The cold morning

Christmas morning , sitting on the sofa. early light trickles through the gloomy clouds and past the curtain. Diffusing .

He turns on the light, gets to work.

The porridge he is cooking for “managment”, is slowly cooking in the kitchen.

He drinks the coffee. Feeling uncomfortable. Oy veyy.

Yesterday, he ate too much. He can’t help it. Never could say no to food. not when there was so much of it. He could have also got drunk a bit, but he has sworn off booze. so he didn’t even have one shot.

Forever is such a big word, he thinks.

I am no alchy. but just like food, it is so compelling to sink in the warmth of a strong drink. hard to resist. In any case, they don’t keep things in the house.

The porridge he’s slowly cooking for the “management”, is slowly bubbling in the kitchen.

This is a rare day with no real professional obligations. A gig-less Christmas morning. And not by choice. It’s just the way it was, that it turned out to be a Tuesday, and he did not need to be anywhere.

But he does need to complete the Unit 4 exam for the kids. He needs to make new PPTs for two other classes. He’d put it off as long as he could. But there is no escape.

Maybe he should have been a dentist..

The thought of returning to work tomorrow, after the long weekend makes him depressed beyond words. To make things worse, the worst class he has, is the first one that will “greet” him in the morning. they are not naughty, for the most part, or noisy. That he can handle. naughty is doeable in his book. what bothers him about that class is that they are just indifferent. Of thirty five kids, only three bother to answer questions. Every teacher has classes that he likes and classes that he doesn’t. It’s unavoidable. a lesson is a bit like a show. you deliver a lesson, try to entice the kids to speak. And apathy, is the worst thing. to be a “rock”. His old collegue, used to call a “cold” class that he had as “the rocks” he had a cool Scottish accent, so he could make it sound like Sean Connery.

The rocks...the rocks. This pile is very high.

How could people become so apathetic to their lives? what is this cloud of emotion that suffocates everything and every urge to do something?

The porridge he’s cooking for the “management”, is slowly bubbling in the kitchen.

Better get started on that test. conjunctives, conjunctives...oh the joy...

Actually he can’t blame the rocks for not giving a shit. grammar is boring stuff and there is a limit to how much a person can stand in one sitting.

The thing is, that they already look tired and depressed and evasive before he even starts. He had a talk with their math teach a few weeks ago. They were also not his favorites to say the least. there is something about the group dynamic in that class, that sours and frustrates everyone. if only there was a way to break this..

He gets interrupted in his reverie by a sales call. His Chinese is not the best, but it is clear that this is about insurance. The sales person called him at goddam nine in the morning on a gloomy Christmas morning to talk about insurance!

Well.. two can play at that game. He puts the cellphone down gently and listens to the sales person deliver his pitch. He doesn’t really listen. He doesn’t really care. Telemarketers are pathetic beyond words. Usually kids just out of college who could not find a real gig, and resorted to this. They have to deliver the entire pitch until someone hangs up. They have a supervisor who listens in occasionally to these calls. so they can’t just move on to someone more receptive. Their slalary though, is judged by actual sales and not how many calls they make. Usually these people don’t even make minimum wage, and quit very quickly. But no worries, there are always new people to chew up and spit out.

How this system ever makes enough to even maintain itself under those terms is beyond him.

It is sad in a way, but very annoying and disturbing in another. they have no problems calling late at night or when he’s working. So he has this game: you are not allowed to say a word, you are not allowed to make a noise. Your job is to just be passive, get on with your stuff, let the telemarketer talk himself blue in the face. But after the caller hangs up you measure how long the call lasted. how long did the telemarketer keep talking to air, before giving up. the record to date, is three minutes.

So he sits by the coffee, steels himslef to get cracking with that exam.

The porridge that he’s making for “managment”, is slowly bubbling in the kitchen.

The voice in the phone keeps droning on and on. He doesn’t give up. it seems sadistic what our guy is doing, but it is his way to discourage this kind of thing. Somebody passed on his phone number to those sales creeps, they will now need to pass it further, that this guy, our guy is a dud. a no-sale. a waste of time. they will lose time and the phone charge for however they last. maybe as much as a whole penny.

He finally opens the computer. Wastes time on skimming the news. bad, bad , bad.. talk of wars, of the environment turning to plastic, of theives and con artists and selfish politicians.

