Thursday, 21 October 2010
The first alarm was my Samsung Note. It went off at 6:35 AM. In some sick way I thought giving me an extra 5 minutes would make up for the 1 o’clock in the morning finally drifting off.
Actually not sure if that’s when I drifted off because I had laid there trying to slow my breathing – thinking that would get my brain to relax. But it didn’t work. I kept thinking.
Thinking about the failure I had become.
Thinking about what I was going to do now.
I was unemployed in a foreign country.
I wasn’t fired. Stubbornly, I had quit with no money to pay my bills.
I had cheated on a woman who had loved me – truly. I saw tears streaming down her face and didn’t care.
While she was telling me how much she loved me, I kept remembering when I was eleven years old and my pet rabbit was sick – I was perversely giddy. Giddy that I might get a new rabbit. Then I watched my dad take my pet rabbit out into the back yard and shoot it in the head.
The rabbit laid sprawled out in front of me. My dad said, “Look at it.”
I did.
My dad didn’t smile and said, “Now he is out of his misery.”
My dad walked to the greenhouse and came back with a shovel. “Bury it.”
I suddenly realized I killed something beautiful.
“But I don’t love you.” I said. And she suddenly stopped crying. I saw her eyes turn. And I saw the moment when she stopped loving me.
I had polluted it all.
On Facebook I was someone to be envious of. I had lived around the world – and now home was Hong Kong. But I didn’t write a Facebook status that I didn’t have any savings. I didn’t write a Facebook status that I was a cocky IT guy that could be replaced by 1.5 billion Chinese just across the border or 7 million locally in New Territories.
I also didn’t put up a Facebook status that I was a horrible boyfriend.
I chose a Facebook profile picture that didn’t show my pudgy stomach. I still looked handsome. The lighting was just right.
I also didn’t update my employment history section of my Facebook About. Besides they didn’t have an option that said – unemployed.
And even if they did – just like there was a Divorced option on the Martial Status – I wasn’t going to choose it.
Then I heard my Blackberry alarm. I set it to go off 6:40 AM. It bellowed from the living room slash kitchen to force myself to get up and shut off.
I told myself I wouldn’t act like I was unemployed. I would get up like I had a job. And I would make getting a job – be my job.
But now, I just tried to ignore both. I tried to lie there and sleep past the ringing.
As I closed my eyes, I tried to incorporate it into a dream.
But after five minutes I couldn’t take it.
I opened my eyes and saw myself in the mirror.
The same asshole I was yesterday.
I sat on the toilet for a full thirty minutes – shit had quit nearly twenty minutes ago. But I kept reading my phone. Reading Facebook statuses, email, news aggregator sites – and the big news was the pollution. It was the highest level of pollution Hong Kong had ever recorded. Then my phone browser went blank and a screen showed up:
Prepaid minutes have expired.
I exhaled and went for the toilet paper.
I stood in line at the HSBC ATM on Hollywood Road wearing a suit. There was a beautiful blonde in a business skirt and blouse standing beside me. We caught eyes for a second and I smiled. She smirked and looked away.
Then finally the person in front of me gathered their Hong Kong dollars and the ATM terminal was empty. I walked up and stood close – afraid that when I checked the balance and it showed on the screen – I didn’t want the hot business woman beside me to see it. I put my PIN number in and hit Account History button – and touched Savings.
The screen read: 14.17 HKD
What did I want to do next? Go back or withdraw funds.
I hit Go Back. And touched on Checking.
The screen read: 85.44 HKD.
This was all the money I had in the world.
I went closer to the ATM to protect the shame of my balance. I could hear a Chinese man behind me – exhale loudly and click his tongue – impatiently.
What did I want to do? Go back or withdraw funds.
I could only withdraw 100 HKD at a time. So I went back and transferred the 14.17 HKD to my Checking. And I had 100.01 HKD. Then made a withdrawal.
When I heard the ATM shuffle – and then the money drawer open – I meekly took my single 100 HKD bill. I turned to see if the blonde was still there.
She was gone.
I had to figure out how I was going to live on 100 HKD. I was out of internet on my phone. And to recharge my prepaid was 100 HKD – that would be all my money. So I walked along Hollywood Road – looking at the people who all I had a job to go to – or money to go somewhere.
