The tedium of cool
Not being one of the beautiful people—as I think my parents call them—but not being so reprehensible that I can't pull off a decent impression of one if, uh, I put on a hat or something... I found it revelatory to go to a bar with a group of them.
Location, it turns out, is everything. Whether to stand at the swinging door to the bar, nonchalantly implying that you are waiting for the bartender to come up and recognise you as an old friend... or whether to lean over the balcony on the landing, looking at no-one and everyone, acting bored off your tits, waiting for the imminent arrival of the ones who will save you from this tedium... whether to talk, whether to stare...
You jockey for position then you wait, then you wait, and wait, and wait. For something—possibly indescribable, or possibly I don't have the patience.
For your information, I lasted a whole hour before hailing a taxi.
Copyright © 2006 Joseph Pearson, some rights reserved.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
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