Not So Deep Thoughts

In Madrid, the air hangs thick tonight under the full moon’s stare. A hot, sticky fatigue seeps into the marrow of your bones, shackling you to wherever you sit. Even the air refuses to move. Your breathing slows, your eyes unfocus; your mind numbs; detached. You crawl into bed and try to sleep with the hopes that the worst of it will pass as you slumber peacefully, but the relentless haze surrounding you guards you from sleep.

So you lie… you toss… turn… and wait…

…for the haze to lift…

…and to take in that lungful of fresh, crisp morning air that awakens your senses once again, bringing you back to yourself.

Although the heat trapped in Madrid’s jungle of concrete is far from letting me be tonight, there is a different haze that’s already begun to lift from around me.

Somewhere after getting back from Belgium, I lost myself. I don’t know where I put me, but I’m starting to piece it back together.

Homeless and jobless I returned to Madrid… but not friendless. Thanks to the support of some wonderful friends and family, I’ve been kept sheltered and fed these past weeks. I took on a job at an Irish pub to make money for school, and found myself entering a world that can easily consume the people who enter it. When you work from 8:30 at night ‘til 6 in the morning, it messes with you. You go to bed as the sun comes up, waking up during the hottest part of the day with just a few hours between shuffling out of bed and heading out the door to go back to work. You do this 6 days a week. On the one day off you have, you sleep through half of it. If you’re lucky, getting to bed at a decent hour to give you some time the day after to do something before you start the cycle again.

I lived out of a backpack of clothes that I brought to the apartment I was living in, although I only really needed one outfit – black pants and a black shirt – day after day after day. In a box was anything that I owned that would define where I slept as ‘home.’ And it was this ‘homelessness’ that I found hardest. Something about never coming back to a place that acts as your own private sanctuary, a place you feel a vital part of.

A strange degree of detachment took over as I continued without a place to call my home and a job that left me on opposite schedules as the rest of the functioning world.

For some, it’s the perfect job. Up all night, freeze booze, drunk and horny women/men – Bacchus’ playground. There was one guy I worked with that bragged about his nightly quota which was to spend a few minutes in a dark corner of the dance floor with a young lady.

To be honest, I was not meant to work in a bar. Maybe it was too many years of the easily taken for granted schedule of the English Teacher or that none of the additional ‘perks’ working in the bar industry offers its employees really interested me that much. Plus, the crappy pay and the stress of not being able to go see apartments because I had to work when most people wanted to show the rooms didn’t make it any better.

Plus, the bosses were a pair of true assholes. No joke. Not only did they pay shit wage and overwork their employees, they were racist bastards as well. Not a single person who worked there was legally contracted (except for the managers.) Most were Romanian, although you had a few South Americans, Polish and Australian. To maintain the desired clientele, the Romanian doormen were instructed by the owners to deny entry to or charge obscene cover charges to any of the following:

Moroccans or any other Arabs
Blacks
Romanians…

The only reason I stayed on as long as I did was for the people I worked with. I wouldn’t think twice about screwing over the bosses, but I didn’t want to leave the people I worked with high and dry. They were a good group of people. If it weren’t for them, I would have left within a few days of starting.

But when the managers started to take advantage of my kindness, I drew the line. Because of the job schedule, I was having a tough time getting in to see apartments, and because I had already given my notice, they had put me out on the street to hand out flyers ‘til 4 in the morning. Upon expressing my frustration with the situation, I was given guilt trips and called dishonorable for wanting to leave before my scheduled last day.

The next day I told the owner I wanted out and to pay me.

Since then I’ve been experiencing something which I can only describe as ‘jet lag.’ – just without the fun of travelling. I’ve finally gotten back onto a normal sleep schedule and am spending my days helping a couple paint their apartment and waiting to move into the new place I found just a day after quitting the job. (I’ll go into that more when I have the time.)

And I’m looking forward to ridding myself of that haze I stumbled into and finding my way back to myself.

-Peace

Maybe you’re familiar with the Chinese proverb about ‘Could be a good thing, could be a bad thing’

There was once an old Chinese farmer who owned a small piece of land far off in the countryside on which he worked the land and spent his days with his wife and son. He owned only a single horse, which he used to help work the fields and bring in the harvest. One day, the horse ran away.