Most of them were also afraid – wearing surgical masks – trying to protect their bodies from the pollution – that clouded in-between the skyscrapers.
That’s when I saw a man in a suit wearing a World War II gas mask – holding a brief case. He walked past me. I turned my body to do a double take – and saw the straps across the back of his head that held the gas mask in place.
No one was staring at him. And like that – he turned a corner going down the stairs towards Queens Road – and was gone.
And that’s when I wished the pollution would get me.
Then I could hide my shame. I could just be a death statistic. Maybe people would feel sorry for me – that the pollution killed me.
That’s my first time in the day I thought about death.
I had thought sleeping would get rid of my thoughts of death.
Now it was back.
That’s when I said – I need to eat something. Eating will get me to stop thinking about killing myself.
I turned around abruptly and bumped into two people following me close and turned the same corner that the man wearing the World War II gas mask went.
On Queens Road there was a Café O – although I couldn’t afford it.
I ordered an Eggs Benedict and a café Mocha.
The Nepalese cashier with the name tag Smita smiled at me when she handed me 24 HKD back. It was all the money I had in the world.
I sat at the free Internet computers waiting for my order – and signed in, checked my email.
There was an email from my mother. It read:
“I am worried about you. We tried calling you but couldn’t get through your Hong Kong number. I am sorry you quit your job. But don’t worry – you will find a new job soon. I wish me and your Dad could help you – but my medicine and your dad’s doctor’s bills is taking all our money. Please contact us when you can and let us know you are okay. Love, Mom”
I sat there re-reading the email. And I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I hit reply and began to type:
“Mom, I failed. I am broke. I don’t know what I am going to do.” And then I paused.
A woman’s voice called out behind me, “Egg Benedict? Café Mocha?”
I turned my whole body and answered, “That’s me.”
It was Smita. She smiled but then saw my face. “You okay?”
I instantly broke into a fake smile and nodded. “Yes, definitely.” And the emotion was gone.
She paused. “Do you want me to put this on a table or do you want to eat it here?”
“Table.” I said quickly.
And I followed her. That’s when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder.
“Hey Jackson!”
I looked but didn’t know who they were. It was a white guy with five o’clock shadow and wearing a black T-shirt that read, “Star Wars.” His bangs were sweaty. He could tell that I didn’t know who he was. “I am Charles.”
“Hey Charles.”
“Sorry you probably don’t remember me. But I saw you perform standup comedy at TakeOut Comedy a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh okay.”
“You were hilarious!”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Reallly?”
“Hells yeah.”
“Wow. Okay.” I paused. “I really appreciate that.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you but I just had to say I really loved your comedy.”
“Well – that’s great. What show was it? Thursday, Friday, or Saturday?”
Charles thought. “It was a Wednesday. I saw you in Lan Kwai Fong – Rula Bula – I believe.”
“Oh yeah.”
“You picked on me. I was on a first date with a really hot local girl.”
I thought back to that show and remembered a sexy little Asian woman with a white guy wearing a suit with a loose tie. He was cleanly shaven then. “Oh I remember you.”
“You said, ‘If you make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything.’”
I finished the joke, “’Except anal.’”
And Charles laughed hard.
I smiled too. “You hook up with her?”
“Yeah. But you were right – no anal.”
I slapped him on the back. “Well keep trying.”
“Nah. Now I am on to a new girl.”
“You go boy.”
“Well wanted to say keep it up. Love your stuff.” He lifted his hand and I gave him a fist bump. “I am late to work. Grabbing breakfast after my run.”
I felt a pang of jealousy for someone who had a job.
I looked down at his shirt. ”May the force be with you.”
He laughed and left.
I saw my tray of food near the window where Smita had left it and sat down. And I couldn’t help from smiling.
I sat at Café O all morning – and read all the free newspapers.
I read about the pollution and the South China Morning Post predicted it would get worse.
That’s when I looked out the front window of Café O and saw everyone was wearing white surgical masks.
I browsed the pages for job openings. Most were looking for English teachers, waiters or bartenders. But there was one that was looking for an IT person with a background in media and communications. I had been a radio DJ for CBS Radio affiliate when I was in college. I think that counted. I tore the ad out, closed and folded the paper.
