29 noviembre 2011
Dream # 4 or My life as a security guard
Here I stand every morning, greeting all these employees with a pseudo military salute, maybe not with a burst of enthusiasm but with a smile than can carry on for a while. Similar to the mail man, rain or shine, we stand our ground and sit and watch, drink coffee, lots of it, change guard, change post, smile and wave, and protect…from what? I don’t have a clue, but we protect; at least that’s what our contract says, and it is fine with me.
Whether is dark or bright, I wake up every morning to the smell of fresh coffee, thanks to my programmable coffee maker. I have to admit that such modern treasure has make my life easier, that and my old fashioned, flip cell phone; and that is all the technology I can handle, I guess my brain is somehow old fashioned, but I survived a war, I can survive this.
And off we go every morning, me and my old revolver, to protect and serve those turkeys to whom me and my buddies are invisible, just like ornaments, taken for granted. We endure the harsh climate and long boring hours but no one seems to care, because we are supposed to be there and that’s all. And I am still fine with that.
When my duty is over, off we go again, back to that little place I sympathetically call home; a ten-something by twenty-something feet room that holds just the necessary things I need to live: a kitchen, a table, two chairs, a small fridge, a small and old microwave oven that sometimes the buttons don’t work, an old couch (and sometimes smelly), a small bed, an old tube TV, a live bamboo stick in the corner and an aquatic turtle that I recently got from my kids. At least I have two more living things with me so that I don’t feel lonely, even tough both of them can’t talk, but at least I know they are alive, I guess.
Nighttime is so different at my own world; they go by faster and better with some Jack Daniels, or whatever the paycheck can afford. I’m not going to lie; I do miss the nights with a nice steak and Glenlivet while staring at the fireplace until falling asleep. Now is some shitty liquor and peanuts, with a little luck.
And just sometimes, like tonight, my old world comes out to haunt me with a vengeance and make me feel two-foot small. My decisions fly in front of me like a nice illusionist special effect, laughing at me and specially, feeling sorry for me, and they make sure they deliver the message, a message I cannot take any longer… and that’s when my good old friends Smith and Wesson smile at me with that shiny teeth and dark mouth hole. There sure is light at the end of that tunnel, a big “bang” light…
And I am still fine with that...