Upon relaying the news of his loss the other countryside dwellers, they all exclaimed, “What bad luck. What a terrible thing to happen.”

To which the old farmer replied, “Could be a good thing, could be a bad thing.”

A week later, the horse wandered back to the farm, but with 5 wild horses it had met in the forest travelling with him.

Upon relaying the news of this unexpected acquisition to the countryside dwellers, they all exclaimed, “What wonderful luck! Not a better thing could happen to a man!”

To which the old farmer replied, “Could be a good thing, could be a bad thing.”

Later that week, he 18-year-old son was spending the afternoon breaking the wild horses when one of them threw him off its back and severely broke the son’s leg.

Upon relaying the news of this to the countryside dwellers, they all exclaimed, “What bad luck!! I knew those wild beasts were no good!!!”

To which the old farmer replied, “Could be a good thing, could be a bad thing.”

As the son convalesced, his broken bones slowly mending themselves back together, a battalion of troops from the Red Army came sweeping through the land on the way to a bloody war, picking up any able-bodied young man to fight with them.

Of course, they passed by the young farmer’s son with the recently snapped femur.

And, of course, upon relaying this news to the countryside dwellers, they all exclaimed, “Jumping Jehoshaphat! What luck!!!”

To which the old farmer replied, “Could be a good thing, …”

You get the idea. Well, working of Friday and Saturday at my bar = bad thing…

It’s not that it’s an incredibly busy night, maybe a few handfuls more stumbling in and out at any given moment. It’s the fact that we close early that makes it bad. I know; a terrible, terrible thing. The reason being, is, unlike New York City, Madrid’s monolithic subway system doesn’t run 24/7. So if you have plans on getting home between 1:30AM and 6:00AM, you’re on your own.

But they do have a series of infrequent night buses that will take you more or less where you need to be. I cannot stress more heavily on the, “more or less.”

Why? Because night buses also = bad thing.

The closest this bus gets to my apartment is on the elbow of the route that has a 15 minute long walk to either of the closest stops. So, on my first weekend at the job, when I had my first two experiences on the night bus, I found myself walking an additional 15-20 minutes after getting off the bus on which I had spent an initial 20 minutes. 40 minutes isn’t that bad a commute, but when you’ve been running around a bar for the past 8 hours, you don’t want a short hike between you and your bed.

Therefore, on this past Friday night, I wasn’t too thrilled about taking the night bus home after work.

So, I’m sitting at the bus stop. It’s 5:15AM. I wait awhile… The bus comes… I get on – it’s me, an older guy probably going to work, and two groups of mid-twenties Spanish guys coming home from a night out.

I’m sitting there, keeping to myself and listening to my music, when something struck me as odd. Somewhere around the time when the bus neglected to take a right turn that I knew went up to the next stop on the line.

Something struck the rest of the bus as odd when he started to go in the absolute opposite direction of the direction we should be more or less going. The driver pulled over, realizing he’d gone way off and then pulled a flawless 7 point turn across a 5 lane one way street that would have been the shortest possible route back to where we should go if it weren’t for all of the headlights of the waiting cars that spanned the road, whose operators were enjoying the front row spectacle of something they’d surely be talking about around the coffee machine come Monday morning.

After a few jeers from the back row, the bus driver started a dazzling 15 point turn back the way we came as one of the groups of guys headed up to direct this guy back on course, the others staying behind to taunt the driver in sing song.

The two guys up front assuringly yet imperatively ordered the bus driver to turn here and turn there, looking back and snickering at their friends as the bus driver sullied forth. At one point we found ourselves so off course that the older gentleman passenger went up to take control of the situation, confident that the young whippersnappers were directing the bus to drop them off in front of their apartment.

They insisted that they were on course and that although the older man’s idea of ‘getting there’ was good, theirs was actually faster. After they cleared up the confusion and making peace, a silence passed over the bus as the bus waited patiently at a red light.

