latest publication in my bag (Can you believe I still carry that back pack, after all these years?) I felt so reluctant to take it out, but I didn’t bring anything else. Aargh, I hate this. I didn’t even bring my favorite book.
What the heck. Just swing by Kinokuniya and grab the latest collection of Dilbert comics. Hahaha, I don’t care how old I am or how many books we’ve published, that comic will still be my favorite.
After I paid the book, K rang. She’s here. Okay, so I’ll just save the comic for later.

As I sat down, we glanced around. Man, it’s so quiet here!

“Nggak seru ah…”, she said.
“Well, the guys will be here any minute, right? Meanwhile, let’s just talk nonsense, hahaha…”

After all, these the advantages of being an independent writer, right? Of being self-employed?

You don’t have bosses to report to, no working time.

No “responsibilities” to the “stake-holders”, while the real meaning is busting your ass off to make those capitalists richer while you earn small change. Chick feed. (Pension plan, my ass! I’m not gonna have my small salary deducted every month all in the name of saving for my later years when the real bitter truth is the company just wants to suck every single dime you have and turn out as the hero for paying your “quite handsome” pension when you’re grey…)

No traffic. (Well, unless you call queuing in the lobby of one of the biggest malls in Jakarta is traffic.)

And last but not least, no nonsense at work, coz you don’t have to deal with the bitches.
You’re your own king. (Anyways, enough whining…)

But the compensation of being self-employed IS grave.

When you know your brain works best when it’s hectic, crowded, and noisy; instead, the soft clicking of mugs and indistinct whispers of the waitresses of your favorite coffee house chatting about, with the low commotion outside in the mall’s department store fill the afternoon. And then, they could not provide you with your desired inspiration.

Your brain just went blank.

“What is it with me today? My mind doesn’t work but at all!” I complained.
“Perhaps it’s the quiet”, K replied.


Come to think of it, do these people think the same? Do they like the quiet or do they like it better when it’s hectic?
Perhaps that’s one of the main reasons why we hang out with a bunch of noisy people, because sometimes, we feel more at peace when it’s crowded, when it’s noisy.


Hmm…
As I glanced around, I saw some people at the coffee shop. Waiting, looking restless, just like us.
The difference is, they don’t seem to be enjoying their time with their coffee, unlike us.
They seem happy, but there’s something about how they drink that leads me thinking.

How about the “arisan” housewives? After dropping off their children at one of the most prestigious schools, and order their butler and maids for menu for dinner, they practically have got nothing to do. Or do they? Do they enjoy hanging about at the mall, with their hands cling tightly to their cells, pressing it hard against their ears, with 2 fingers holding a slim cigarette, while one other hand busy playing with their cigarette lighter. Lips red and glossy by the most expensive lipstick. And once the friends have joined them, they would soon start ordering some Cappucino or Latte, and chant happily about their latest accomplishments, that is how they got their husbands to finally approve to finance their “breast surgery” or “liposuction”. As if they were simply discussing about the latest discount sale. Something about them emanates the word “social climber”.

How about those “humanitarian activists” with their black loose shirts, dark cargo pants, and a pair of over worn sandals? With their hands waving in the air, frowning, and swearing. Their eyes dart back and forth to their laptop, sitting in front of them. Their thirst quenched with a cup of Espresso, they would also have a cup of iced water that spilled every here and there when they lift their glass up all the while busy describing some important issue to their conversation partner. Sometimes, they would ask their friends for a kretek cigarette, a cigarette so heavy that they need time to inhale it, and sometimes cough after each time. Their cells keep ringing for updates on the upcoming demo event.

How about the “band freaks”? With their loose pair of jeans, too loose, in fact, that their checkered boxer shorts peeked a bit (or maybe they pulled it up, just to show everyone that they do wear under garments). Their leather bracelets and their random choice of drinks. Never the same in two sittings. Their eyes dart here and there, glanced about to the passer-bys, searching for inspiration, they say. And they would come up with a song, and they would cheer together. The drummer would start hitting wind, and the lead guitarist would immediately play with their invisible strings. The lead vocal, supposedly to be the composer as well, would immediately write on the paper napkin the lyrics that have been zooming in his head.

How about the “rich kids” and their “wanna-be” friends? The rich kids would hold the latest launched Nokia cellphone, while the wanna-be friends keep on clutching their wallets, afraid that the rich kids would take a peek at what’s inside and laugh out loud, and stop hang out with them anymore, after all, they’ve done whatever it takes to hang out with the most popular people at school, including begging their parents for money, and sulk at the slightest rejection, pretending not to understand that money doesn’t grow on trees. They would hang and chat over the rich kids’ Frappucino or their Tazo Iced Tea. Topics covered mostly about the cutest boy at school and how the seemingly not popular and mundane girl could end up with him, she must’ve hexed him or something, the rich kid said. Other than that, perhaps they would discuss the upcoming rock concert. The rich kids would say they’d get VIP tickets, while the wanna-bes would say that they probably would not get the permission from their parents as it would probably end too late, what with their curfew and all. All the care in the world is about to last no longer than their cup of coffee.

How about the “sales representative” of a local Multi Level Marketing compay? They would so desperately present the companies “up line and down line” stuff, what the prospects would benefit from, etc. They would order the prospective members a “Coffee of the Day” and one cup for themselves. They would enthusiastically explain why these people should join, and be a part of the circle.

How about those filthy rich people then? When all they need to do is kill time, and hang out at malls, travel around the world, with no care of anything at all? When the only people they have are their gold digger spouses, whose interests are nothing but the rich people’s pockets, and what they could take out off them. When the care in their world is how to make sure their investments rest in the most appropriate baskets that they get bigger and bigger. They would order coffee or tea just to make the uninterested spouses more bearable.


What about these people? Do they get lonely? Do they get fed up of the quiet?
Is it lifestyle? Is it obligation? Is it merely time killer? Is it even enjoyable?
Do they think better when it’s quiet?



I've been traveling in time. I've been dreaming about how I would see all these people when one day I too get to sit outside during the day.
But I’m not gonna be one of these people. At least not now. Not when we’ve got something great going on. Not when our going out to lunch is an obligation, and instead, merely hobby.

By then, I WILL enjoy my time. For I have my bestest friends, I have my Java, and most importantly, I have myself.

And by then, maybe I will be “the people who lunch”…