It was nearly an hour until noon and Café O was empty.
I wanted another coffee but couldn’t afford it.
So I went back to the free Internet computers and checked my email.
Nothing. So then I pulled the torn ad out and started my email.
To whom it may concern –
I have been in the IT industry nearly a decade – originally from the United States – but have worked in Europe, South Africa, and Asia out of Hong Kong. I worked for CBS from 1992 – 1996 in Atlanta, Georgia. I would be very interested in the opportunity advertised in the South China Morning Post. Below you will find my LinkedIn profile.
I would be very excited to meet with you to talk about an opportunity.
I signed it with my name and hit send.
That’s when I saw the email from Jami Gong from TakeOut Comedy.
“Yo! I need someone to come and speak at my comedy class tomorrow – are you available? I am buying lunch. Email back.”
I asked myself, “Can I make it until tomorrow without eating?”
I had no choice.
I emailed back. “Count me in.” I hit send.
That’s when I saw another email from an unknown address. It was a reply to my email with the Subject: Opportunity.
“Jackson,
Thank you for your email. We have an interview slot today at 11:30 AM if you can make it. We are located on the 54th floor in Central Plaza in Wan Chai near the Hong Kong Convention Centre. We are in studio 4B. Email us back if you are interested and we will expect you.”
I looked at the time on the computer – it was 11:05 AM.
I had 24 Hong Kong dollars to take a taxi.
I emailed back, “Sure. And thank you for your fast response.” I hit send and ran outside to catch a taxi.
There was an available taxi waiting at the red light. I went up to the passenger side window beside the driver and knocked on it. I pointed inside. He nodded and the back passenger door opened automatically. I jumped in.
“Central Plaza, Wan Chai, m’goi.”
Just then the light turned green, the taxi sped off and I grabbed the oh-shit bar over the door.
When the fare counter hit 22 Hong Kong dollars – we had just entered Wan Chai. I was sweating.
We were nearing the road that led to Central Plaza and ultimately to the Hong Kong Convention Centre – that’s when the fare counter hit 24 Hong Kong dollars.
“Liddo! Right here.” I said a little too loudly.
The driver looked confused because there were no buildings. No stops for taxis.
I repeated myself, “Right here.”
The driver said with a thick Chinese accent, “You sure?”
“Yes.”
He hit his hazard lights and pulled over. Taxis and cars behind him hit their horns.
I pulled out my Hong Kong twenty and the two Two dollar pieces. He took them and I was out the door – where there was not even a sidewalk. I was walking on the side of the street. And just like that – the taxi was gone.
I pulled out my phone that couldn’t make or receive calls because the prepaid minutes were gone. And saw the time was 11:20 AM. I looked ahead and saw the JW Marriott – the connecting Hong Kong Conference Centre and across the street was Central Plaza. I began to run.
I was sweating when I got to the second bank of elevators that led to the top floors of the Central Plaza. The elevator dings were over and over. I kept spinning in the direction of the dings – but the light above the elevator didn’t come on.
The LED screens over the doorway of the elevators showed the numbers increase and shrink as the elevator were going up and down.
I placed my bets on the third elevator – as it was closest to my current floor.
I pulled out my phone and saw it was 11:35 AM.
Elevator doors opened.
I rushed inside and hit the 54th floor. I was alone in the elevator so I started shoving the close doors button – over and over. Finally the doors began to close and suddenly an attractive Asian woman with a coffee in her hand was running towards the door. I didn’t stop – I kept pushing the door close button – over and over. She saw me doing it.
“Hold the elevator!” she said a little too loudly.
And just before the woman could get her hand in between the doors – the elevator was sealed shut and I felt the centrifugal force move upward.
I exhaled.
“Mr. Jackson you made it.” Said an Asian man as he walked me into CNBC Asia Hong Kong studio.
I wiped at my forehead. “Yes I am sorry I am a bit late. I couldn’t find a taxi.”
“Well it was very, very short notice. So I am impressed you made it all. But today was our last day of interviews. And we had someone cancel at the last minute – and you just happened to email at the right time.” The Asian man turned and held out his hand. “I apologize for being rude. I am Mr. Lui.”
“Great to meet you Mr. Lui.”