I looked over to see the elbow of route that nuzzled itself so close to my apartment. So, I popped myself up front, politely asked if he wouldn’t mind letting me off here and bustled off the bus thanking him kindly; a spring in my step as I hopped down off the bus’s step.

3 minutes later found myself safe and sound at home.

Conclusion: Working on a Friday and taking the bus driven by the over tired and highly confused bus driver = a good thing.

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Well, it’s been a week now since I started working my temporary job at the bar in the center of town. As I said in my last e-mail, it’s not the most ideal place to work, but seeing as this is only for the month of August and time really isn’t on my side, I have to take what I can get.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I decide to cut my losses and leave the job to enjoy the rest of the summer. I’ll be returning to my normal teaching job at the beginning of September and music classes start in the middle of the month. I was putting so much importance on earning enough money to pay off school all at once that I didn’t leave much room for flexibility – either I raised enough money or I failed. But the school does offer a month by month payment plan, and even though it’ll cost me a few hundred Euros more to do it that way, it’s better than breaking my back at the this job.

I have a bunch of observations that I’ve been gathering from my time working in the bar – which I can’t wait to put down in digital ink – but I’ll wait ’til I leave, just so I don’t get in any trouble. jejeje.

Until then!

Hmmmm, it’s been awhile, eh?

I can’t even recall what the last real post I put up was… Hold on a minute, lemme check.

Wow… that was two weeks ago… I’m sorry for my lack of attention lately. My mother always says if she hasn’t heard from me in awhile, it’s probably because I’m off having bunches of fun. Which I think is a much better perspective than constant worrying, but there are many other reasons to keep a person MIA; namely daily temperatures over 100°F (342 Kilos).

Since getting back to Madrid, it’s been nothing short of sweltering here. And when your brain is already frying, it’s an effort to put your thoughts down onto digital paper.

Plus, I really haven’t known what it is I want to say.

It’s been a rough summer.

It’s been a wonderful, compassionate summer.

Anyone who has been reading my blog lately knows why it’s been a rough summer. Losing my job; chasing unobtainable work opportunities both here in Spain and up in Belgium; being without a place to call home; letting the financial pressures of living and studying next year combined with the continuous bad luck I’ve had finding a source of income to resolve those pressures dictate my well being and humor.

And I’ve also seen so much brotherly love come my way. From my parents and relatives, friends and co-workers alike have come to my aid to help in whatever way possible. Falling into this situation and looking up to see so many hands reaching down to pull me out of it has truly been the highlight of this summer’s adventures. My love to all of you out there.

So here’s what I’ve been up to since I got back. Nathan and Edurne, those little lambs, let me stay at their place for a week or so. At first it was strange having roommates again (of my age), but I soon got used to having people around to greet me as I shuffled out of my room in the morning. We lunched together, played video games together, and generally had a very pleasant time keeping each other company.

A week into my stay, I went to visit my friends Krystal and Jorge for a BBQ. During the festivities, they asked me if I would be interested in house-sitting their awesome apartment and cats for the 3 weeks they’re in Croatia and I of course accepted. At the end of August, I’ll probably be back with Nate and Edurne and help them as they prepare for their big move down south to Granada.

As far as work, I chased a few job opportunities here and there and came up empty handed a few more times. After all my connections fell through, I hit the streets with copies of my resume and started going door to door. Yesterday I was called in for an interview and last night I started work at a decent sized bar/restaurant.

I’m very grateful to be back to work, but I have the feeling this is going to be a tough month’s work. The hours are from 8:30PM – 5:00AM / 6 days a week and the pay is just under 4 Euros an hour. Tips average around 5-8 Euros a night per employee and the commute to get back home using the night buses takes about over an hour. Funny thing is – I think this is the type of job I’ve been chasing after all summer. I guess I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. My respect goes out to any bar worker out there who manages to do this for months on end. You guys are nuts.

So yeah… That’s about the gist of it. My summer will be spent staying out all night hanging around large groups of drunken people and returning to a pair of kitties every morning.

And I have the feeling that this job is going to provide me invaluable insight into the social aspect of human nature, namely, ‘it’s a good thing everyone else here is drunk too, because you’re acting like a complete nincompoop.”