Social expectations

Last night I left the office, drove for a few miles and then did something that drew international attention to me and the massive traffic jam that I created. I am on newspapers front pages, news websites and televisions all around the world.
Flash forward to a party in my very, very large apartment in the city – I am talking to my friend PAK and his wife about what I did and why as we are standing on a pedestal. I tell him about social expectations and the pressure that it creates and how they drive our lives rather than what we want to do. It’s beautiful. Powerful. As I talk I notice that everyone is looking at me and listening to what I am saying. In the middle of a sentence I raise my voice, looking around, and address the people, smiling, “What’s up everyone!?”. I get cheers.
I struggle to find drinks for everyone. I haven’t been home in a long time. My wife helps me but she can’t do much either. After gathering beers and other liquors I start opening boxes of glasses. But it’s hard. Each glass seems stuck in the box and it takes forever for me to get anything done.
Finally I get home. My answering machines, which is in a bowl of water, shows 252 calls, 25 messages. People called me after everything that happened earlier today. Journalists probably.
I need to take a shower – I get into the bathroom. Start undressing. I grow frustrated as every layer of cloth I take off reveals another layer. Also I need to hurry because the party guests are waiting for me. Finally I take a shower. My wife gets home. She tells me that everyone is gone.
I “parkour” my way to the scene. My car is left in the middle of the road, surrounded by the police. Suddenly they have no idea of who I am. I walk to my car. As I get close I open it using the remote. The cops jump on me – They found me. They put me in the back seat of my own car, with the police inspector in charge of the case in the passenger seat. I tell him about social pressure and doing and achieving what we want instead. Somehow I am free. I was probably very convincing.
My wet answering machines shows 43 messages.
I am having lunch with my old boss and my old colleague. We talk news in the office, I tell them about my new job – Regular chitchat. Then I break the news. I am the guy who made the headlines. The conversation gets more distant. They explain to me how they plan on opening a salad bar on 2nd street in NYC. They show me the franchise documentation. They won’t use the name of the franchise – They want something more simple and fresh.
As we talk and talk and talk and walk we get to the elevator of a very impressive building. We get to the 8th floor. Their attorney works there. They tell me that I can’t get in there. I am sad. They did not like that I am the guy who created all that fuss in the morning, threatening the system they thrive in. But exactly! All I wanted was to show them how their lives was not theirs. I tell them how many messages I have on my answering machine in a last attempt to convince them. I leave them as they get into the attorney office. I turn around and see Peter, one of my current colleague, getting in the office. He is part of that meeting. I am sad. I get into the elevator, press the Lobby button. I am anxious to see the door closing and get away from that place. I am in the lobby. I walk to the building exit and I see all those women from my old job as well wheeling these huge file boxes to the elevator. What is going on?
I walk angry on the street. The town looks very European. I walk by a fountain and a group of French Canadians is seating all around it. I hear two of them talking. One of them is showing the other how he has Nintendo game on his iPhone. A hack. I walk around the fountain. They are all scruffy, with long beard, and smell pretty bad. The hands of one of them are either very dirty or he is very hairy.
I keep walking, wheeling a suitcase and thinking about the day.

I wake up. Time to go to work.