“Follow me.” Mr. Liu walked down the corridor and I followed. “The studio is off the air now. Bernie Lo just finished his show.” Mr. Liu stopped and turned to see my face. “Do you watch Bernie? Or CNBC Asia for that matter?”
I laughed nervously. “Yes definitely. Actually at my last job – I travelled quite a lot. The first thing when I got into my hotel room – I turned it to CNBC Asia. It was my connection to home.”
Mr. Liu smiled. Then he turned and continued walking.
A few paces ahead he pointed to a door. “Please wait in the green room. Deidre will be here soon. She went downstairs to grab a coffee.” And he pushed the door open. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” I said. And then prayed a silent prayer that she wasn’t the woman I closed the elevator doors on.
Unfortunately she was.
And afterwards when I walked from Central Plaza in Wan Chai decked out in a suit and tie – sweating profusely – all the way to my tiny flat I couldn’t afford anymore – I kept going over and over in my head – what if I had just held the elevator?
My stomach could have done the comedy workshop. It was growling and rumbling as Jami spoke. Thank God I was in the very, very back. And every time the stomach made a noise – I squirmed – or rustled in my seat – or cleared my throat to cloak my starvation.
Finally Jami on stage said, “Okay let’s take a five minute break and I will bring two comedians on stage to share their experiences and advice on doing standup comedy. Feel free to ask them questions. If you want to smoke, feel free to go upstairs and if you are hungry, thirsty – there is a 7-11 just beside the club upstairs. See you in five minutes.”
Mahesh came up to me – all smiles. He gave me a fist bump and motioned with his hand as if he splooged in the air in between our fists. “Can you believe we are giving advice to new comedians?”
Mahesh and I had started nearly at the same time. May 2009. We took the same comedy workshop. The difference between Mahesh and myself – Mahesh had been a finalist in the Hong Kong International Comedy Festival twice. I had been a record number of zero times.
“This is very surreal.”
Mahesh started motioning like he was humping the air. “I am going to make them realize it’s so real!”
Jami came up to us.
“I will give you guys 30 minutes and then open up to questions. That cool?”
Mahesh and I nodded.
Mahesh was just answering why he did standup comedy. And his answer was to the point, “Bitches.”
The attendees laughed. But I noticed that one of the two women didn’t laugh.
I saw a comedian wannabe raise his hand. He was a large Black guy in a black suit without a tie. He spoke with an American accent. “My name is Jim. And I wanted to ask Jackson – where does he get his ideas for comedy bits?”
My stomach rumbled and I fidgeted in my seat. I took a big breath and asked “You want the truth?”
Jim smiled. “Yes definitely.”
“Okay,” I began. “The root of comedy comes from a dark place. It’s from that place you don’t want to mention to anyone. So instead – you get on a stage with a spotlight and a microphone – and you make people laugh with it. Actually those things that hurt the most are usually the funniest.”
The audience went deathly silent. There was no noise except for the car horns above on Elgin Street.
“I usually dig out the things that tear me up inside – and put it out there. Remember comedy is sometimes not about being witty or a good writer. Sometimes it’s just about connecting with another human being that is also suffering. And make them laugh about how fucked up it is.”
The audience nervously giggled.
“Seriously. It’s about fileting yourself with a knife. Don’t be afraid to kill yourself,” I said and paused a little too long so pushed ahead, “On stage. Kill yourself on stage. I promise someone will identify. And they will love you for it.”
Someone spoke up on the front row. “So you are saying – depress them? That will make them laugh?”
“Not necessarily.” I qualified. “No show them your pollution. Let go of it. And if you find the funny in it – you will be purged. Lighter. Clear. And you make people laugh because of it. You know why? Because it’s authentic, real.”
The faces in the crowd looked a bit confused.
I clarified. “It’s like right now. Hong Kong is full of pollution. The city is poisoning us. But we still love her. Even when she’s trying to kill us. Because what city you going to find that celebrates –“ I paused for effect. “Typhoons? We get paid to get drunk during typhoons!”
Laughter.
When everything went quiet again, Mahesh spoke up. “I am a little different. The root of my comedy comes from another place.” And he paused and looked across the faces of the audience. “Bitches.”
Everyone laughed. The two women included.
Soulparking 
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