Better get to work, better get to work!!

Working isn’t hard. starting to work is the hard part. Moving from a phase of leisure to a phase of work... so terrible, so unnerving.

He opens the document.

The guy keeps talking on the phone. promising the world.

The porridge he’s cooking for “managment”, is slowly bubbling in the kitchen.

Suddenly he notices; the voice on the phone is not the same. it is now a low, slightly raspy, tired, but so powerful.

“Why don’t you want to talk to me?” the voice asks. “please at least do me the courtesy of putting the phone close enough to your ear, so I don’t have to yell..”

Now, our guy is just flummuxed. Is this a hullucination, is he finally hearing voices? is this really happening? is he having a tumor?

A tumor probably, with his luck. Tumors are a big factor in the life expectancy of his family.

“You are not having a tumor. And this is just a call from Santa. long distance, too, so be a dear, and pick up the phone already..” the voice sounds like Johnny Cash.

“Oh..is that you mister Claus? Nicholas the...whatever...?”

“yes, yes, yes you got it. this is I. ”

“aren’t you wasting your time on me? I’m not even Christian...”

“you got it wrong , buddy. This is still mostly an insurance call, rather than a religious one. So don’t worry about your denomination or whatever. I don’t really care. and the big guy upstairs...well...he doesn’t either...at leats from what He tells me.”

“So ...insurance? Is that what you want to talk about?” our guy asks and this is getting stranger and stranger..

“Yep. insurance. tell me...Mr.....emm...are you insured?”

“Yes. I have health and emergency . Some Chinese firm...”

“How about for your house? your car?“

“Don’t drive, and my apartment is covered. Are you really working as an insurance rep?”

“Well..what can I say...times are hard”

“But how about the kids? how about the presents?”

“They don’t believe in me, and even those that do...all they give a damn about is what I can give them. so I walked out. Quit. handed in my letter a month ago. No one even got back to me from HR yet. ”

“I see...so...”

“sooooo....I was hoping to make a sale today. Having insurance is important you know. I would say that insurance is like friends; you can’t have too many..”

“Yes..but friends don’t cost you a ton of money every year”

“A ton of money? what are you talking about? our policy is just something like...let me check.....seventy a month...not so much...not for someone like you...”

“Listen. this’ gone far enough...I’m getting tired of this. I was surprised to know that someone on the sales team speaks English. but I really have to get to work”

“Yes..Yes..I know...conjunctives”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Conjunctives, conjunctives..for the Unit 4 exam. I know all about it. Listen...I still need you to buy insurance...”

“How did you know I was working on the exam?!” our guy demands, and it seems clear to him that this is some prank by one of the other teachers. they like to tease. but to go on like this on christmas morning, knowing how much they also like to party. This takes dedication.

“Well.. I knew about all of this.. because.. well I AM Santa. I do have some things that I can do. I can read minds and stuff. I also have a list. that I check sometimes. you know..before coming to town..”

“And right now.. what does the list say about me?”

“It says that you are not insured enough, and If you signed up right now, I’ll send you a beautiful delux package of christmas songs. CD ROMs! nothing but the best. I’m actually looking at the package now. ” Santa Claus/Johnny Cash says, and our guy can hear some ruffling sounds.

“Well, we have Tony Bennet, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra...”

“Johnny Cash?” our guy offers.

“Hang on..let me check...no...nothing from Mr Jhonny Cash. ”

“well..no Cash...no..cash..”

“I can sing to you. I’ve heard it said that I have a wonderful voice.”

“You do. But please, buddy, I really don’t have time for this.. I’m working and the..the po..”

“porridge? the one your cooking for “managment”? better go and take a look at that. he says.

Our guy drops the phone and runs to the kitchen. The porridge is ready. He turns the fire off. Not a minute too soon. It was just about to start burning..

He goes back to the living room. The phone is off, and the coffee is cold and the computer is open.. but ..what is this?! the Unit 4 exam! It’s finished!

Our guy reads it through, top to bottom. It has the ideas that he was thinking of using for exercises, but he hasn’t written them yet!

This is amazing work! It is all written up and edited and graphically pleasing! something that he could never do !

The phone doesn’t ring again. But the porridge is ready and the exam is ready and just then his wife wakes up. Goes over, gives him a big kiss, and goes to the kitchen to take a bowl...